Ch 14: Bullseye, Blades, and Bravado
The quarters were dim, lit only by the faint glow of a crystalline shard resting in Ayola’s hand. She sat cross-legged on the floor, a clutter of tools and scraps of material scattered in a neat circle around her. Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she adjusted the delicate wires that connected the shard to a makeshift housing of metallic scraps. Every now and then, she would pause, tapping the side of the shard and watching it emit a faint pulse of light.
Soren stirred in the corner, the sound of her light tinkering pulling him from the shallow realm of sleep. He opened one eye groggily, squinting toward Ayola. “What are you doing?” His voice was rough with sleep, carrying a hint of irritation.
Ayola didn’t look up, her focus entirely on the delicate structure in her hands. “Just something I’m working on,” she said vaguely. She adjusted a wire and tapped the shard again. A small spark jumped between the components, and she leaned back, satisfied. “It might be useful later.”
Soren pushed himself upright, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve been at that for a while. What is it?”
Ayola finally glanced at him, her face calm but her eyes sharp. “Just… a transmitter of sorts. Maybe a receiver too. I’m not sure yet.”
He raised an eyebrow, his suspicion evident. “For what?”
She shrugged, her tone casual. “Communication. Information. Maybe both.” Her gaze lingered on the shard for a moment before she placed it carefully into a small pouch at her side.
Soren’s brow furrowed as he watched her handle the shard with such care. She always kept things closer to her chest but this? A transmitter? A receiver? He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Ayola was working on. It was more than just a casual project. Still, he knew better than to pry.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Before Soren could press further, there was a light knock at the door. The sound was hesitant but firm, followed by Makori’s muffled voice. “Ishar says it’s time to get ready.”
Ayola quickly gathered her tools, her movements efficient and practiced. “Looks like we’re being summoned,” she said, standing and brushing off her hands.
Soren rose with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Great. Let’s see what they’ve got planned for us this time.”
As Ayola adjusted the pouch on her belt, she turned to him with a small, knowing smile. “Try not to look too eager. It might scare them.”
Soren snorted, his expression hardening as he followed her to the door. Whatever lay ahead, he knew it wasn’t going to be simple.
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The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy of the village, its light fragmented into soft beams that danced across the wooden platforms and rope bridges. The air was cool and alive with the rustling of leaves and distant birdcalls. Soren and Ayola followed Makori through the treetop paths, the young boy’s light steps contrasting with their heavier, deliberate ones.
Soren’s eyes roved over their surroundings as they walked. The village was intricate, blending seamlessly with the forest. Homes were nestled within the massive trunks of ancient trees, their structures supported by thick, intertwining branches. Rope bridges crisscrossed the expanse, connecting different sections of the village like a web. Pulley systems carried baskets laden with supplies from one platform to another, operated by villagers who moved with quiet efficiency.
“You people really like heights, don’t you?” Soren muttered, as he peered to a young villager balancing on a high bridge, their steps as natural as walking on solid ground.
Makori glanced back, a small smirk playing on his lips. “The higher we are, the safer we are. Besides, it’s easier to defend one direction—down.”
Ayola ran her hand along the railing of one of the platforms, her sharp eyes taking in the construction. “Impressive work. This place must’ve taken generations to build.”
Makori nodded. “It has. The trees grow with us, and we grow with them. It’s why outsiders can’t find us unless we let them.”
The weight of his words hung in the air for a moment. Soren exchanged a glance with Ayola, who seemed intrigued rather than concerned.
As they continued walking, Ayola broke the silence. “What about you, Makori? Were you born here?”
Makori hesitated, his steps faltering slightly before he regained his pace. “Yes,” he said, his tone quiet. “But my parents… they’re not here anymore.”
Ayola softened her voice, careful not to pry too deeply. “I’m sorry.”
Makori kept his gaze forward,his jaw tightening. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault—not anymore. But the memory of that night still haunted him. The screams, the fire, the crushing helplessness. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the path head.
Makori shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “It was a long time ago. We’ve all lost people. The village takes care of its own.”
Soren watched the boy closely, noting the way his jaw tightened and his hands clenched at his sides. He decided not to push further, recognizing the weight of grief even in someone so young.
Makori glanced back at them, his tone shifting as if to lighten the mood. “You’re lucky Ishar trusts you. Most outsiders don’t make it this far.”
“Trust might be a strong word,” Soren said dryly.
Makori chuckled. “Maybe. But he respects strength. Prove you can pull your weight, and you’ll earn it.”
