Vendrath

The fire crackled softly, its faint glow illuminating the weary faces of the group huddled around it. Shadows danced across the forest clearing, the chill of the evening settling in as the sun dipped below the horizon. Jordan sat closest to the flames, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared into the embers, his jaw tight with tension.

Olivia was beside him, hunched over a small journal, jotting notes in the flickering light. Jack leaned back against a tree, his makeshift spear resting beside him, while Chloe poked at the fire with a stick, her expression thoughtful.

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves snapped their attention toward the path. Jack sat up straighter, his hand instinctively reaching for his spear. A moment later, Liam emerged from the shadows, a small bundle tucked under his arm.

“Finally,” Jordan said, his voice low and tired. “What took you so long?”

Liam dropped the bundle onto the ground near the fire—a loaf of bread and a few small, withered vegetables. “Had to wait for the right moment,” he muttered, plopping down on a nearby rock. “Traded the last watch and the sunglasses. It’s all they’d give me.”

Olivia frowned, setting her journal aside. “That’s it? For everything we had left?”

“Take it or leave it,” Liam said, shrugging. He rubbed his hands together, leaning toward the fire for warmth. “Town’s on edge. And its not exactly a booming market.”

Chloe reached for the bundle, breaking off a piece of bread and passing it to Jordan. “At least it’s something,” she said quietly, though her tone was strained.

“Yeah,” Liam added, his eyes flicking around the group. “But here’s the thing… I heard something while I was there.”

Jordan looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Liam hesitated, his face unreadable in the firelight. “Recruiters. From Vendrath. They’re coming tomorrow to pick up volunteers.”

The group went silent. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the distant rustling of leaves.

Chloe was the first to speak, her voice hesitant. “Volunteers? You mean… soldiers?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah. Apparently, they’re offering food, training, equipment, and coin. It’s…better than starving out here.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious. You want us to join their army? We don’t even know what we’re doing out here! We don’t know who they are fighting or why!”

“Do you have a better idea?” Liam shot back, his tone sharper than intended. “It’s been four days, Jack. We’re out of food, out of stuff to trade, and we can’t keep pretending we’ll just figure it out or just wake up back home!”

Jordan ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in thought. “We’d be throwing ourselves into a war,” he muttered, his voice low but steady.

“We’d be throwing ourselves into survival,” Liam countered. “Look, I don’t like it either, but what choice do we have? At least we’d have food. A roof over our heads. Maybe even weapons.”

Olivia, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “And what happens when they throw us into a fight we can’t win?” She shook her head. “We don’t even have the skills for this.”

“Then we learn,” Liam said firmly. He looked around the group, his gaze lingering on each of them. “We’re already fighting to survive. This is just a different kind of fight. Besides its not like they wont train us.”

Chloe hugged her knees to her chest, her voice soft. “I just… I don’t want to die.”

“No one does,” Jordan said, his tone hardening. He glanced at the bread in his hand before tearing it in half and handing a piece to Olivia. “But Liam’s right. We’re running out of time. If we don’t do something, we’ll die out here anyway. We have no idea where or when we are. We have no skills or currency that this place takes. These villagers don’t care if we die out here. They're worried just surviving themselves. I mean look at us” Jordan gestured around at the group huddled around the camp fire “We’ve got one spear and no idea what’s out here. Were going to die here. If we don’t do something.”

The group fell into silence again, the weight of the decision pressing down on them. Finally, Jordan stood, brushing the dirt from his hands.

“We sleep on it,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll decide tomorrow morning. Together.”

The morning dawned cold and gray, the forest heavy with mist. The group stirred slowly, each of them groaning as they sat up from their makeshift beds on the hard, damp ground. Chloe shivered as she pulled her jacket tighter around her, brushing leaves off her hair. Olivia stretched stiffly, wincing as her back popped.

Jordan sat by the smoldering remains of the fire, prodding it back to life with a stick. Jack was already leaning against his tree, arms crossed and scowling. His tone was sharp as he spoke.

“So we’re really doing this, huh? Just signing up for a war we don’t understand?” Jack’s voice was low but filled with simmering frustration.

Liam, sitting on his bedroll and pulling on his boots, shot him a glare. “Yes, Jack. We are. You got a problem with it?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jack snapped, standing upright and pointing his makeshift spear toward the ground. “This is insane. We don’t know what we’re getting into. For all we know, they’ll throw us into the first fight they can find and leave us to die.”

Liam shot to his feet, his face darkening with anger. “Then stay here, Jack! Stay here and starve while the rest of us do something about it!”

The others froze, their eyes darting between the two as the tension crackled like a live wire.

“If you don’t want to join, then fine,” Liam continued, his voice rising. “Die here. Alone. I just met all of you four—no, five days ago. I don’t owe any of you anything.” He threw his arms out, gesturing at the group. “You want to stay? Stay! But I know what I’m doing.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the spear. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Better than sitting around waiting for it to happen!” Liam shouted, stepping closer.

“Stop it!” Chloe’s voice cut through the air, shaky but loud enough to make both boys freeze. She stepped between them, her eyes wide and pleading. “Just... stop.”

The clearing fell silent except for the faint crackle of the fire Jordan had coaxed back to life. Finally, Jordan stood, brushing the dirt from his hands and stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Enough,” Jordan said, his green eyes locking on both Jack and Liam. “We’re all scared. We’re all angry. But turning on each other isn’t going to solve anything.”

He paused, glancing around the group, his gaze softening. “Look, we’re strangers. I get that. A week ago, we didn’t even know each other’s names. But this—” he gestured to the group, to the clearing around them, “this is all we have now. Each other. That’s it. If we don’t stick together, we’re not going to make it.”

Olivia nodded, her voice quiet but steady as she added, “Jordan’s right. We don’t have the luxury of splitting up. Like it or not, we need each other to survive.”

Chloe stepped closer to the fire, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Can we just... stop fighting? I can’t do this if we’re at each other’s throats.”

Liam exhaled sharply, his anger deflating. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “Fine.”

Jack glanced away, his expression stormy, but he said nothing as he leaned back against the tree, his shoulders slumping.

Jordan sighed, glancing at the rising sun. “We don’t have a choice…we need to go… together.”

No one argued. Slowly, they began gathering their meager belongings, the air between them still heavy but no longer crackling with anger. As the group started to make there way into town.

The village was as humble as they had expected, its edges marked by uneven wooden fences that barely kept wandering livestock in check. The homes, small and clustered together, were built of rough-hewn timber, their roofs patched with whatever material the villagers could scavenge—bits of tin, thatch, and even cloth tied down with fraying rope. Smoke from a few chimneys curled upward, the thin tendrils blending into the gray morning sky.

