A gnarled root snagged Hirua's boot, sending him sprawling into the moss. Grit dusted his vest, but he couldn't stop the warmth that crept up his neck.

Einntyr doubled over, wheezing with laughter, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Even Deynfif seemed amused. These two!

"Worth the fall, eh?" Einntyr managed to choke out, offering him a hand up. "Maybe that fancy sword of yours doubles as a tripping stick!"

He snatched Einntyr’s hand, heat rising in his cheeks like a pot left too long over the fire. "Don't tempt me! I might leave you out for the next muckledeor, see how funny you are then." He glared at Einntyr, but his brother just grinned back, unfazed.

Einntyr clapped him on the shoulder with a force that sent him almost tumbling again. "Nah, you like me too much," his brother's voice loud and annoyingly cheerful. "Besides, who else would keep the world interesting?"

Zevas threw back his head, a high-pitched cackle, like a boiling kettle shrieking in delight, erupting from his throat.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The man had a chest like a barrel of ale, but his laugh…that was something else. Then, as quickly as it began, the laughter died.

The familiar sounds of the forest - the buzz of insects, the traakan's high-pitched questioning trill - vanished. An unsettling silence pressed in around them, thick and heavy like undercooked dough. His smile faded, replaced by a frown that felt as bitter as the dregs of old coffee.

Zevas snapped into a crouch, axe a blur of motion.

His own hand mirrored the move, fire blade whishing as he drew it. Energy radiated in his grip, eager for release. The sweet scent of leaves twisting into something sharp hit his nostrils, the air prickling his skin like a hundred unseen eyes boring into him. Words were choked off, useless. Only the tightening in his chest, the heat of the blade against his palm, felt real.

A guttural snarl tore through the undergrowth, a sound that scraped raw against his nerves, like metal scraping metal. It wasn't the familiar snarl of a predator, but something that clawed at his insides, left a taste like spoiled berries in his mouth. The forest floor rustled, mottled blue fur flashed. Curved fangs, each the size of his forearm, glinted. Liquid flowed around its form, shimmering in the light.

The large beast lunged! Glistening claws aimed for Deynfif’s exposed back! With a roar of defiance, he twisted, meeting the beast's attack with a clash of his fire blade against the beast’s water claws.

He faced the beast head-on. A rush of movement erupted from both sides. His brothers, closing in, a familiar maneuver.

Jagged earth erupted upwards, a geyser of stone and dirt beside him. The impact was solid, yet the earth softened and flowed against its water-slick hide like honey on warm bread. Deynfif exclaimed, “We’ll take care of this, Captain!”

“Water Kleubiast! Be careful, lads.” Zevas boomed.

He lunged, fire blade aimed low – hamstring the beast, that’s the plan. A clang rang in his ears as claws met the worn elemenium of his blade.

Einntyr roared, right hand outstretched like a duelist's blade, "Air Style: Breeze Blade!" The air around Einntyr's fist twisted, a high whistle slicing through the kleubiast's roars. The beast leaped back, narrowly avoiding the attack.

"Right! Hirua, brace! Now!" Deynfif’s voice sliced through the snarls and clashing energies. The earth shuddered beside him, stones flying up around the kleubiast's paws. Was Deynfif trying to trap it?

Sweat slicked his palm, but he pressed the attack. Like fire sprayed with water, he darted in and out. Flames danced along his blade, each strike met water-slick claws, a hiss of steam rising from the clash. He was pushing the beast back, but it was like trying to grip a raw egg yolk. "Can't hold on forever!" he growled, jaw aching. Each parry, each thrust, felt like he was hacking through thick mud. Fire against the advantage of water. Slimy feline!

A claw flashed towards his side, and just as he braced for impact, Einntyr's palm thrust out beside him. "Water Style: Water Wall!" Blue energy churned - a curtain before him. Cold spray whipping across his face as the beast's claws raked against Einntyr’s barrier.

The beast swiped low, elemenium shrieked as he parried. The kleubiast's strength was unnatural, like fighting a mountain that breathed. Fire met water, a hiss cutting through the roar of their struggle. Something felt wrong, the clang of his blade off the claws... different. A crunch, worse than bone against stone. The beast's claws dug in, and then... a jarring shock ran up his arm. His blade, Fifbrith’s gift, burst apart. Shards rained down, useless. Burnt bread. That's what this felt like.

