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Shael pressed forward for the next assault, but I had relinquished all restraint. Swiftly evading her incoming swing, I countered with a bold twirl. Anticipating a defensive stance, Shael was caught off guard as I maintained a reversed grip on my weapon, delivering a swift strike to her mouth with the pommel. Stumbling backward, blood filled her mouth, and we were poised for another round, driven by the escalating intensity of our confrontation.

However, our impending clash was abruptly halted by the authoritative voice of the lieutenant. "That's enough!" he commanded.

Reluctantly, we were relegated to join the ranks of recruits who had already faced their trials. Shael's head hung low, blood dripping from her injured mouth. Despite the visceral curiosity about her thoughts, my immediate concern shifted to my condition. The searing pain in my arms and the throbbing ache in my face demanded attention, eclipsing any contemplation of Shael's internal turmoil.

Our peers observed us with a mix of amazement and curiosity. Shael, in particular, wore a sinister smile as she sauntered confidently towards them. Suddenly, the priest's voice pierced the air, shouting, "Why are you coming here? Go and see a healer!"

I willingly followed, escorted by the knight who had stood by Shael's side outside the training yard. Upon entering the infirmary, Shael underwent a thorough examination by the healer.

"It seems your gums have been cut, and your lip has also been scarred," the doctor remarked, peering into her mouth with intense scrutiny.

Indicating a chair opposite Shael, he gestured for me to sit. As he dabbed at my scar, I winced slightly at the sensation. "Wait here; I'm going to get a healing scroll, but be warned, the scar is not going to disappear," he cautioned, glancing at both Shael and me.

I nodded, my eyes still fixed on Shael. Now alone, I seized the opportunity to get some answers from her. She crossed her arms, avoiding eye contact with me. "What happened in there?" I inquired, my annoyance palpable. Unwilling to meet my gaze, she stared blankly at the medicine cabinet.

Growing increasingly frustrated, I took hold of both her arms and pulled her close until our noses were inches apart. Although forceful, I needed answers. She looked at me with surprise as I whispered, "Shael, if anything happened in those couple of days, tell me."

She forcefully pushed me away, exclaiming, "What are you, a dog?" Rising from her seat, she seemed irritated. "Why are you avoiding it? Just tell me!" I retorted.

Puzzled, she looked at me, as if expecting me to know something. "You know, Zarek, I thought you would've handled this better, but you're just whining. Aren't you supposed to be a knight?" She sighed in exasperation.

My frustration mounted. "How am I supposed to react when you just tried to murder me inside the arena?"

Resuming her seat, she leaned forward and clasped her hands. "Listen, Zarek. I am an elf, a female elf at that. These knights don't take me seriously. What better way to prove my worth than by besting one of you, the son of Engar, no less? I know it might seem deceptive, but if I put my mind to something, I have to do it, and fighting you was unfortunately the best way to do so."

I was left speechless, the anger subsiding as I grappled with a mix of admiration for her strength and a desire to salvage our newfound friendship.

"Zarek," she whispered, "If you want nothing to do with me after what I just told you, I understand-"

"Listen! You did what you needed to do. That other stuff is trivial. I wouldn't be a good person if your unique path to success stopped us from being together!" I may have sounded desperate, but I didn't care.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Together?" she exclaimed.

Struggling to find the right words, I stammered, "Uh, not like together—friends, I mean."

She stared at me, and unexpectedly, a smile crept across her face. "You're a weird one, aren't you?" She burst into laughter.

My face turned flush; I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.

The healer's unexpected entrance drew surprise from both Shael and me. "Seems like you two are having fun," he remarked, scrolls tucked under his arm. Placing one on a table, he unfurled it and, with an unknown incantation, healed Shael's injuries effortlessly. Following suit, he attended to my wounds, though, as promised, the scars remained.

We proceeded to the arena, passing a group of knights whose conversation quieted as Shael and I approached. The knight with disheveled black hair and formidable armor, devoid of a weapon, intercepted our path. His deep voice cut through the silence, "I heard you two fought like demons."

Exchanging a glance, Shael and I met his scrutiny. "I guess so," I replied, absentmindedly rubbing my scarred cheek.

A sly smirk played on his face as he nodded approvingly, "Make sure you two pass; we need all the help we can get."

Before I could respond, Shael asserted confidently, "We'll pass for sure."

The knight permitted us to continue without further confrontation. Silently making our way to the arena, the tension between us lifted. As we reached the blacksmith's shop, Shael broke the silence.

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"Sorry about your face," she apologized.

"It's nothing. I got your face too, so we're even," I replied.

She gasped and playfully slapped my arm. Grateful for the break in tension, we continued to the arena, where Commander Kalodor awaited, his stern gaze fixed upon us.

"You two, join the line!" he commanded, his deep and rough voice echoing through the air.

Without hesitation, we complied. Kalodor paced in front of the recruits, his furrowed brows betraying his anger. Suddenly, he halted, pointing his foot towards us and turning to face us with a resounding clack of his boots.

Covering his face, he muttered, "This is what our order has come to, a bunch of fools who can't even hold a sword properly, and fools who let anger blind their judgment. Some of you miserably failed this ceremony, so let me say this: those who passed will further their training, and those who failed will continue to be a waste of our resources."

Klayden's chuckle drew Kalodor's attention, and he confronted the insolent recruit. "What's so funny, lad?"

Straightening his back, Klayden retorted, "Nothing, commander!"

Kalodor, nose-to-nose with Klayden, issued a stern warning, "You take me for a fool, huh? Just because you think you passed, don't think you're getting it easy. Going forth, your life is going to be a living hell, and I'll make sure of that."