Ayola tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And what about you? Where do you stand on us?”
Makori paused mid-step, turning to face them with an almost mischievous smile. “You saved me. That’s enough for me.”
Ayola allowed herself the faintest smile. ‘Trust doesn’t come easy in places like this—not with stakes this high. But if Makori, who has every reason to doubt outsiders, could see our worth, maybe we aren’t entirely on their own here.’
He gestured ahead. “We’re here.”
The training grounds opened before them, a wide circular arena nestled at the base of several towering trees. Platforms and lookout posts dotted the canopy above, providing strategic vantage points. The ground was covered in soft moss and loose dirt, creating a natural but controlled environment.
The rest of the group was already there, standing near Ishar and Daelin. Taren leaned against a tree, his expression pained but resolute, while Elda and Vyn appeared tense. Ren and Varis stood off to the side, their eyes scanning the area with quiet curiosity.
Makori stepped aside, gesturing for Soren and Ayola to join the group. “Good luck,” he said, his voice light but sincere.
As the two approached, Soren noticed Taren straighten and bow slightly, his ribs clearly aching with the effort. “I owe you an apology,” Taren began, his voice steady despite the pain. “For the choices my team made. I take responsibility for what happened.”
Soren studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod, his voice even. “Let’s focus on what’s ahead.”
Ayola stepped forward, her tone softer. “What’s done is done. Let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The tension eased slightly as Ishar stepped forward, his commanding presence drawing everyone’s attention. “This trial will show us what you’re capable of,” he announced, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Prove yourselves here, and you will earn our trust.”
Daelin glanced over at Soren and Ayola. “And if they fail?”
“They won’t,” Ishar said firmly, cutting him off. His tone left no room for argument.
As the group prepared for the trial, Soren exchanged a glance with Ayola. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “this should be interesting.”
Ayola’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Let’s hope they know what they’re doing.”
The hunting arena bustled with quiet activity as the group stood in a loose formation, the morning light filtering through the dense canopy above. Soren’s eyes scanned the arena, noting the makeshift platforms, ropes, and scattered foliage designed to mimic natural terrain. A few villagers watched from the edges, their painted faces expressionless.
Ishar stepped forward, his presence commanding as he addressed the gathered group. Beside him, Daelin loomed, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Several other warriors stood at attention, their weapons gleaming faintly in the light.
“This is not just a trial to test your skills,” Ishar began, his deep voice cutting through the morning air. “It is a trial to determine if you are capable of aiding us in what lies ahead. Our people—our kin—have been taken by mercenaries. We intend to rescue them. But we will not waste our efforts or resources on those who cannot carry their weight.”
His amber eyes swept over the group, lingering on each of them in turn. Elda’s jaw tightened, and Vyn shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Taren, though still visibly in pain, straightened as best he could.
“You will prove today,” Ishar continued, “whether you can repay your debt through labor or other means. If you cannot meet our standards, you will not leave this village.”
Daelin snorted quietly, his skepticism clear. “We shouldn’t be wasting time testing outsiders. They’re liabilities, not allies.”
Ishar’s head snapped to Daelin, sharp as a blade. “They saved one of ours. That earns them the chance to prove their worth.”
Daelin’s lips thinned, but he said nothing more.
Ishar turned back to the group. “The trial will consist of individual and group challenges. You will face our warriors and scenarios designed to test your combat, tracking, and teamwork skills. Be warned: we will not go easy on you.”
A ripple of tension passed through the group. Ren, standing off to the side with Varis, looked uncertain but determined. Elda’s face was set in a mask of focus, while Vyn fiddled nervously with the string of his bow. Soren and Ayola stood slightly apart, observing the scene with unreadable expressions.
“You two,” Daelin said suddenly, his gaze fixed on Soren and Ayola. “Why aren’t they participating?”
Ishar’s tone was clipped. “They will observe for now. Their inclusion will depend on what we see today.”
Daelin’s scowl deepened. “That’s convenient.”
Makori, standing nearby, piped up unexpectedly. “They saved me. Isn’t that enough? They didn’t have to.”
Daelin’s stare flicked to the boy, his expression softening slightly. “That doesn’t mean they can handle what’s coming.”
“Enough,” Ishar said firmly, silencing the argument. “The trial begins now.”
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The first challenge was a series of one-on-one duels. A wide circle was cleared in the arena, and villagers with spears and wooden swords stepped forward, their stances calm but ready.