As the group moved closer to the center, the uneven dirt road turned into a rough cobblestone path, though many of the stones were cracked or missing, leaving patches of hardened mud between them. The smell of livestock, damp earth, and faint wood smoke clung to the air, mingling with something sour they couldn’t quite place.

When they reached the village square, they saw a small group of people gathered near a crooked wooden post that looked like it had been used to display notices. The villagers were hunched together, speaking in low tones, their voices sharp with worry. The group was mixed—an older man with a cane, two women wrapped tightly in threadbare cloaks, and a few younger men who looked like they’d been working the fields just moments ago.

Jordan slowed, his gaze narrowing as he studied the scene. The villagers had stopped speaking the moment the group stepped into view, their eyes turning toward them with thinly veiled suspicion.

The square itself was a sorry sight. What might have once been a bustling marketplace was now little more than an empty space with a few abandoned stalls leaning to one side. A single water trough stood near the center, its edges mossy and worn, the water inside stagnant. The faint remnants of a sign hung above a nearby building, the paint peeling to reveal only part of the name beneath.

Jack muttered under his breath, “Doesn’t exactly scream hospitality, does it?”

Chloe elbowed him lightly, her voice a whisper. “They’re staring at us. Don’t make it worse.”

The older man with the cane shuffled forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixed on the newcomers. His mouth tightened as he looked them over, his gaze lingering on their worn clothes and empty hands. One of the younger men behind him muttered something, and the group chuckled softly, though the laughter held no warmth.

Olivia shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Jordan. “What now?”

Jordan took a slow breath, steadying himself. “We don’t start anything. Let’s just… stick together and keep moving.”

The group edged closer to the square, but the villagers didn’t move to greet them or even acknowledge them further. They stayed clustered near the post, their conversations turning quiet and guarded.

Chloe looked around, her voice low. “This place feels... tense.”

Liam nodded, his eyes scanning the area. “Probably been like this for a while. Look at the fields on the way in—nothing but scraps. They’re barely getting by. Why do you think I could hardly get anyone to trade with me?”

Jack shook his head, his tone skeptical. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense"

The group stopped just short of the square, unsure of whether to approach the villagers or keep their distance. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension, the stares of the townsfolk still prickling at the backs of their necks.

The group kept walking, the cobblestone path uneven beneath their feet. As they neared the gathered villagers, the low murmurs stopped entirely, replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable silence. All eyes turned toward the newcomers, suspicion clear in every glance.

Jordan squared his shoulders, leading the group forward, though his jaw tightened at the palpable unease radiating from the villagers. Chloe hovered close to Olivia, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, while Liam’s gaze darted around, his expression hard.

As the group drew closer to the small gathering, the villagers began to part. They stepped back cautiously, creating a clear path but never taking their eyes off the strangers. Some clutched their cloaks tighter, while others muttered quietly among themselves, their words just out of earshot.

Only a handful didn’t move—three younger teens, maybe the same age as Jordan or a year younger, who stood their ground. They watched the group with curious but wary eyes, one of them whispering something to another before the tallest nudged him to stay quiet.

Jack shot them a glance but said nothing, gripping the makeshift spear tighter in his hand.

Then, as the group stepped fully into the square, they saw them.

Standing on the far side of the clearing, near a weathered cart loaded with supplies, were three soldiers.

The group’s eyes were drawn to the three figures standing near the center of the square. The villagers kept their distance, forming a loose ring around them, muttering quietly but not daring to approach.

The first two soldiers wore chainmail armor, their shoulders covered by steel pauldrons and their legs protected by reinforced greaves. Their helmets, simple and rounded with narrow eye slits, cast shadows over their faces, hiding all but the sharp angles of their jaws and the cold glint in their eyes. Their crimson-and-white tabards stood out vividly against the muted grays and browns of the village, the black phoenix emblazoned on their chests seeming almost alive in the flickering light. Swords hung at their hips, and spears rested against the cart they stood beside, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.

Between them stood the captain, his presence impossible to ignore. He was clad in full plate armor that caught the light and seemed to make him twice as imposing. The armor was practical but well-crafted, the red-and-white tabard draped over it accentuating the black phoenix that marked him as an officer of Vendrath. His helmet bore a subtle crest, a strip of crimson fabric running along the top, and the faceplate revealed a clean-shaven, weathered face with sharp features and piercing gray eyes.

The captain stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid and commanding. The villagers gave him an even wider berth than the other two soldiers, their gazes flickering between him and the cart. He said nothing but exuded an air of authority that demanded respect—or fear.

The cart behind them was laden with supplies: sacks of grain, crates of dried meat, and bundles of simple weapons—spears, shields, and short swords. It wasn’t much, but it was more than the villagers likely saw in a month.

Liam nudged Jordan slightly, his voice low. “There they are.”

Jordan nodded, his jaw tightening. “Stay calm. Let’s just see what they’re about first.”

The group slowed their steps, unsure of whether to approach or keep their distance. The captain’s gaze flicked toward them briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the villagers.

The tension in the square was palpable. The soldiers didn’t speak, but their mere presence was enough to silence most of the murmurs. The villagers watched with wary eyes, their hunger for the supplies clashing with their reluctance to interact with the men who brought them.

The captain took a deliberate step forward, his heavy boots thudding against the cobblestones as he stood tall and commanding. His voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs of the villagers with practiced authority. “It appears all who are interested have arrived! I am Captain Dorian Vexis, one of our great nation’s recruiters!”

He paused, his sharp gray eyes scanning the crowd, taking in the worn faces of the villagers and the curious expressions of the teenagers standing on the outskirts. His tone was firm but tinged with an edge of practiced charisma.

“You’ve likely heard the rumors that we’re recruiting again,” he continued, his voice steady and deliberate. “And I’m here to confirm that they’re true! What you’ve likely not heard—or what you’ve heard exaggerated tales about—are what we are offering in return!”

The villagers leaned in slightly, their interest piqued despite their wariness.

“Firstly,” Captain Vexis said, his hands clasping behind his back as he began to pace slowly, “all recruits will be taken to the city of Ironhold, a stronghold and hub for our nation’s garrison. There, every recruit will undergo selection and basic training to determine their strengths and placements within the army. Those who excel may even find themselves among the specialized regiments.”

He stopped and turned back to face the crowd, his voice rising slightly to drive the point home. “Pay will depend on your placement after selection, but let me assure you, no recruit earns less than fifteen silver per month, with wages climbing up to one gold per month based on your expertise and performance!”

