Gabriel squinted into the rising sun as it painted the sky with a pink hue above the academy's gate. Against this vibrant backdrop, he stretched his limbs, pulling one shoulder across his chest to ease the strain from the previous day's toils. This had become his ritual: waking at the crack of dawn, long before the other students, to train alone. He had borrowed a trick from the soldiers—drinking copious amounts of water during the night so his body would act as an alarm, waking him early to relieve himself. He had always trained hard at the academy, but ever since discovering the truth seven days prior, something within him had shifted. He thought he knew his breaking point, but whatever subconscious limits he had, he shattered them, along with the beliefs he once held so firmly. I need to be stronger.

He began his morning workout, using his body weight for resistance. He pushed up from the sand until his arms shook uncontrollably and his face nearly hit the ground. He squatted until his legs buckled and trained his core until his muscles spasmed. This was his ritual: to embrace the pain so that the next day, he could push even further.

Gabriel then started running laps around the courtyard, controlling his breath and syncing his footsteps with his racing heartbeat. On his tenth lap, he noticed Master Soltis emerging from a doorway, walking between two columns into the courtyard. Soltis spotted Gabriel, a sneer etched into his face. He regretted the loss of Soltis's guidance, and Gabriel knew he had to keep pushing forward on his own. Gone was the mentor who had once offered him pointers and kind words during morning training. Gabriel realized he had burned that bridge. The master was trying to break him: the grueling exercises, humiliating him in every possible way in front of his classmates. But he had been through too much for pettiness to stop him. Gabriel stood strong, enduring every punishment, knowing he deserved it.

Since meeting the witch, Gabriel had heeded her words and practiced using the source of his power in the secluded corners of the academy each night. Her words had proven accurate to an extent. During the day, his anger had ebbed, but each time he drew from the well of power in the darkness, his rage intensified, becoming more uncontrollable. The initial wonder he had felt was now replaced by a burning fury. Still, he clung to her advice, hoping the anger would eventually drain away.

Gabriel dusted the dirt from his clothing and walked through the front gate of the academy. He saluted the guards, who unceremoniously opened the doors for him. He planned to spend this free day with the regiment before heading to the castle. As he strolled through the paved streets, he basked in the city's vibrancy. It was still early, and merchants were opening their stalls while shopkeepers readied their stores for the day's customers. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making his stomach rumble in response. Despite having eaten a substantial amount after sneaking into the academy kitchen that morning, the use of his power seemed to amplify his hunger.

Gabriel followed the tantalizing aroma to a nearby bakery. After exchanging a few kind words with the elderly woman behind the counter and handing her a few coins, he resumed his walk, a loaf of bread in hand. The Balatians were specialists in bread-making, crafting loaves that were fluffy on the inside and crispy on the outside. Salty and spicy seeds adorned the mildly sugar-glazed crust. As he bit into the hot loaf, steam rose into the air, and he juggled the piece in his mouth to manage the heat. The sour goodness inside was divine. I might need to add this to my routine.

By the time he reached the barracks, the loaf had been thoroughly devoured. Two guards he hadn't seen before were stationed outside the gates. They must have been new recruits, not part of the original regiment. Gabriel halted in front of them. "I'm here to see Commander Galland and the Fifth Legion."

The guards exchanged glances before shrugging and parting to let him through the gate.

As he passed them, Gabriel heard one mutter, "academy brat." He let a small smile escape, unfazed by the comment.

Gabriel let a small smile slip as he walked toward the familiar faces of the legion. Up front, he saw Atlas shouting commands, with the commander beside him. They were all drilling with shields and spears, their movements synchronized and deliberate. The legion broke into two lines: shield-bearers in front, spearmen behind and slightly to the right. The men were spaced about two leg spans apart, each step calculated to maintain their formation’s integrity.

He spotted Avis sitting on a bench, watching the training. The young man had a crutch beside him, and one of his legs was stiff and fully stretched out, likely due to bandages.

Gabriel sat down wordlessly next to his friend. Avis turned to him, a wide, toothy smile stretching across his tanned face. He slapped Gabriel hard on the shoulder. “Little Wolf! You’re back.”

Gabriel couldn't help but smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh, did you miss us?”

“For some reason, don’t ask me to explain it. I still haven’t figured it out.”

“Must be my company,” Avis said with a grin.

“I’m sure,” Gabriel replied with a genuine laugh. “How are you faring?” he asked, gesturing to Avis’s outstretched leg.

“We have two legs for a reason. So what if one of them will never be the same?” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. Then, upon seeing Gabriel’s serious expression said, “It is getting better.”

Gabriel's eyes fell, and he looked at his friend with pity. “It gladdens me to hear you are getting better.”

Avis lowered his own gaze, then, as if shaking off the somber mood, forced a smile. “They are about to start. Watch.”

Gabriel’s eyes lingered on his friend, understanding that everyone had their own way of coping with trauma. Avis's way was to smile through it, and Gabriel respected him all the more for it. He turned his attention to the regiment, now quieting in preparation for the next drill.