Elda was the first to step into the ring, her steps measured but confident. Her opponent, a lean warrior with quick reflexes, wasted no time in launching an attack, a series of sharp strikes meant to overwhelm her immediately. Elda’s daggers flashed as she deflected the blows with minimal movement, her body coiling and twisting like a spring under pressure.
‘Stay calm, stay sharp,’ she reminded herself, her breath steady as her opponent pressed the assault. It wasn’t about overpowering him—it never was. Her strength was in her speed, her ability to anticipate and outmaneuver.
The warrior lunged forward with a high strike aimed at her shoulder, but Elda sidestepped, her footwork clean and deliberate. She pivoted behind him, her dagger slicing through the air to tap against the back of his neck—not hard enough to harm, but enough to send a clear message.
The onlookers murmured, a ripple of interest spreading through the crowd, but Elda barely registered it. She was already moving, her focus locked on her opponent as he spun to retaliate. This time, he came at her with a low sweep, trying to trip her up. Elda leapt over the attack, her movements fluid and precise, and retaliated with a feint that sent him stumbling back.
Her opponent’s expression shifted from calm confidence to frustration. He adjusted his grip, coming at her with a heavier strike meant to force her onto the defensive. But Elda didn’t retreat—she stepped into his space, catching his wrist with one hand while her other dagger flicked toward his blade. With a twist of her arm, she disarmed him, sending the weapon clattering to the ground.
Before he could react, Elda’s dagger was at his throat, the blade stopping just shy of his skin. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of steel in it. “Yield.”
The warrior hesitated, then raised his hands in surrender. The crowd erupted into murmurs of approval, a few even breaking into applause. Elda stepped back, lowering her blade but keeping her eyes on her opponent until she was sure he wouldn’t try anything further.
As she turned to leave the ring, Elda caught a glimpse of Daelin’s expression—tight-lipped and skeptical, but there was a flicker of acknowledgement in his eyes. She didn’t care if he approved. Her focus was on her team and proving that they weren’t as weak as he clearly believed.
‘Not bad,’ she thought to herself as she stepped back into formation, her heart still pounding from the fight. But her calm expression gave nothing away. She had made her point—and that was enough.
Daelin crossed his arms, his expression stony. ‘Fast, precise, capable—but she is still just an outsider.’ Outsiders always come with a cost. ‘Still, there’s no denying she has skill. If only that were enough’
Vyn followed, his bow in hand. His trial was different: targets were set up around the arena, some stationary and others swinging from ropes. As the trial began, he moved with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the setup with sharp precision. The first arrow flew, hitting a bullseye on a stationary target with a sharp thunk. Without pausing, he adjusted his aim to a swinging target, loosing another arrow that struck the center even as the target reached its highest arc.
The murmurs of approval from the crowd grew louder when he nocked three arrows at once. With a single release, the projectiles scattered, each one striking a different target with deadly accuracy. One arrow even curved mid-flight, bending around an obstacle to strike a bullseye hidden behind a tree.
As the trial intensified, hidden mechanisms triggered traps designed to challenge his reflexes. A rope snapped above him, releasing a weighted branch that swung toward his head.
A rope snapped above him, releasing a weighted branch that swung toward his head. ‘Stay light. Stay focused.’ Vyn’s mind was a sharp, deliberate rhythm as his body moved instinctively. ‘Don’t let the noise get to you.’ He twisted away from the branch, already nocking another arrow. The air around him was chaotic, but his focus narrowed. ‘Aim small, miss small’. The mantra had guided him through countless hunts, and today, it guided him here.Vyn twisted mid-step, his body bending like a reed in the wind. Even as he dodged, he managed to nock another arrow, releasing it with a sharp twist of his wrist. The arrow arced perfectly, striking a high-swinging target.
The next sequence came faster: a rolling log, obscured targets, and even collapsing foliage meant to obscure his vision. Vyn darted to the side, his feet never breaking rhythm, his arrows flying in quick succession. Each shot hit its mark, the sound of wood splintering echoing through the arena.
By the end of his trial, the targets were destroyed or marked with precise bullseyes. Vyn stood in the clearing, his breath steady and his bow still drawn. He lowered it slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the remaining targets to confirm there were none left. The clearing was silent for a moment before a smattering of cheers erupted from the onlookers.
Makori learned forward slightly, his eyes tracking the arrow’s flight. ‘How did he do that’ The boy hadn’t expected much from the group initially, but moments like this chipped away at his doubts. Maybe Ishar had been right to give them a chance.
