The sun barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the barren training grounds. The cool morning air carried a crispness that would soon give way to the usual heat of the day, though here in the fallen Welltide, everything felt a little colder, a little harsher. The ancient trees, long since stripped of their grandeur, loomed over the field like silent sentinels, a constant reminder of the Welltide’s lost glory.

Aleksian stood in formation beside Delrick, the weight of his sword resting heavily in his hand. Around them, the other boys—some nervous, others quietly determined—stood in silence as they awaited the start of their final training. It was strange to think that this was the last time they would be on these grounds as students. After today, they would be seekers, sent out into the world to prove themselves, to discover their own prestige.

"Think Mariya’s still mad at you?" Delrick muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Aleksian to hear.

Aleksian smirked, though he kept his gaze fixed ahead. "I’m not the one who called her part bird. I’d say she’s more likely to hunt you down than me."

Delrick snorted, clearly fighting back laughter. "Aye, maybe I’ll skip the village for a few days. Better to face a horde of enemies than her wrath."

They both stifled their amusement, knowing full well they were on thin ice. But the humor lingered between them, lightening the tension of the day ahead. For all their seriousness and training, they were still boys at heart, and the memory of the previous evening’s mischief was hard to shake.

Just as Delrick was about to respond, a shadow loomed over them. Aleksian didn’t need to look to know who it was. His father’s presence was unmistakable, a weight that settled over him like a cold wind. The man’s voice cut through the air like steel.

"Do you think this is a game?"

Aleksian’s spine stiffened as he turned to face his father. The older man’s stern gaze swept over both boys, his mouth set in a thin line. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, they carried the weight of the expectations he rarely voiced aloud. His broad shoulders, weathered hands, and the hard lines etched into his face told the story of a man who had seen battle, who had lived by the sword.

Delrick quickly straightened up as well, the humor vanishing from his face.

"You two will be seekers soon," Aleksian’s father continued, his voice low but filled with a quiet intensity. "And this—" he gestured to the sword in Aleksian’s hand "—is not a toy. It is an extension of your prestige. Of who you are. Do you understand what lies ahead?"

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Aleksian swallowed, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had always known what was expected of him. His father, a former soldier in the king’s army, had been strict—demanding, even. Every strike, every lesson, had been designed to mold Aleksian into something more. But today felt different. The gravity of what they were about to undertake settled over him like a lead weight.

"Yes, Father," Aleksian replied, his voice steady.

His father’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before shifting to Delrick. "And you? Are you ready?"

Delrick nodded, though he couldn’t hide the nervous flicker in his eyes. "I am."

The older man regarded them both for a long moment, then sighed. "Good. Because out there, no one will care about your jokes or your childhood games. You will be tested. Challenged. And if you fail—" He paused, letting the words hang in the air, their weight unmistakable. "If you fail, there is no second chance. Understand that."

Aleksian glanced at Delrick, who gave him a brief, almost imperceptible nod. They understood. There was no room for error in the life of a seeker. No room for weakness.

But then, something unexpected happened. Aleksian’s father’s stern expression softened—just slightly, almost imperceptibly. His voice, still gruff, took on a different tone, one Aleksian had never heard directed at him.

"But you’re ready," his father said, quieter this time. "Both of you. You’ve trained hard. And you’ve made me—" He hesitated, as if the words were difficult to say. "You’ve made me proud."

Aleksian blinked in surprise, unsure if he’d heard correctly. His father had never been one for praise, never one to offer kind words or encouragement. And yet, here he was, standing before them, giving them exactly that. Delrick looked equally taken aback.

For a moment, there was silence. Aleksian’s father cleared his throat, his demeanor shifting back to the hardened soldier they knew so well.

"Now, enough of that. Let’s see if you remember your forms."

He stepped back, watching as the boys raised their swords. Aleksian’s muscles tensed as he prepared for the familiar motions. Today, they were practicing _Shadow of a Prestige_, the foundational form they had drilled into their muscles for years. It was a style meant to reflect the ideals of prestige without overwhelming it, designed to teach control, discipline, and the basics of combat. The form was essential for survival, but it was not to be relied upon too heavily, lest it cloud one’s true prestige.

Aleksian moved through the forms with precision, his mind focused on every shift of weight, every swing of the blade. But his father’s words echoed in his mind. _Proud._ He’d never thought he’d hear that from him. Not now, not ever. And yet, knowing it, something inside him felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

Delrick, too, moved with a grace that came from years of training. His usual carefree nature had been replaced with a focused intensity, his blade cutting through the air with purpose. For all their jokes, Delrick was every bit as capable as Aleksian, and it showed.

As they finished their final round of forms, Aleksian’s father nodded in approval. "Good. You’re ready. Both of you."

Aleksian and Delrick exchanged a look—equal parts relief and anticipation. They were ready. At least, they hoped they were. The real test would come soon enough.