A few villagers exchanged glances, murmuring quietly at the mention of silver and gold. The weight of that much money was almost unimaginable for many of them.

“But that is not all,” Vexis said, holding up a hand to silence the whispers. “We understand the burden on your families. Therefore, any recruit from a village such as this one will ensure that their family is provided with two thirty-pound sacks of grain upon enlistment—enough to sustain them for weeks!”

This caused a louder stir among the crowd. Hunger was a constant in the village, and the promise of food for their families was tempting for those with little to lose.

Captain Vexis let the commotion settle for a moment before stepping forward once more. His piercing eyes scanned the faces in front of him. “Now,” he said, his tone sharp and authoritative. “Any questions?”

A nervous shuffling spread through the villagers, their murmurs filling the heavy silence that followed Captain Vexis’s words. Finally, an older man near the front stepped forward, leaning heavily on a cane. His face was deeply lined, his eyes shadowed with years of hardship, but there was a flicker of determination in his voice.

“What about those who don’t make it through selection?” he asked, his grip tightening on the cane. “If a recruit doesn’t... pass, do they get sent back to their families? Or are they just... cast aside?”

The murmurs grew louder at the man’s question, heads nodding among the gathered villagers. Even the teenagers exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of the question settling on them.

Captain Vexis turned toward the man, his expression remaining calm but stern. “An excellent question,” he said, his tone steady. “The answer is simple: those who fail selection are given opportunities elsewhere within the kingdom’s infrastructure. Not all serve on the battlefield.”

He began pacing again, his hands behind his back. “The army requires builders, crafters, healers, and laborers to support the war effort. If a recruit is not suited for combat, they are reassigned to roles that fit their capabilities. Every hand that joins us strengthens Vendrath, whether they wield a sword or repair armor.”

He stopped pacing and turned back to the old man, his piercing gaze softening slightly. “No one is cast aside. Every recruit serves a purpose.”

The old man nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “And their families? They still get the grain?”

Captain Vexis inclined his head. “The grain is provided upon enlistment. That is a guarantee.”

The murmurs among the villagers shifted, a faint ripple of cautious approval spreading through the crowd. Another younger man near the back raised his voice. “And what about injuries? If someone gets hurt during training or a battle, what happens to them?”

Captain Vexis turned his attention to the speaker, his voice unwavering. “Those injured in service are cared for by the army’s healers and, if necessary, returned to their families with honor and compensation. Vendrath does not forget those who serve her.”

A middle-aged woman stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, her face pale but her expression firm. She clutched a frayed shawl tightly around her shoulders as she spoke, her voice carrying a note of fear that she tried to mask with determination.

“What about the rumors?” she asked, her voice cutting through the growing murmurs. “The ones about the border war escalating? We’ve heard talk of... villages burned, families slaughtered. How much of that is true?”

The crowd stilled, the weight of the question hanging in the cold air. Even the wind seemed to quiet as all eyes turned to Captain Vexis.

The captain’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. “The rumors,” he began, his tone measured but firm, “are not entirely without merit. The border has seen increased aggression from our enemies. Skirmishes have grown more frequent, and yes, there have been losses. Vendrath is not blind to this.”

He took a step closer to the crowd, his voice rising with conviction. “But understand this: it is precisely because of these escalating tensions that we need every able-bodied recruit. It is your service that will strengthen our defenses, that will push back those who dare threaten our kingdom. Vendrath does not fall—she rises, always.”

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, fear mixing with a faint glimmer of hope at his words. The woman’s face tightened, but she nodded, stepping back into the throng without another word.

Jordan leaned toward Liam, his voice low. “Did you hear that? Escalating tensions. Increased aggression. That doesn’t sound like some far-off war. It sounds close.”

Liam nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched the captain. “Yeah. Real close. Makes sense why they’re here recruiting in a backwater like this.”

Chloe glanced between the two, her voice hushed but urgent. “This sounds worse than we thought. What if we’re walking into something way over our heads?”

“We already are,” Jack muttered, his hand tightening on his spear. “This isn’t just about survival anymore. They’re asking us to fight their war. Are we really ready for that?”

Olivia frowned, her fingers brushing the edge of her journal as she whispered, “Do we even have a choice? If this war’s coming closer, it’s not like we’ll be safe anywhere else.”

Jack leaned closer to the group, his voice low but tense. “But what if we don’t all end up fighting? They said not everyone will go to the front—some might be reassigned. What if we get separated during this selection thing?”

The question lingered, each of them avoiding the others’ eyes as the possibility hung heavy in the air.

Before anyone could respond, a younger man from the crowd stepped forward, his hand resting on the shoulder of another who looked almost identical to him—a pair of brothers, one just a few years older than the other. Their faces were thin but determined, the lines of hardship etched into their expressions.

“We’d like to enlist,” the older brother said, his voice steady but edged with nervousness. “Me and my brother.”

The younger one nodded quickly, his hand tightening around the fraying strap of a small satchel slung over his shoulder.

“But… does that mean our family gets four bags of grain?” the older brother asked, his brow furrowing. “It’s just the two of us, but we’re from the same household. Would they only give us two bags?”

Captain Vexis stepped forward, his steel-plated boots striking the cobblestones with a sharp, deliberate sound. His piercing gray eyes fixed on the brothers, and for a moment, the square fell silent again.

“Each recruit receives two bags of grain,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Regardless of household. If both of you enlist, that means four bags of grain for your family.”

A faint ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, some villagers exchanging hopeful glances as the promise of extra food suddenly seemed within reach.

The older brother hesitated, then asked cautiously, “What about sticking together? Can we... can we make sure we won’t be split up?”

Captain Vexis tilted his head slightly, studying the two before nodding. “We do our best to honor such requests,” he said. “Family members who enlist together are often kept together for morale and efficiency. You may not always be assigned the same duties, but it is possible to remain in the same unit or camp.”

The younger brother relaxed visibly, though his grip on the satchel remained tight. The older one squared his shoulders, determination hardening in his gaze. “Then we’ll do it.”

They stepped closer to the cart, their decision seemingly sparking a faint ripple of resolve among the gathered villagers.

Jordan took a deep breath, glancing back at the others. Their hesitation was written all over their faces, but the decision had already been made in their silent exchanges and weary expressions. He nodded toward the cart and took a step forward, the rest of the group following close behind.

As they approached, Captain Vexis’s sharp gray eyes turned to them, his expression unreadable. Jordan stopped a few feet away, straightening his posture even though the weight of their choice pressed heavily on him.