"Shields!" Atlas bellowed. The regiment raised their circular shields to their midriffs, their chins barely visible above the shield's edge, locking them tightly against their bodies. "Spears!" The soldiers in the second line took their spears, holding them parallel to their bodies, the butt resting against the sand. With a swift pivot, they aligned the steel tips to stretch out from the shields in front. "Strike!" The spears whistled through the air in unison, the sound punctuated by the synchronized footsteps of the spearmen.

They repeated the exercise, each iteration introducing variations: shields high and low, crouching and standing. Two lines of shield-bearers formed, one line covering head height, the other protecting their feet as they locked shields together seamlessly.

Gabriel watched, lost in the moment, recalling the times when he had trained with the men. Amidst the blood and sweat, he had found brotherhood. He smiled as a gentle breeze brushed against his face, the memories filling him with a sense of belonging.

The drill continued with impressive precision. The shield wall was an impenetrable fortress, and the spearmen moved with lethal accuracy. Gabriel observed how the soldiers adjusted their stances, the fluidity of their movements a testament to their rigorous training. Each step, each strike, was a blend of raw strength and disciplined control, showcasing their readiness for battle.

The exercises finished, and the men broke formation, enjoying a short break. Gabriel could see the camaraderie among them, the silent communication that spoke of trust and reliability. They were a hardened group, each man a vital part of the unit's strength.

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Avis distracted him from his thoughts. “Enough lurking now. Let’s see how the old men are doing.”

Gabriel turned to Avis, nodding. They rose from the bench and walked toward the resting soldiers as they took their fill of water. Familiar faces greeted them with smiles and nods and shouts of welcome.

“Little Wolf!” one of the men called out, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Gabriel wove through the men, his own face etched with a smile as he spoke with those he bled with. Before long, Atlas and Galland spotted them. Olof had joined Atlas’s side, his face impassive as always. Atlas crossed his arms and, in a haughty tone, spoke, “Well, look who the Velictras dragged in.” Then the man dropped the act, stepping up close, looking Gabriel up and down before enveloping him in a crushing hug.

“He’s grown taller,” Atlas said to Olof. The man's response was a single harrumph, which Gabriel took as a sign of agreement.

“Have you gotten shorter?” Gabriel teased, gesturing with his hand. “Age is creeping up on you, old man.”

“Well, at least you haven’t forgotten soldier’s banter with the fancy pricks in the academy,” Atlas replied.

“He learned it all from me,” Avis said proudly.

Gabriel turned to Olof. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

It fell flat. Not even the standard grunt escaped Olof's lips.

Avis put on a fake frown. “Nothing hurts as much as someone not laughing at your jokes.” Then with a pause, “actually, that’s not true. The worst is when a woman doesn’t love you back.” He stared longingly into the sky.

Atlas let out a weary sigh, echoed by the commander. “Lad, Marelle gets paid for her time. You pay her to say all those nice things to you. When the coin finishes, so does your time. Find yourself an honest girl.”

Avis released a long breath, puffing out his cheeks in an attempt to look as innocent as possible. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

The commander coughed aloud, halting the senseless conversation. “Well, Little Wolf, let’s see what you’ve learned.”

Gabriel's toothy grin told the commander he was looking forward to this.

And so, the sparring commenced. Gabriel started with the commander, receiving a steady stream of feedback from his comrades. “Square your shoulders,” Avis advised. “Loosen your shoulders,” Atlas countered. “Stand tall,” one said, followed by, “Stay low,” from another. A myriad of contradictory instructions accompanied each bout, as he was repeatedly beaten.

“Listen to what they’re saying,” Commander Galland instructed after nearly half an hour of practice.

“Which one? They’re saying different things,” Gabriel replied, exasperated.

“Listen to both.”

Gabriel kept silent, his face like stone, not understanding how he could do both.

“There are times when you must loosen your shoulders or square them. Never let your opponent guess your moves. You’re telegraphing your every intention. Stand tall, then go low. Use the movements we’ve taught you, but switch it up. That is how you win. Unpredictability.”

Gabriel grasped the concept. At the academy, he had been training in a single-minded way, letting his anger drive him. His focus had been solely on inflicting as much damage as possible, using powerful, wide swings. Unpredictability; It was why Jonan was so difficult to fight against. He needed the power of Lakan, the strategy of Ryn, and the trickery of Jonan. Only then could he truly be strong.

He reflected on his spar with the commander, considering what he could have done better, how he might have landed a single blow. He needed to change his approach.

“Let’s go again,” Gabriel said, determination etched on his face.

Galland smiled. “I have business to attend to. Olof and Atlas will see to your training.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Gabriel could hear. “Orion, you’re getting stronger, but don’t forget to use that brain of yours.”

“I won’t,” Gabriel replied, standing straight and saluting his commander.