Klayden visibly swallowed, the tension thick in the air. The commander stepped away, snapping his fingers. The priest whispered in his ear, and the fate of the recruits unfolded: sword training for commoners, further training for Klayden, Shael, Caldor, Dagen, Akibrus, Roger, and me. The path ahead promised treacherous trials, but I steeled myself for the challenges.

A week later.

The 19th day of Firewane arrived, and our training intensified. Physically and mentally demanding, we faced hours of marching through mud and rain, fully armored, and engaged in combat until our hands throbbed. The bestiary we received introduced us to various monsters, such as the Duskfang, a sightless and venomous creature with a slender body and formidable claws. Our education extended to the types of witches and warlocks we might encounter, including Blood witches, bone witches, water witches, earth witches, and those who used familiars. Warlocks were classified as Fiend warlocks and Hexblade warlocks.

As another day passed, the regimen persisted. We were awakened early, the pre-dawn darkness outside indicating another arduous day. Heading to the mess hall, we ate breakfast with weary determination. Shael and I, although close, exchanged no words.

A familiar, displeased voice cut through the air. "Come on, you fools! We're moving out, now!" It was Zorion, back from a recent mission, his cloak and boots stained with mud and specks of blood.

Zorion noticed my gaze and approached, his towering figure casting a shadow. "Don't get too familiar with me, kid. Get moving!" he snapped.

Klayden protested, "Sir! Can't you wait until we've finished? We are tired and hungry."

Zorion's face remained hidden, but his anger was palpable. He stormed toward Klayden, delivering a harsh backhand. "Do you think I had any sleep or food? No, I didn't. Now, get moving!"

Fuming, we returned to our barracks, donning our cloaks adorned with the emblem of the Sacred Hand. As we assembled at the gatehouse behind Zorion, the portcullis opened, exposing us to the cold rain. Shael whispered, "Why aren't we going out on horseback?"

A pertinent question, but one to which Zorion offered no immediate answer. The ominous march to HeolstorFlod Woodlands had begun.

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The challenges ahead were not exclusive to Shael; Klayden, too, faced hardships under Commander Kalodor's watchful eye. Forced to strip the golden hue from his armor and repaint it black, Klayden bore the visible signs of his struggles.

As the portcullis raised with a resounding clang, the chilling air from the other side sent shivers down my spine. The go-ahead from Zorion set us in motion, and the cold wind stung our faces as we embarked on our journey.

Arriving at the village of Ashbourne, the rain persisted, turning the dirt road into mud. Glancing left and right, curtains hastily closed at my passing gaze. A lone soldier approached, identifiable by the lantern's dim light. His worn armor, including a kettle helm and a red surcoat with a fading phoenix emblem, marked him as a local guard.

"Zorion, is that you?" the guard squinted, recognizing Zorion through the darkness.

"Yeah, it's me, Tom," Zorion replied wearily.

"Why leave so soon after returning?"

"I have a code to follow and a duty to train these recruits."

The guard sighed, acknowledging the rigors of Zorion's role. With a pat on the back, Zorion continued, and we followed in his wake.

As early morning approached, the grey sky hinted at a rain-soaked day. The forest loomed in the distance, a couple of hours away. Our single file line broke, with Klayden's group leading and Shael, Roger, and me following closely. Unfazed, Zorion allowed us to maintain our pace.

Shael sighed, voicing her fatigue, "If I knew being a knight would be this tiresome, I wouldn't have joined."

Roger and I chuckled at her candid remark. However, beneath my seemingly cheerful exterior, a concern lingered, prompting me to inquire, "What do you guys think we're going to do once we reach our destination?"

Roger shrugged, "I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm going to push through."

Shael's compliment to Roger's optimism surprised him, turning his face bright red. Sensing an unnecessary complication, I observed silently.

As we neared a water mill beside a house surrounded by wheat fields, Zorion approached a farmer named Bill. Their conversation revealed Zorion's need for provisions – loaves of bread, meat, and seven thick cloth strips. Bill obliged, and we each received a piece of cloth.

Zorion's next directive left a sinking feeling in my chest. "Tie that cloth around your eyes. Stand in a single file line and rest a hand on each other's shoulders," he commanded in a low, menacing voice.

Reluctantly obeying, I tied the cloth, feeling Shael's hand on my shoulder. Blindfolded and vulnerable, we awaited Zorion's next instructions.

"This is how it's going to work," Zorion explained. "Whatever happens, don't let go of each other's shoulders, and don't remove those blindfolds. If you do, I'm going to hit you hard."

With that ominous warning, we set off, stumbling through the forest, guided only by the sound of the river as we crossed a bridge. Hours passed until Zorion called for the blindfolds to be removed. Blinking against the sudden brightness, a log cabin stood before us.

Zorion wasted no time in detailing our challenge. "You see this cabin? This is going to be your home for the next eight days. On the last day, you will have to find your way out of this forest."

The weight of the task settled upon us as Zorion departed without further explanation. Left in the eerie silence of the forest, Roger, Shael, and I faced the daunting prospect of survival.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Dagen asked, breaking the silence.

Roger, unfazed, replied, "Survive for eight days. That's what we're going to do." Taking the sack of provisions, he headed into the cabin.

Outside, I tried to acclimate to the surroundings. The leafless trees and skeletal branches created an unsettling atmosphere. Shael called out to me, and I joined her and Roger inside the cabin, uncertain of the challenges awaiting us in the heart of the mysterious forest.