“We’d like to enlist,” Jordan said, his voice steady despite the unease in his chest. “But... we have a request. If possible, we’d like to stay together.” He gestured to the others behind him. “We work better as a group.”

Captain Vexis regarded them for a moment, his gaze scanning each of them as if weighing their worth. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “It is not an uncommon request,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “As I told the others, we will do our best to honor it. However, you must understand that assignments will ultimately depend on your performance during selection and training.”

Jordan nodded. “We understand. Thank you.”

The captain’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before he stepped back, allowing them space to approach the cart.

The murmurs among the villagers grew louder as a few more people began to step forward. A wiry man with dirt-streaked hands and a sharp, tired face approached hesitantly, followed by a younger woman who clutched a bundle of fabric close to her chest.

“I’ll enlist too,” the man said, his voice rough. “My family needs that grain.”

The woman nodded. “And I’ll join. Anything to get out of this place…” Her voice trailed off, but the determination in her eyes was clear.

One by one, a few more villagers began to trickle forward, each of them carrying their own reasons—desperation, duty, or the faint glimmer of hope for a better future. The square, once heavy with silence, was now alive with murmurs and movement as the crowd shifted, their guarded faces beginning to show the faintest cracks of resolve.

The group was ushered toward the cart with the other volunteers, their footsteps slow and hesitant. The soldiers directed them into a loose line near the edge of the square while the villagers continued to watch from a distance. The murmurs around them blurred into background noise as Jordan led the group a few paces away from the others, huddling them into a tight circle for a quiet discussion.

Chloe was the first to speak, her voice low but trembling slightly. “I can’t believe we just… did that. We’re really joining an army.”

Liam crossed his arms and let out a breath, his expression unreadable. “It’s better than starving to death in the woods. We didn’t have a choice.”

Jack scowled, his fingers tightening around his makeshift spear. “We did have a choice. We could’ve kept looking for something else—anything else. But now we’re here, signing up to fight a war we don’t even understand.”

“Enough,” Jordan snapped, his voice sharper than usual. “We already made the decision. There’s no going back now.” He softened his tone slightly as he looked at Jack. “I know you don’t like this, but it’s the only way forward. We all agreed.”

Olivia adjusted the strap of her bag, her brow furrowed in thought. “Jordan’s right. We need to stick together, and we need to focus. There’s no room for second-guessing anymore.” She glanced at the others, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And there’s something else. We really need to stop talking about home.”

Chloe looked at her, frowning. “Why? It’s not like anyone’s going to believe us if we slip up.”

“Maybe not,” Olivia said, her blue eyes narrowing slightly, “but what if someone gets the wrong idea? What if they think we’re spies or something worse? We can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Jordan nodded, his expression grim. “She’s right. The last thing we need are people to start asking questions. I doubt they would think were spies or anything but If they found out were from someplace else, people might think we know things, even if we don’t.”

Jack exhaled sharply, looking away. “So what do we do? Just… pretend we belong here? We don’t even know what’s normal in this place.”

“We learn,” Liam said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “We watch, we listen, and we keep our mouths shut about home. That’s it. We play along until we figure out how to survive.”

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their decision pressing down on them like never before. Chloe sat and hugged her knees to her chest, her voice barely above a whisper. “I miss my mom.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. No one responded immediately, but their shared silence carried the unspoken truth: they all felt the same.

Jordan reached out, placing a steadying hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly. “Together. That’s all we have now. Each other.”

The campfire crackled softly in the dark, casting flickering shadows on the weary faces of the group huddled around it. The night was cool but not unbearable, and the sky above was a tapestry of stars, untainted by the glow of city lights. The smell of charred wood and the faint scent of the stew they had eaten earlier hung in the air, blending with the earthy aroma of the forest. The last few days of marching had been hard. Everyone was tired, and sore.

Jordan sat closest to the fire, staring into the flames with a distant look, his thoughts unreadable. Chloe was beside him, poking at the dirt with a stick, her knees drawn up to her chest. Olivia scribbled something in her journal, though even her usual focus seemed dulled by exhaustion. Jack leaned against a tree, his spear resting beside him, while Liam sat with his back to the fire, gazing out into the darkness as if on watch.

The silence was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. The group tensed, their heads snapping toward the noise, but the familiar figure of the recruiter emerged from the shadows, his chainmail glinting faintly in the firelight. Captain Vexis stopped a few paces from the group, his hands resting lightly on his belt as he surveyed them.

“Relax,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “I’m not here to bark orders.”

The group exchanged glances before settling back into their places, though the tension in the air lingered.

“I figured I’d let you know,” Vexis continued, stepping closer to the fire, “we’ll be reaching Ironhold tomorrow. By midday, if we keep pace.”

That drew their attention. Chloe looked up from the ground, and Olivia stopped writing, her pen hovering above the page. Jordan straightened slightly, his expression sharpening.

“The city,” Jack murmured, his voice barely audible. “Finally.”

Vexis nodded, his gray eyes scanning the group. “Yes. Finally. It’s been a hard march, but you’ve handled it better than I expected.” He crouched slightly, resting one hand on his knee as he looked directly at them. “Now’s your chance. If you’ve got any questions about what to expect, ask them now.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The fire popped loudly, but the group remained silent for a moment,

Liam was the first to speak up. "What can we expect tomorrow? Will they just throw us right into training, or…?" He trailed off, his tone uncertain.

Captain Vexis nodded, a half-smirk forming on his face. “Same questions as the other group, I’ll bet. Should’ve made you all gather up.” He exhaled, glancing around the firelight. “Anyways, tomorrow will be fairly relaxed. First thing you’ll do is inprocessing. You’ll see someone who will record your names and assign you billets—that’s housing, probably the barracks. Now, I’ll tell you like I told that other lot—housing is shared. You will fight, bathe, and sleep next to men and women. There is no separation here.”

Olivia straightened, her brow furrowed as she asked, “What do you mean no separation? Like… for everything?”

Captain Vexis nodded without hesitation. “Yes, that’s correct. Men and women fight together, train together, sleep together. There’s no distinction when it comes to the barracks or the battlefield. Everyone is treated the same.”

Olivia hesitated, glancing around at the others before continuing. “But… what if… what if we’re attacked? While we’re sleeping?”

The captain’s expression hardened slightly, his gray eyes narrowing. “You won’t be. The barracks are inside the walls of Ironhold, heavily guarded. No one’s getting in to attack recruits.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Olivia murmured, her voice quieter now.