Taren stepped forward last, his face pale but resolute. Despite his injuries, he faced his opponent—a broad-shouldered warrior wielding a heavy staff—with determination. He managed to hold his own for a time, using his shield to deflect blows, but a particularly sharp strike to his side made him stumble.
Pain lanced through Taren’s side as he staggered back, barely keeping his shield raised.This is pathetic. A real leader shouldn’t be struggling like this—not after what he’d done. If he couldn’t pull his weight here, how could he ever hope to make it right? His grip tightened on his shield, and he forced himself to stand taller. He wasn’t giving up—not now.
The match was stopped before further damage could be done.
As the individual challenges concluded, Daelin’s skepticism remained etched on his face, though even he couldn’t entirely dismiss their efforts.
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The group was now tasked with working together to track and subdue a live, non-lethal target released into the arena. A large hare, its fur streaked with dye to make it visible, darted into the underbrush as the trial began.
Elda took charge, her sharp eyes scanning the ground for tracks. Vyn moved ahead, his bow ready as he signaled silently to the others. Taren brought up the rear, his shield held protectively, while Ren and Varis provided support.
They moved as a unit, their progress slow but steady. The hare’s tracks led them through dense foliage, and Vyn’s keen sight kept them on course. When the hare darted into a narrow clearing, Vyn nocked an arrow, ready to fire.
Before he could release, a sharp whistle echoed through the arena.
Warriors emerged from the trees, their weapons drawn.
Daelin’s voice rang out, smug and commanding. “Let’s see how well they handle a real challenge.”
The ambush came swiftly, the warriors movements coordinated and precise. Elda, Taren, and Vyn formed the defensive triangle, their synergy honed but strained by the absence of Ren and Varis. The village warriors struck with deliberate force, their weapons, and to disable rather than to kill still, the velocity of the attack no doubt this was a true test of skill and resolve.
Taren, though injured, held his ground. Shield met with each thrust with sharp calculated movements, his experience compensating for his weakened state. When the Warriors overextended on a strike, Taren expertly parried, using the momentum to shove the attack back with enough force to send them staggering. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his side, he gritted his teeth and maintained his stance.
Elda moved in tandem with Taren, her daggers flashing as she defected a flurry of strikes. Her footwork was agile, her focus unyielding as she worked to protect Vyn, who was repositioning himself for a better shot.
“On your left!” She shouted, dashing forward to intercept another warrior. The clash of blades echoed through the clearing.
Vyn adjusted his stance, the sand compacted arrow nocked and ready. The weight projectile wasn’t lethal, but its force could knock a fully grown warrior off balance. He aimed and released. The arrow struck at target and his shoulder, the impact staggering the warrior and leaving them vulnerable for a follow up strike from Elda
But the attackers weren’t relenting. They coordinated assault began to push the trio back, the Warriors exploiting every gap in their defense.
“Vyn, move!” Ayola’s voice pierced through the chaos as she darted forward, yanking Vyn back just as another spear jabbed into the space he had occupied moments earlier.
“Switch positions, now!”
Vyn stumbled but quickly recovered, moving into a safer angle. The white haired tactician scanned the battlefield, calculating distances and opportunities. She didn’t engage directly, but her presence brought a moment of clarity to the embattled trio.
Despite their best efforts, the warriors were closing in the overwhelming numbers and began to tilt the balance against them.
From above, Soren descended into the fray, the faint of his chain the only warning. He swung down with fluid grace, landing silently in the center of the clearing. His escrima sticks were already in hand, his eyes swept over the scene, assessing the situation in an instant.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the path of the nearest attacker. The warrior lunged, thrusting their spear towards his chest, but Soren sidestepped with ease. His hand shot out, gripping the shaft of the spear just below the blade. With a fluid twist of his wrist, he wrenched the weapon free. The attacker, unwilling to let go, instinctively spun with spears momentum but lost their footing, collapsing to the ground. Before they could recover, Soren delivered a controlled strike to the back of their knee with his escrima stick, leaving them disarmed and incapacitated but unharmed.
Another warrior charged at him, their staff swinging in a wide arc. Soren ducked low, the staff passing harmlessly over his head. Using his chain, he snared the weapon mid swing and yanked it free from the warrior's grasp. The staff spun in the air before Soren caught it and planted it firmly in the ground with a deliberate motion.