Then the training commenced again, with Olof and Atlas taking turns trying to bring him down. While he lost each bout, he took Galland’s advice to heart. He employed different strategies, trying to read his opponents and surprise them with the unexpected. Though he saw openings, he wasn’t yet strong enough to exploit them fully. Not yet.

However, his efforts bore some fruit. He managed a lucky strike on Atlas with a feint and landed two hits against Olof, who seemed to enjoy the sparring, responding with grunts of approval—or what Gabriel took as approval, at least.

Before long, Gabriel was out of breath, his sword lying on the floor as he knelt on all fours, trying to control his breathing.

“That’s enough for today,” Atlas said.

From the ground, Gabriel wheezed, “I can go all day.”

Olof’s deep laugh followed, a rare sound that made Gabriel smile despite his exhaustion.

Atlas extended a hand to Gabriel, helping him to his feet. "You did well today.”

As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he looked around at the faces of his comrades, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

Gabriel lingered a bit longer with the soldiers, greeting familiar faces and introducing himself to those he didn’t know. He missed the camaraderie of the barracks, the simplicity of those times when he was still oblivious to harsh truths. He recognized that he had changed. The young boy who hated violence and war was gone. His future would be steeped in blood and brotherhood. He was born to be a general; he had fought against it all his life, but now, with newfound clarity, he accepted it. He would embrace what he was meant to be.

Realizing that was enough introspection for the day, Gabriel bid his farewells and made his way back to the academy. Once there, he bathed and encountered only one other boy who was not out exploring the city. Gabriel did long to spend a day with his friends, adventuring through the streets, but he had no time for such luxuries.

He dressed in a freshly cleaned academy uniform and headed to the castle, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him next.

He was greeted by none other than the Spider himself.

"Jacob," Gabriel intoned, his dislike for the man evident.

Jacob looked down at him with his hawkish nose, eyes narrowing as they honed in on Gabriel. Despite the tension, Gabriel returned the Spider's gaze, refusing to back down.

"Follow me, and next time show more respect when you greet me," Jacob commanded.

"Of course, Sir Spider," Gabriel replied, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

Jacob turned with sharp intensity, grabbing Gabriel by the collar and pressing it against his throat. "Careful, lad. A spider can inject enough venom into your blood to kill. It can be slow and painful, making you yearn for death." He bared his teeth, and Gabriel instinctively tried to punch the man’s forearm, but it felt like striking steel. The vice-like grip was unyielding against Gabriel’s flailing.

“Don’t make the mistake of falling into the trap. Whether anyone wills it or not, I will kill you if necessary.”

He released Gabriel, who staggered slightly, trying to straighten his collar and appear unaffected by the sudden violence. Gabriel had miscalculated, thinking this man was merely a whispering schemer. He was a warrior through and through.

Gabriel stared daggers at the man, but Jacob remained unfazed. He was the predator, and a predator cares not for the feelings of its prey.

The man led Gabriel through the halls, and Gabriel noticed some of the maids giving him looks of pity. The Spider opened a door and motioned for Gabriel to enter. Inside, Gabriel saw several shelves filled with books and a small table with chairs on either end.

“I will be back in two hours,” the Spider said.

“What am I doing here?” Gabriel asked, but his only response was the door closing firmly behind him. He let out a breath, regretting his decision to antagonize the man. He needed to conceal his thoughts better; Tunklard would have been disappointed in me.

Gabriel looked around and thought this must be where the princes and princesses studied. The room was more plush and comfortable than most libraries, with subtle carvings etched into the shelves and the desk, giving it an ornamental touch.

He busied himself by perusing the selection of books. Each shelf seemed to focus on a different subject: one dedicated to mathematics, another to history, and several filled with children's tales.

One book in particular piqued his interest: "Tale of an Aged Witch." Gabriel pulled it from the shelf, its worn cover and the ancient binding suggesting it had been read many times before.

Gabriel started flipping through the pages, feeling their crisp edges. He wondered how an aged witch would be portrayed, convinced this was just a bedtime story to scare children before they slept. Should he feel the same fear, thinking of the strange witch and their encounters?

He had only made it to the second page when the click of a door made him turn around. His heart nearly stopped as his eyes met a sight that seemed to pull the breath from his lungs. There, standing in the doorway, was the last person he expected to see.

A man with a shaved head, a scarred and wrinkled visage, and a wide smile with eyes glistening with tears.

Gabriel felt a rush of emotion swell up from deep within him. Time seemed to slow, the room narrowing until all he could see was the figure before him. His throat tightened, and tears began to blur his vision. The book slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo in the silence.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, as if one wrong word or action might shatter the fragile reality of this moment. His lips trembled as he tried to form words, the emotions too raw, too overwhelming.

The tears came freely now, unbidden, and unchecked, streaming down his cheeks as he took a hesitant step forward. The figure remained solid and real, and Gabriel's heart surged with a mix of disbelief and joy. The man he had thought lost forever was here, standing before him. All the weight of everything that had happened seemed to lift, if only for a moment. My mentor. My ally. My friend.

“Tunk…”