Vexis studied her for a moment, his tone softening just slightly. “If you’re worried about safety within the ranks, you’ll be fine. There are strict rules and consequences for anyone who steps out of line. Soldiers who can’t respect their comrades don’t last long in this army.” He let the weight of his words hang in the air before standing straighter. “You’re all here to fight a war, not each other. We’ll make sure everyone understands that.”

Captain Vexis nodded firmly, his tone decisive. “It’s the way things have been done in our country for as long as anyone can remember. We’re not here to worry about modesty—we’re here to train and fight. We’re here to keep each other alive. That’s it.”

He looked around the group, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. “When you step into that city tomorrow, you’re no longer villagers, strangers, or wanderers. You’re recruits. Soldiers in the making. And the only thing that matters is that you learn to trust the people standing beside you, no matter who they are. That’s how you stay alive.”

The captain continued, his tone steady but authoritative. “You’ll receive housing, and you’ll see the quartermaster. You’ll be issued your first sets of uniforms and basic gear, and you’ll be shown where the bathhouse is. Use it. Trust me, everyone else will appreciate it.” He smirked slightly, glancing at the mud and grime caked on the group.

“As for the training,” he said, turning his gaze back to Liam, “that depends on where they are in the rotation of things. That’s hard to say. If they’re ready to start another cycle, you’ll be in the thick of it within a day or two. If not, you might have a short window to settle in. Don’t count on it lasting long, though. They don’t keep recruits idle for long.”

Liam spoke up again, crossing his arms. “What about pay? When does it start? When will we actually see any of it?”

Captain Vexis nodded, his tone patient but firm. “Good question. I’ll report how long you’ve been on the march with us. You’ll receive credit for the six nights and seventh morning of travel. Pay is issued on the first of the month. Seeing as it’s the 14th now, you’ll have about three weeks of pay coming to you when the first rolls around.”

The group exchanged uncertain glances, their minds racing with calculations.

“Don’t worry,” Vexis added, his voice cutting through their silence. “They’ll walk you through all of that when you get to Ironhold. You’ll learn how to collect your pay and where to spend it, though I recommend saving at least some of it. You’ll need coin if you want anything beyond the basics.”

He straightened up again, giving the group a moment to absorb the information. “Any other questions before we call it a night?”

The group remained silent, their exhaustion and uncertainty leaving no room for further questions. Captain Vexis glanced over them one last time, then gave a curt nod. “Rest up. Tomorrow will be a long day,” he said before turning and walking off into the darkness, the faint jingle of his chainmail fading with his steps.

For a moment, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant rustling of leaves. Then Chloe broke the silence, her voice hesitant but tinged with curiosity. “So… shared bathing, huh? That’s going to be… weird.”

Jack snorted, leaning back against his tree. “Weird? Try humiliating. I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly enjoy the idea of stripping down in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“Same here,” Olivia muttered, hugging her knees. “I know they said it’s just how things are, but it’s not exactly comforting.”

Jordan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, it’s not like we have a choice. And let’s be honest, we all need it. I don’t think any of us want to sleep in this filth another night if we can avoid it.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose. “He’s got a point. Liam’s ‘battle musk’ is probably half the reason the recruiter didn’t want to stick around longer.”

Liam shot her a glare but smirked faintly. “Hey, it’s not my fault we’ve been slogging through mud for a week. Besides, I’m not the only one stinking up the place.”

Olivia sighed, her head falling back against her pack. “I guess we’ll just have to get over it. It’s not like they’re going to change the rules for us.”

Jack frowned, poking at the fire with a stick. “Still feels wrong. Like, what if someone’s not comfortable with it? Are they just supposed to suck it up?”

Jordan glanced at him, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just part of how things work here. Everyone’s equal, so there’s no room for anyone to feel above or below anyone else. I guess if they treat it like it’s normal, we’ll have to, too.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Chloe muttered, resting her chin on her knees.

“No,” Olivia agreed. “But we’ll manage. We have to.”

Chloe glanced around at the group, her voice soft but resolute. “Well, we’ll stick together. At the end of the day, when it comes to bathing or anything else, we’ll have each other’s backs. If something weird happens, we’ll deal with it together, alright?”

The group exchanged tired but appreciative looks, their unspoken agreement settling the tension.

“But,” Chloe added, her tone more relaxed, “like the captain said, it’s normal for them. I wouldn’t overthink it right now. We’re all exhausted, and tomorrow sounds like it’s going to be a busy day.”

Jordan nodded, stretching his arms with a weary sigh. “She’s right. Let’s get some rest while we can.”

Olivia closed her journal, tucking it into her pack. “Yeah. Sleep sounds good. We’ll need it.”

Jack muttered something under his breath but leaned back, settling against the tree trunk with a resigned shrug. Liam kicked some dirt toward the fire, dimming its glow slightly before lying back on the ground with his hands behind his head.

The group slowly drifted into silence, the crackling fire and the occasional rustle of leaves the only sounds as they settled in for the night. Despite the exhaustion, a faint sense of solidarity hung in the air—fragile but growing.

The next morning, the group trudged along the stone-paved road, their weariness somewhat lifted by the sight of Ironhold rising in the distance. The towering city walls seemed to grow larger with every step, their imposing height casting long shadows as the morning sun climbed higher. The air buzzed with a quiet tension as they approached, the weight of the city pressing down on them even before they reached the gates.

The massive iron gates stood open, flanked by guards clad in polished chainmail with red-and-white tabards. They carried halberds, their postures rigid and unyielding, a stark reminder of the city’s military purpose. As Captain Vexis led the recruits forward, the group couldn’t help but glance around in awe.

Jordan slowed slightly, tilting his head back to take in the sheer height of the walls. “It’s like something out of a storybook,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amazement.

Olivia nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at the intricate carvings along the stonework. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It feels… overwhelming.”

Chloe clutched the strap of her pack tightly, glancing nervously at the bustling activity beyond the gates. Merchants pushed carts loaded with goods, soldiers marched in formation, and townsfolk hurried about their business, weaving between the crowds with practiced ease. “Everything feels so… big,” she said softly.

Liam, ever the bold one, grinned despite his exhaustion. “Big means important. We’re finally somewhere that matters.”

As they passed through the gates, the noise of the city hit them like a wave. The cobblestone streets stretched out in every direction, lined with shops, barracks, and towering buildings that seemed impossibly tall. The smell of baked bread and roasting meat mixed with the metallic tang of armor and the earthy scent of horses.

Their eyes were drawn to the castle in the distance, perched on a hill at the heart of the city. Its walls were even higher than the outer ones, with spires that reached for the sky and banners bearing the kingdom’s colors fluttering in the breeze.

Jack let out a low whistle, his eyes fixed on the towering structure. “That’s… a lot bigger than I imagined.”