The attackers faulted, their confidence visibly shaken. The foreigners movements weren’t just efficient—they were precise, calculated, and entirely in control.
Elda, mid-parry against her own opponent, found herself frozen for a fleeting moment. She had seen skilled fighters before—leaders, even—but Soren moved like a force of nature. Each motion was deliberate, almost artful, his control a stark contrast to the chaotic battle unfolding around him. She barely ducked another strike in time, her breath hitching as she tried to refocus. ‘This… this isn’t just training for him. This is something else.’
Taren, momentarily free of attackers, turned to watch, his shield lowered slightly. He had seen skilled fighters before, but the fluidity of Soren’s movements was something else entirely. Even Makori, perched on the platform above, stared wide-eyed, his grip on the railing tightening as he watched Soren dismantle the warriors with minimal effort.
Two attackers rushed Soren simultaneously. He stepped forward to meet them, his body became a blur. One escrima stick struck the wrist of the first warrior, forcing them to drop their weapon. Without pausing, Soren used his chain to catch the ankle of the second attacker, pulling them off balance. Both warriors hit the ground in quick succession, stunned but uninjured.
The final attacker, a more experienced warrior advanced with measured steps, their spear held at the ready. They locked eyes with each other. The warrior lunged but Soren stepped into the attack guiding the spear away with a deft twist of his escrima stick. His other hand struck the warrior’s shoulder with controlled force, disarming them in a single, fluid motion.
The clearing fell silent, the ambushes subdued and the trio catching their breath.
Soren stood amidst the fallen weapons, his escrima sticks still in his hands. His gaze swept over the subdued warriors before turning to Taren, Elda, and Vyn.
“Are you three alright?” He asked, his tone calmed but edged with a hint of concern.
Taren nodded, his breath labored but steady. “We’re fine. Thanks to you.”
Makori descended from the platform, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with wonder. “It was like…you weren’t even trying.”
Soren turned to him, his expression softening. “It’s not about trying. It’s about control.”
Before anyone could respond, Ishar’s voice boomed over the platform.
“Daelin! Explain yourself.”
The warriors stepped aside, revealing Daelin at the edge of the clearing, his expression unapologetic. “We needed to see how they’d handle a real threat,” he stated, his tone firm.
“This was not your call,” Ishar snapped, his frustration evident.
“You jeopardize the integrity of this trial.”
Daelin bristled but said nothing.
The air was thick with tension as the group began to regroup after the ambush. Soren stood amidst the subdued warriors, his escrima sticks still in his hands, his sharp gaze fixed on Daelin. Ayola adjusted her gloves, her eyes scanning the arena and narrowing on Daelin, who looked entirely unapologetic.
“If you wanted to see what we were capable of,” Ayola said evenly, her voice carrying through the clearing, “you could have asked for a one-on-one instead of staging an ambush.”
Daelin’s scowl deepened. “And what would that prove? You’re outsiders. You’ve done nothing to earn our trust.”
Ayola stepped forward, her posture relaxed but deliberate. “Then let me show you.”
The villagers exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through the crowd. Daelin crossed his arms, his smirk returning. “You think you can take me?”
Ayola tilted her head, her expression calm. “Isn’t that the point of this? To see what we’re capable of? Or are you afraid?”
Daelin’s pride flared, and he stepped into the center of the arena. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The air around the sparring circle was electric with tension. Daelin stepped into the center, his spear spinning fluidly in his hands, the light catching on its polished wood and glinting steel tip. He exuded confidence, his movements those of a seasoned warrior. Ayola, unarmed and calm, stood opposite him. Her stance was loose, almost casual, but her sharp eyes missed nothing.
“Let’s see if you’re as clever as you seem,” Daelin said, his voice low but carrying a note of challenge.
Ayola tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips curving into a faint smile. “Cleverness will have to do since I’m clearly outmatched in brute strength.”
Daelin wasted no time. He lunged forward with a sharp thrust, aiming straight for Ayola’s midsection. She shifted her weight at the last moment, the spear missing her by inches as she twisted her body in a serpentine motion. Her movements were so fluid it seemed almost effortless, like water flowing around a rock.
Daelin adjusted instantly, using the momentum of the missed thrust to swing the spear in a broad arc. Ayola dropped low, her body folding into a crouch as the spear swept above her. As the weapon passed, she sprang upward, delivering a sharp kick aimed at Daelin’s midsection. He blocked it with the shaft of his spear, but the force pushed him back a step.
The crowd murmured in surprise.