The earth collapsed into a pit beneath the beast. The kleubiast leaped back, a snarl ripping through the air. "The pit! Brothers!" Deynfif yelled, his voice sharp.

"On it!" Einntyr yelled back, drawing the beast's attention; dashing toward the fallen log. With a burst of speed that always surprised him, Einntyr leaped onto the log, sending a thick vine whipping around the beast's legs. The kleubiast stumbled, its balance gone.

Dropping his broken sword, he grabbed the vine, its raised edges biting into his palms, every muscle screaming as he pulled. With a grunt that tasted like iron in his mouth, he yanked the beast further into the pit. It thrashed. Claws scraping against the earth, half its body still exposed. Stubborn beast! He lunged, circling the pit’s edge, the vine whipping through his hands as he bound the thrashing kleubiast. Hurry, Einntyr!

Einntyr charged, a roar escaping his lips. "Spray Stream!" Water blasted like a geyser against the trapped beast, filling the pit.

Deynfif's assault was answered by the feline’s guttural roar, each bellow hammered by the thud of boulder against flesh. The kleubiast, though trapped, still fought with ferocious energy.

He pulled the vine with all his might, a sharp snap echoing as it strained, preventing the beast’s escape. Stay there!

Einntyr shifted, his feet rooted and arms outstretched. "Air and Water Style!" His hands, one, swirled with wind, the other flowing with water, slammed together. The air crackled, the scream of wind blending with the hiss of water, sharp and cold.

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“Blizzard Blast!” Einntyr unleashed the blast. Ice shivs pierced the pit, the water churning, thickening, turning sluggish around the beast. The kleubiast roared, its thrashing becoming weaker, hampered by the growing frost.

Deynfif hurled the boulder, shattering against the creature’s head. The impact shuddered through the ground, as a spray of water and ice erupted from the pit. The kleubiast froze still, then its body dropped with a sickening thud, its head crushed like a rotten melon. The once terrifying monster lay motionless, its reign of terror finally ended.

He swayed, hands shaking, braced against his trembling knees as he picked up his sword. He forced himself upright, the broken sword a heavy weight in his weakened grip. He sucked in air, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. Then a bloodcurdling roar shattered the quiet.

Another kleubiast burst from the shadows, claws glinting, a wave of displaced water surging before it. He didn’t even think – just shoved his brothers back, a strangled shout escaping his lips, and thrust himself forward. The jagged remnants of his blade, useless, but still held high in defiance.

The beast lunged. He was thrown back by the force of the attack. The earth beneath him shifted, cushioning his impact. Deynfif! He tasted the metallic tang of fear - their earlier victory now a bitter mockery.

Then came the axe, a flash of elemenium cleaving the air. The kleubiast shrieked, bisected in a spray of livid fluid. The echo of its death cry faded, replaced by the drip, drip, drip of the creature's essence from the axe. Zevas stood motionless, a mountain of a man, axe held high.

Silence. The only sound was his ragged breaths. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The dripping axe held his gaze, the taste in his mouth acrid, like burnt porridge. He forced his gaze up to Zevas, the unasked question a searing coal in his chest.

As they continued towards Fort Kachwyn, the jagged remnants of his blade glinted in the waning light, the familiar grooves and notches like faded etchings. Useless now. He swallowed; a bitter taste coating his tongue. His fist clenched, fingers digging into his palm. The warmth of Fifbrith's gift, gone cold.

"Not the first broken sword you'll see,” Zevas' words cut through the quiet, coarse as salted fish. “And not the last."

He scoffed, a dry, crackling sound.

"War ain't kind to weapons," Zevas continued, "nor the men who wield 'em." The words, heavy as the broken sword in his hand, lingered.

His fingers tightened around the hilt. The vibrant hum, once as familiar as his own heartbeat, was now a cold whisper against his skin.

Deynfif's voice, smooth as honeyed ginger, sliced through the bitter taste in his mouth. "A blade is but a tool, Hirua," Deynfif placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "a good tool, a treasured one, but still a tool. It's the hand that wields it, the heart that guides it, that truly matters.” His brother’s grip tightened on his shoulder as if to emphasize his point. “Fifbrith's gift wasn't the elemenium, but the bond it forged between you. That bond, that memory, remains unbroken.”

His grip tightened. Not on the shards, but on the memory of Fifbrith's hand clapping his shoulder, his laughter as he'd handed over the sword.