“Massive,” Olivia agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think that’s where the king lives?”

Jordan shook his head, his expression thoughtful. “Doubt it. This close to the border, it’s probably more for military command. But still… it’s incredible.”

Captain Vexis glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he caught their expressions. “Keep moving. You’ll have plenty of time to stare later. For now, we need to get you processed.”

The group fell in behind him, their awe slowly giving way to a sense of nervous anticipation.

The group followed Captain Vexis through the winding streets of Ironhold, the hustle and bustle of the city surrounding them on all sides. The cobblestones beneath their boots echoed with the steady rhythm of their footsteps, their tired minds struggling to take in the overwhelming sights and sounds. After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a long, low building with a sign marked Quartermaster’s Depot.

Captain Vexis stopped just outside the entrance, turning to face the recruits. His expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “This is where I leave you. The quartermaster will see to your gear and assign you what you need to get started. Follow the instructions you’re given, and don’t waste time causing trouble. From here, you’re officially part of the military, so start acting like it.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the group one last time. “Good luck. And remember—this is where the hard work begins.”

With that, he gave a small nod and strode away, leaving them to the mercy of the quartermaster.

Inside, the depot was a stark contrast to the bustling streets outside. It was dimly lit, with rows of shelves stacked high with neatly folded uniforms, boots, and various supplies. A long wooden counter stretched across the room, behind which stood the quartermaster, a gruff-looking man with a thick mustache and a no-nonsense demeanor.

“Line up!” he barked, his voice echoing through the room. The recruits shuffled into place, their boots scuffing against the stone floor.

One by one, they stepped forward to receive their gear.

“Name?” the quartermaster asked gruffly as Jordan stepped up.

“Jordan Walker,” he replied, standing straighter than he felt.

The quartermaster eyed him for a moment before grabbing a bundle from behind the counter and setting it down with a thud. “Two sets of Uniforms. Pants, belt, shirts, blouses, gloves, boots, hat, and pouch. Try not to ruin it on the first day. Go stand in line against that wall over there once everyone has their gear the corporal there will escort you to the barracks ” He moved on to the next recruit without so much as a glance.

The recruits stepped forward one by one, receiving their bundles of gear from the quartermaster. The man was a model of efficiency, his gruff demeanor and quick movements keeping the line moving without pause. Each recruit walked away with the same collection of items, though the sight of one particular piece caught Jack’s attention as it was handed over.

The hat stood out—a wide-brimmed design, much like an Australian bush hat, made from sturdy brown leather. The left side of the brim was pinned up with a polished metal insignia bearing the kingdom's crest, giving it a rugged yet functional appearance. The material looked durable, built for long days under the sun or rain.

When Liam reached the rest of the group next to the wall, he grabbed his hat, grinning. “Well, at least we look the part now”

“Yeah, if the part is sweaty, exhausted rookies,” Olivia quipped, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her own bundle.

Chloe turned the hat over in her hands, examining the crest. “Not bad. I’ve definitely seen worse.”

Jordan pulled his on, the wide brim casting a shadow over his face. “At least it’ll keep the sun out of our eyes. Practical enough.”

Jack smirked slightly. “And it might make us look a little tougher… maybe.”

As the group gathered with their new gear, the quartermaster barked his final instructions. “Get moving! Corporal outside will take you to the barracks. You’ve got a lot to do before you can earn the rest of your gear.”

With their bundles in hand and the promise of rest and a fresh start ahead, the group fell into line behind the other recruits.

The corporal pushed open the barracks door and stepped inside, his voice booming before anyone could even take a good look around. “Alright, recruits! Get in here and find a bunk! Move to the end of the room and take a section—now!”

The group hurried in, their boots clunking against the wooden floor as they shuffled past rows of bunks. The barracks were loud, filled with the low hum of recruits already inside, some sitting on their bunks, others lounging against the walls, talking and laughing. That all changed the moment the corporal entered.

“Shut it!” the corporal barked, his voice sharp as a whip. The room went silent almost instantly, all eyes turning to him. “You think this is a social club? I don’t care if you’ve been here a week or a minute—get your asses in line and pay attention!”

Jordan led the group toward the end of the room, where they found a section of bunks that were mostly empty. The beds were basic: wooden frames, thin mattresses, and a small trunk at the foot of each one. They quickly dropped their gear onto the bunks without hesitation, not wanting to test the corporal’s patience.

“Drop what you don’t need and listen up!” the corporal continued, pacing down the center aisle like a storm. “In a few minutes, we’re heading to the bathhouse. Don’t worry about your extra gear being left here. If you lose something, you suck it up, report it, and draw a replacement from the quartermaster. You do NOT steal from each other!”

His gaze swept the room, landing on a few recruits who looked a little too relaxed for his liking. “Let me be clear: theft among recruits carries severe penalties! First offense, you lose a finger. Second offense…” He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. “Well, let’s just say if you like breathing, you’d best not even think about it.”

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, a few shifting uncomfortably on their feet. Jack muttered under his breath, “Guess they don’t mess around here.”

“No kidding,” Olivia whispered, clutching her gear tightly.

The corporal clapped his hands together, making everyone jump. “Now, grab only what you need—clean clothes and your belt pouch. Leave the rest! Bathhouse is next, and trust me, you all need it. Move it!”

The room erupted into motion as recruits scrambled to comply. The group huddled close, quickly pulling out their uniforms and anything they needed, shoving the rest of their gear into the trunks at the foot of their bunks.

“Guess we’re not getting much downtime,” Chloe muttered as she slung her belt pouch over her shoulder.

Jordan nodded, his expression grim. “Let’s just focus on keeping up. Last thing we need is to stand out for the wrong reasons.”

“Agreed,” Liam said, pulling on his wide-brimmed hat and smirking faintly. “But hey, at least we’re finally getting that bath.”

“Let’s just hope we survive it,” Olivia quipped, shoving her gloves into her trunk before standing.

The group gathered at the end of their section, falling into line as the corporal barked orders and began herding them toward the exit.

The group followed the corporal in silence, the brisk pace leaving little room for conversation. As they approached the bathhouse, the sound of rushing water and low voices grew louder. The building was massive, its stone walls smooth and well-maintained, with steam escaping through vents near the roof. Soldiers moved in and out of the entrance, some in uniform, others wrapped in towels, their chatter a mix of casual conversation and lighthearted banter.

The corporal led them inside, and the group’s first impression was of sheer scale. The bathhouse was cavernous, with rows of stone benches lining the walls and wide wooden racks filled with neatly folded towels and stacks of bar soap. The air was humid but not unpleasant, carrying the faint scent of lavender and mint from the soaps. At the far end of the room, a series of large, steaming pools were divided into sections, some shallow and others deeper.