Daelin’s expression hardened, and he spun the spear in a blur of motion, transitioning seamlessly into another attack. This time, he jabbed in quick, precise bursts, forcing Ayola to dodge repeatedly. Her movements were a dance of evasion—each step, twist, and lean calculated to avoid the strikes by the narrowest margins.
Suddenly, Daelin feinted a jab, only to whip the spear around in a powerful arc aimed at Ayola’s legs. She leapt into a backflip, the spear grazing the air beneath her feet. Before she landed, Daelin planted the butt of the spear into the ground and pushed off it, lifting himself into a vertical flagpole position. His body hovered sideways for a brief moment before he used the momentum to flip backward, bringing the spear down with crushing force.
Ayola barely rolled out of the way as the spear struck the ground with a resounding thud, leaving a dent in the earth. She sprang to her feet, her eyes locking with Daelin’s for a moment, both of them breathing harder now. The fight had turned into more than just a test—it was a contest of wit and adaptability.
“Not bad,” Daelin admitted, his voice tight but respectful.
“You’re not bad yourself,” Ayola replied, her tone light but her gaze intense.
Daelin moved first, lunging forward with a series of rapid thrusts that seemed almost impossible to follow. Ayola twisted and bent her body in ways that defied logic, ducking under one strike and leaning away from another, her movements more akin to a gymnast than a fighter. The crowd gasped as she narrowly avoided the tip of the spear, her body bending backward in a perfect arc before snapping upright again.
Seeing an opening, Ayola darted forward, her hand snapping out to grab the spear shaft. She twisted her body, using her momentum to try and disarm him, but Daelin countered by shifting his grip and pulling the weapon free. He swept the spear around again, and Ayola used the moment to deliver a disarming kick. Her foot connected with the shaft of the spear, sending it spinning from his hands and embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree.
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs.
Daelin didn’t falter. Weaponless but undeterred, he closed the distance between them with surprising speed. Ayola braced herself, her stance shifting to accommodate the shift to hand-to-hand combat. The two engaged in a flurry of attacks and counters, their movements a blur of precision and agility.
Daelin’s strikes were powerful and disciplined, his fists and knees aiming for Ayola’s vulnerable spots. Ayola countered with speed and finesse, weaving between his attacks like a shadow. She used the terrain to her advantage, kicking off a low-hanging branch to gain height and deliver a spinning kick aimed at his shoulder. Daelin sidestepped at the last moment, his reflexes saving him from what would have been a decisive blow.
They locked eyes again, their breathing heavy but their focus unbroken. This time, it was Ayola who struck first, feinting a high kick before pivoting low, sweeping her leg toward Daelin’s knees. He jumped to avoid the sweep, using the momentum to grab a nearby branch and swing himself upward. Ayola didn’t hesitate. She leapt after him, grabbing the same branch and twisting around it to deliver a kick aimed at his torso.
Daelin dropped from the branch, landing lightly on his feet and catching Ayola’s descending kick with both hands. He pushed her back, and they stood apart once more, their movements slowing as they reassessed each other.
The silence in the circle was palpable.
Finally, Daelin charged, aiming to tackle Ayola to the ground. She sidestepped gracefully, twisting her body and using his momentum against him. As he stumbled forward, Ayola planted a foot against his back, sending him sprawling into the dirt. She moved swiftly, retrieving the spear from the tree and holding it at his throat, her expression calm but victorious.
The crowd fell silent.
“Enough,” Ishar said, his voice cutting through the tension.
Ayola stepped back, lowering the spear and offering a hand to Daelin. He hesitated for a moment before accepting it, pulling himself to his feet.
“You’re better than I expected,” Daelin admitted, his tone begrudging but sincere.
Ayola smiled faintly. “And you’re just as skilled as you seem.”
Ishar stepped forward, his gaze moving between the two. “This trial isn’t about defeating one another. It’s about understanding each other’s capabilities. You’ve both proven yourselves.”
Ayola stepped back, lowering the rod. Daelin’s jaw tightened as he retrieved his spear, glaring at her but saying nothing.
“Are we done testing yet?” Ayola asked, her tone neutral but cutting.
The Chief finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Enough.”
He descended from the platform, his presence commanding as he approached the center of the arena. His gaze moved between Daelin and Ayola before settling on the group as a whole.
“This trial has proven much—not just about your skills, but about where we stand as a village,” he said. His eyes flicked briefly to Daelin, who looked away. “You have shown potential. Whether that will be enough remains to be seen.”