He drew a breath, the tightness in his chest loosening like dough left to rise in the sun. He opened his hand, the shattered pieces falling to the forest floor. Like a half-eaten meal, enjoyed but now gone, the memory of its taste remained. The blade was gone, but the bond it represented, the lessons learned, those were his to keep.

The crunch of dried leaves beneath his boots grew louder as the trees thinned. Gone was the dappled shade, replaced by the waning light of Solus, harsh and accusing. The air hung heavy, not with the sweet decay of the forest, but with a tang like a freshly whetted blade. It smelled of iron and sweat, a scent that raised the hair on the back of his neck and set his heart pounding like a war drum.

A bitter wind howled through the trees, a taste of salt and iron on his tongue. Just a day's travel, yet Eard already felt like a fading dream, the memory of its gentle fields like a half-forgotten song. Below, Fort Kachwyn squatted like a hungry beast, its walls sharp against the encroaching dark. It was a place of stone and wind, a far cry from the gentle fields of Eard. His hand twitched toward the emptiness at his hip, the phantom ache of his broken blade a dull throb.

Zevas stopped, lips splitting into a grin that seemed to spread cracks through his face. His head tipped back and cackled with laughter, a wild sound that bounced off the tall stone walls ahead. "KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! Back at Fort Kachwyn, are we?" The sudden noise sent a flock of small, brown birds exploding upwards from the nearby trees.

Two guards stood at attention before the towering gates. They extended their right arms straight toward Solus’ Tower. They then brought their clenched fists down, thumping their chests with power. The Kreginnian gesture.

"Here we rise, Captain!" A guard with a neatly trimmed beard exclaimed.

“Here we thrive, lad” the captain answered.

Another guard, almost as thin as his spear, shuffled from foot to foot. "Fine recruits, Captain!" his gaze flickering between them like a candle flame in a draft. "Welcome to Fort Kachwyn, lads! The Fort of Beginnings!”

Beginnings? He felt the cool metal of the amulet against his skin as his hand tightened within the pocket. The fort, smelling of pine smoke and iron, felt like a grittier, rawer version of Eard. A new path.

The captain stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing on the stone floor. "Seems you boys haven't lost your spirit," he clapped the guard on the shoulder hard enough to rattle teeth. He gave the fort a once-over, nodding sharply. "Good work, men!"

Zevas turned to him and his brothers, his gaze heavy like a slab of uncooked dough. "Alright, lads," he instructed, the jovial tone gone. He jerked his chin at a soldier who looked like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Gwardus here will show you to your quarters." The captain clapped Gwardus on the back, then fixed them with a steely eye.

"Listen up," the captain’s voice rough as a whetstone. "Your skills were superb out there, even with Hirua wielding a training blade and Deynfif using a working tool without an emission. But this ain't a training exercise. This is war. And in war, you need every advantage you can get."

Zevas jabbed a thick finger at Einntyr. "Your ability is interesting, lad. But using lagrings in combat is a risky dance, like facing a lupine pack with a twig. Remember that."

The captain turned to him, the tension in his eyes eased, the corners crinkling slightly. "And Hirua, you fought like a wildfire, even with a broken blade. Imagine what you could do with a proper weapon."

Zevas clapped his hands together, a sound like a thunderclap. "So get yourselves sorted, then head to the smithy. Get outfitted with weapons that'll even the odds in any confrontation."

The clang of elemeniums, the rhythmic hammering of training, scraped against his raw nerves. A new blade. The thought sent a rush of heat through him, like a mouthful of peppercorn stew. He schooled his features into a scowl, but the corner of his mouth twitched when he caught Einntyr's toothy grin. A scoff escaped his lips, a dry, bitter sound.

"Aye, Captain!" He barked, the Kreginnian gesture a sharp snap of his arm. He could almost taste the tang of fresh elemenium, the thrill of a weapon blazing with his own fire. The broken blade, Fifbrith's gift, had served him well, but it was never meant for real battles. This time, he wouldn't be caught unprepared.

The stone floor beneath his boots seemed to disappear with each step. He flexed his fingers, the memory of a sword hilt burning into his palm. The ache there, a dull throb where his blade had shattered, now pulsed like hot oil spitting on a flame. His lips tightened. He caught Einntyr's eye – the fool was grinning like a sugared plum. He would keep this excitement to himself. No way he'd give Einntyr the satisfaction of teasing him about being so giddy!