Men and women of all ages and ranks were scattered throughout. Some soldiers soaked in the pools, chatting quietly or simply relaxing. Others scrubbed themselves at the edges, and a few stood in small groups near the racks, joking and laughing. It was a stark contrast to the rigid discipline they’d experienced so far—a glimpse of camaraderie and normalcy within the military structure.

The corporal stopped just inside the entrance, turning to face the recruits. “This,” he said, gesturing broadly, “is the bathhouse. It’s used by everyone stationed here—recruits, soldiers, even officers on occasion. That means discipline still applies. You don’t cause trouble, and you clean up after yourselves. If you act out, you’ll answer to me—or worse, one of the regulars.” He nodded toward a group of soldiers nearby who were casually polishing their gear, but whose sharp eyes missed nothing.

He continued, his tone firm but not harsh. “Soap, towels, and water shoes are over there.” He pointed to the racks. “Grab what you need and find a spot. The water’s warmed, so make the most of it. You’ll thank me later. Now, get to it.”

The group hesitated for a moment, still adjusting to the sudden shift in environment. Chloe broke the silence, nudging Jordan. “I never thought I’d say this, but a bath sounds like heaven right now.”

“Agreed,” Jordan muttered, already moving toward the racks.

Liam grinned, grabbing a towel and a bar of soap. “If this is military life, I think I can handle it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Olivia said, though her tone was lighter than usual. “Something tells me this is the calm before the storm.”

Jack, ever the quiet observer, simply nodded and followed the others toward the pools. As they neared the water, the heat rising from the pools seemed to melt away the stiffness in their muscles, and even the most reluctant among them began to relax.

The group found a spot near the edge of one of the pools, their initial awkwardness fading as they settled into the warm water. Soldiers nearby offered polite nods but largely left them to their own devices, a sign of the unspoken respect for the sanctity of the space.

For the first time in days, they weren’t cold, dirty, or trudging through mud. The tension that had been hanging over them seemed to lift, if only for a little while. It wasn’t home, but it was a small slice of comfort in an unfamiliar world.

The group had spent a good while scrubbing themselves, the soap cutting through the layers of grime and mud from their journey. Once clean, they slipped into the warm water of one of the pools, their collective sighs of relief almost audible over the gentle bubbling. The heat seeped into their tired muscles, easing aches they hadn’t even realized they had. For a time, they just sat there, soaking in the warmth and letting the stress of the past week wash away.

Liam leaned back against the edge of the pool, grinning. “This… this is paradise. I think I could live here.”

Chloe rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stretching her arms along the stone edge. “Don’t get too comfortable. Something tells me this is the last bit of luxury we’re getting for a while.”

Jack shrugged, his eyes half-closed as he leaned his head back. “Not arguing with that. I’ll take what I can get.”

Olivia chuckled softly, running her fingers through her wet hair. “Honestly, I can’t even remember what it feels like to not smell like dirt and sweat. This is… nice.”

Jordan, always the watchful one, stayed quiet, though even he seemed to relax a little. The group fell into an easy silence, the occasional splash or murmur of conversation from the other soldiers blending into the soothing atmosphere.

Then, a figure approached through the steam, and the group’s attention was drawn to her almost instantly. An attractive woman with striking features made her way toward them, the water rippling gently as she moved. Her red hair clung to her shoulders and back, dampened by the bath, and though the water obscured her form below the surface, her presence was commanding. Her piercing gaze swept over the group as she stopped a few feet away, her expression unreadable but curious.

“You’re all new recruits?” she asked, her voice smooth but edged with confidence.

The group exchanged quick glances, caught off guard by her directness. Jordan was the first to recover, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. Just arrived today.”

The woman smirked faintly, her gaze lingering on each of them in turn. “Thought so. You’ve got that wide-eyed look about you—like the city’s swallowed you whole and spit you out here.”

Liam, ever the bold one, leaned forward slightly. “And you are?” he asked, flashing a small grin.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk sharpening. “Drillmaster Tasha,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying a tone of authority even in its casualness. “And until you learn who’s who, I’d suggest you greet everyone as ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir.’ It’s a safer bet.”

Liam immediately sat back, his grin faltering. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

Tasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Relax. This is the bathhouse, not the drill yard. I’m not here to bark orders at you. In here, I’m just another soldier enjoying a soak. But don’t let that fool you—respect is still earned and expected.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond. Chloe, always the one to break awkward silences, hesitantly asked, “So, uh… Drillmaster… what brings you over here?”

Tasha tilted her head, her damp red hair clinging to her shoulders as she eyed them with curiosity. “You stood out,” she said simply. “Fresh recruits tend to. Figured I’d see what you lot were about.”

Jordan straightened slightly, his expression cautious. “Well, you found us.”

Tasha’s smirk widened as she crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the pool’s edge. “I did. And I’ll give you this much: you’re quiet, which is already better than half the lot I’ve dealt with. But quiet doesn’t mean ready. You all look like you’ve been dragged through the mud—literally.”

“That’s not far off,” Olivia muttered under her breath, earning a sharp nudge from Chloe to keep quiet.

Tasha laughed lightly, not missing a beat. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it—or you’ll learn fast not to complain. Either way, it’s survival.”

“Any advice?” Jordan asked cautiously, his tone respectful but probing.

Tasha glanced at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. “Keep your heads down, your mouths shut, and your ears open. Work as a unit, no matter what. And if someone gives you grief, handle it—but don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

The group nodded, filing the advice away as her eyes swept over them again. For a moment, it seemed like she might say more, but instead, she simply pushed off the edge of the pool and began wading back through the water.

“Enjoy the bath while you can,” she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying just enough weight to make them wonder what she really meant. “Tomorrow’s a new day—and trust me, you’ll need the rest.”

With that, Tasha disappeared into the steam, leaving the group exchanging wary looks.

“Well,” Chloe said, breaking the silence. “She was… interesting.”

“Interesting?” Liam muttered, glancing after her. “She scared the hell out of me.”

Jordan leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into her outside the bathhouse.”

The group moved through the mess hall, plates in hand, their mouths watering at the sight of real food—meat, vegetables, and warm bread. After days of living off scraps and trading for stale provisions, the steaming plates felt almost too good to be true. They ate quickly, savoring every bite, though none of them lingered long; exhaustion from the journey was beginning to catch up with them.

Back in the barracks, they sat on their bunks, still talking about the meal as they settled in for the night.