He turned to Ishar. “Prepare the mission. Gather those who will go. We leave nothing to chance.”
Ayola glanced at Soren, who gave her a faint nod of approval.
The group dispersed, each member moving with purpose. Soren adjusted the strap of his katana, his focus lingering on the treetops. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. They were a fractured team, bound together more by circumstance than trust. But they were a fractured team, bound together more by circumstance than trust. But they’d made it this far. If they could hold together, if they could trust each other just a little longer, maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.
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The trial had ended, but the tension lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break. The group, both villagers and outsiders, stood in an uneasy silence as the Chief motioned for everyone to gather near the edge of the arena. Soren and Ayola exchanged a brief glance, each silently gauging the reactions of those around them.
Ishar stepped forward, his tone firm but calm. “This trial was not just a test of strength or skill. It was a measure of trust and understanding. We’ve seen what you’re capable of.” He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. “But we must decide who is ready to leave this village and who will stay to defend it.”
Daelin, still bristling from his sparring loss, crossed his arms but said nothing. His posture was stiff, his frustration barely concealed.
The Chief stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the murmurs. “You came here seeking refuge, but now, the time has come to repay what has been given. We must take back what was stolen—our people.”
A ripple of unease passed through the group. Elda shifted slightly, her brows furrowed. “You’re talking about the mercenaries?”
“Yes,” the Chief confirmed. “We’ve confirmed their camp lies west of here, deep in the woods. They have taken villagers—my people—and they will not stop until they’ve taken everything. This mission is not about vengeance but survival.”
Ayola tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “And who’s going on this mission?”
Before anyone could answer, Ayola stepped forward, her voice calm but pointed. “Elda, Vyn, and Taren should stay behind.”
Elda blinked, clearly taken aback. “What? We just proved ourselves.”
Ayola’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yes, but the village needs defenders. Taren is still recovering, and Vyn’s hunting skills will be invaluable here. Elda… you’re a leader. If this village is attacked, they’ll need someone to coordinate their defense.”
Elda’s hand balled into fist, her frustration evident. “We’re not invalids. You don’t get to decide this. We can still go and fight.”
Taren nodded, his tone firm despite the tremor in his voice. “I’ve fought through worse injuries before. You think just because you’ve been here for a few days you know better?”
Ayola narrowed her eyes, her usually calm demeanor shifting into something harsh, more commanding. She stepped forward, her voice clear and cutting.
“You’re right,” her tone was icy, but firm. “You don’t have to take orders from me. But I’m not asking. Im a dual class mercenary—combat scout and strategist. I’ve led more missions than I can count, and until this is over, I’m taking command. That’s not a request. It’s reality.”
The weight of her words lingered, her authority unmistakable.
“Your job is to keep this village safe,” she continued, her tone softening slightly but remaining resolute. “Ours is to bring back your teammates. The best leaders know when to stay and defend what matters most. Don’t let your pride blind you to that.”
Taren’s expression darkened, guilt flashing across his face. “You think I can’t pull my weight.”
Soren spoke up, his tone firm but neutral. “No. She’s saying you’re more valuable here. This isn’t about pride—it’s about strategy.”
Vyn shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against the bow in his hand. ‘They should’ve left us behind after what happened.’ But they hadn’t—not Soren, not Ayola. And now, here she was, putting her trust in him to defend the village. He wasn’t sure he deserved it but he wasn’t going to let them down.
Vyn’s eyes flickered between Soren and Ayola, his bow still loosely clutched in his hand. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect you to step in,” he said haltingly, his voice quieter than usual. “Not after everything.”
He swelled hard, then continued, addressing Soren. “Thank you… both of you. You didn’t have to, and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn't.”
Soren glanced at Vyn, his face unreadable but his tone surprisingly calm. “We’re still in this together, whether I like it or not.”
“Survival comes first. Save the guilt for later. You have work to do here.” Ayola stated her tone softening just a touch.
Daelin scoffed. “And what makes you think you’re more suited for this mission? You’re outsiders.”
Ayola’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re the one who thought an ambush during a test was a good idea. I’m sure you’d love to risk more lives proving a point.”
Daelin’s fists clenched, but the Chief raised a hand to silence him. “Enough.”
Before the conversation could continue, Makori stepped forward. His small frame seemed to grow as he squared his shoulders, his voice steady. “I’m going.”
The announcement stunned the group. Ishar’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not.”
Makori didn’t flinch. “I’m the only one who knows where the camp is. I was there—I can lead you to it.”
Soren crouched slightly to meet Makori’s gaze, his expression serious. “You just got back. Are you sure about this?”
Makori nodded, his determination clear. “If it means saving my people, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Ishar’s expressioned hardened as he turned to the Chief. “If Makori is going. I’ll lead the group. I won't let him face that camp again without protection.” His tone was final, leaving no room for argument.
The Chief nodded slowly. “Very well. You will lead this mission, Ishtar.”
Ayola, standing nearby, crossed her arms and raised a brow. “And I’ll be your second.”
Daelin’s head snapped towards her.
“You can’t be serious.”
Ayola didn’t flinch. “I’m not asking for your opinion. I’ve already proven I can handle myself—and I don’t need anyone questing me in the field.”
The Chief held up a hand again to quell Daelin’s rising frustration. “Ayola will serve as the vice leader under Ishar. The rest of you will follow their orders.”
Daelin gritted his teeth but didn’t argue further. The Chief turned his gaze to him. “You will remain here, Daelin. The village needs capable defenders in case of an attack.”
Daelin clenched his fist, his jaw tightening as the Chief’s words sank in. He was a fighter, not a guard dog. But the village came first—that had always been the rule. And if staying here was what it took to protect his people, then he’d do it. Even if it burned.
Daelin’s fist unclenched slightly, though his displeasure was clear. “Understood.”
The Chief considered Makori for a long moment before speaking. “If Makori believes he is ready, then I will not stop him. But understand this, boy: you do not take unnecessary risks.”
Makori nodded again, his jaw set.
The Chief turned to the rest of the group. “You leave in one hour. Prepare yourselves. Those who remain will fortify the village. Do not fail.”
The group dispersed, each member moving with purpose. Soren and Ayola exchanged a glance before heading to their quarters to gather their gear. Taren, Elda, and Vyn lingered near the edge of the arena, their expressions a mix of frustration and resignation.
Elda finally broke the silence. “This isn’t over. If they need us, we’ll be ready.”
Vyn nodded, his hand tightening on his bow. “We’ll hold the line here.”
----------------------------------------
The village stirred with life as the group prepared to leave. The sun hung high above the treetops, casting dappled light across the platforms and rope bridges. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint hum of activity from villagers who moved with purpose.
Soren stood at the edge of the village, his katana sheathed but his hand resting lightly on the hilt. ‘This isn’t over—not by a long shot. But we made it this far. If we can just hold it’ Ayola was beside him, her expression distant as she stared into the dense woods ahead. Behind them, Makori adjusted his pack nervously, his gaze darting between the two of them.
“You ever get the feeling you’re walking into something bigger than yourself?” Ayola asked quietly, her voice almost lost in the ambient sounds of the forest.
Soren’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the proximity. “Every day,” he muttered.
Makori shifted uneasily. “We’ll get them back, right?”
Ayola turned, her gaze softening as she looked at the boy. “We’ll try. That’s all we can do.”
A rustling sound behind them drew their attention. Ishar stepped into view, his movements as fluid and purposeful as ever. “It’s time,” he said simply.
Soren nodded, his grip tightening on his blade. Ayola adjusted her satchel, the faint glow of her crystal device barely visible through the fabric. The three of them exchanged a brief glance before stepping forward.
The forest loomed ahead, its shadows stretching like fingers under the bright afternoon sun. As they began their descent into the wilderness, the village behind them faded from view, its sounds swallowed by the ambient hum of the forest.
As the group disappeared into the dense undergrowth, the forest seemed to close around them, its shadows stretching like long fingers under the fading light. High above, the treetop village stood silent, its platforms suspended among the massive branches. The warm, golden light of the sun had given way to an otherworldly glow.
Standing on one of the highest platforms, the Chief watched their path vanish into the wilderness. His gaze lingered on the swaying foliage where the group had disappeared. The quiet around him felt heavier now, the weight of his decision pressing against his thoughts. For a moment, he seemed like a sentinel of the forest itself, rooted in place, but his hands gripped the wooden railing tightly, betraying the tension he kept hidden from his people.
“They carry more than they know,” he murmured, his voice a mix of hope and foreboding.
Behind him, Daelin joined him on the platform. “Do you think they’ll succeed?”
The Chief didn’t answer immediately. His focus lingered on the horizon, where the last rays of sunlight vanished into darkness. Finally, he said, “They have to. Or none of us will.”