“Real meat,” Liam said, leaning back against the wall with a satisfied groan. “I almost forgot what it tasted like.”

Chloe nodded, pulling her boots off. “And the vegetables were fresh. Not wilted, not half-rotted, just… fresh. I’m actually full for the first time in days.”

“Full and not miserable,” Jack muttered, though his tone was lighter than usual. “It’s a nice change.”

Jordan chuckled, leaning over to adjust the laces on his boots. “We might regret eating that fast if training starts tomorrow. I’m already feeling it.”

Olivia shrugged. “Worth it,” she said simply, her expression serene as she stretched out on her bunk.

Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp voice from the entrance. “Lights out in ten!” a corporal barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The group instinctively straightened, watching as the corporal strode through the barracks before disappearing into the next section. Silence followed, and for the first time, the group began to notice something they had missed before.

Up and down the barracks walls, clear crystals were embedded into the stone, each glowing with a steady, warm light that illuminated the room. The soft hum of the crystals was barely audible, but it added to their otherworldly presence. The group exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued.

“What… are those?” Chloe asked, her voice hushed, her gaze fixed on the nearest crystal.

Liam stood, moving closer to inspect one of the crystals. He leaned in cautiously, squinting as he held his hand up to feel for heat. “Looks like some kind of… lamp? But there’s no flame, no oil, nothing.”

Olivia furrowed her brow. “Magic?” she suggested hesitantly, the word feeling strange on her tongue.

Liam laughed, a disbelieving snort escaping him. “Magic?! Olivia?” he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Chloe crossed her arms, her expression serious. “Well, why not? It’s not like we used a time machine or some special device to get here. We were all dropped in the woods from random places all over the world. It has to be magic…” Her voice trailed off, letting the accusation settle heavily in the air.

Jordan frowned, leaning against his bunk as he stared at the glowing stones. “If it is, it’s subtle. I mean, they’re just… there. Not hot or anything.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his mind clearly working through the idea.

Jack, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke up. “You know, she might be right.” He gestured toward Chloe with a nod. “I haven’t had a chance to actually sit and think about it. With showing up in the forest, bumping into you lot, and then us scrambling for food and water… I never stopped to think about how we got here. Damn... stupid.”

His admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. The others shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another but saying nothing.

Chloe broke the silence, her voice softer this time. “We’ve been so focused on surviving, I don’t think any of us have stopped to process any of this.”

The group fell silent again, their thoughts racing as they continued to stare at the mysterious lights. The crystals flickered slightly, as if sensing their attention, and the faint hum seemed to grow a little louder.

“Magic or not,” Jordan finally said, his voice low but steady, “we’re here now. And we need to keep it together. No matter how we got here, this is our reality. Let’s focus on making it through tomorrow.”

With reluctant nods, they each began settling into their bunks, the glowing crystals casting soft light over the room as the barracks gradually fell quiet. On there own the crystals dimmed and went dark leaving the barracks in silence.

The peaceful quiet of the early morning was shattered by the sudden, thunderous sound of the barracks door slamming open. The recruits jolted awake as a corporal stormed in, banging a sword against a metal shield with a deafening clatter.

“GET UP!” the corporal bellowed, his voice cutting through the grogginess like a blade. “MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! OUT OF THOSE BUNKS, NOW!”

The group scrambled, the haze of sleep still clouding their minds. Jordan was the first to throw his blanket off, his movements frantic as he nearly tripped over his boots in his rush to stand.

“Ten minutes!” the corporal barked, pacing up and down the aisle with deliberate stomps. “You have ten minutes to get dressed, make your bunks, and be outside in ranks! I don’t care if you’re half-dead—MOVE!”

Liam groaned, rubbing his face as he stumbled out of his bunk. “Is this how every morning’s going to start?” he muttered under his breath.

“If we’re lucky,” Jack shot back, already pulling on his boots with practiced efficiency.

Chloe and Olivia were just as frantic, throwing their uniforms on as quickly as they could. Chloe fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, her hands shaking from the corporal’s shouting.

“Why is he so loud?” Chloe hissed to no one in particular, glancing toward Jordan, who was already making his bed with sharp, jerky movements.

“Because he can be!” Olivia replied, yanking her boots on and hastily tucking in her shirt. “Just hurry up!”

“Two minutes down!” the corporal yelled, his shield banging against the frame of a bunk for emphasis. “And you’re all still moving like molasses! Faster! Make those bunks tight enough to bounce a coin, or you’ll regret it!”

The recruits scrambled to comply, tossing blankets into place and smoothing them down as best they could. The corporal’s shouts echoed through the room, driving them into a frenzy.

“Three minutes gone! You’re wasting my time, and I HATE having my time wasted! Move, move, move!”

The group exchanged panicked glances, silently urging each other to hurry. As the corporal stormed past their section, his glare seemed to burn into them.

“Sloppy bunks! Uniforms untucked! You’re all pathetic! Do you think the enemy will wait for you to fix your collars? OUTSIDE IN RANKS! NOW!”

Jordan was the first to finish, grabbing his hat and stepping toward the door, his expression tense. The others followed suit, rushing to make sure their bunks were as presentable as possible before falling in line behind him.

“GO!” the corporal roared, banging his shield one last time. “Five minutes left, and I don’t care if you’re dressed or naked—if you’re not outside when the time’s up, you’ll regret it!”

The recruits poured out of the barracks, their hearts pounding as they stumbled into the morning light, their heads still spinning from the abrupt start.

The recruits hurried outside, the brisk morning air biting against their skin as they shuffled into ranks. The corporal stood near the front, his sword and shield now resting at his sides, but his voice still carried the same sharp authority.

“LINE UP! RANKS OF TWO! MOVE IT!” he barked, pacing back and forth like a restless predator.

The recruits scrambled to form lines, their movements clumsy as they tried to find their places. The corporal’s sharp eyes scanned the group, and his lip curled in irritation.

“You’re CROOKED!” he roared, stepping forward and pointing his sword at one section of the line. “LOOK LEFT! LOOK RIGHT! STRAIGHT LINES!”

The recruits hesitated, nervously glancing at one another before trying to adjust their positions. Liam muttered something under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Jordan to keep quiet.

“STRAIGHTEN UP!” the corporal bellowed, his voice echoing across the yard. He stormed over to a recruit who was slightly out of line, shoving them gently by the shoulder to adjust their position. “You think this is good enough? THINK AGAIN! MOVE!”

The group shifted uneasily, glancing left and right as they tried to line up perfectly. Chloe whispered to Olivia, “Why is this so hard? It’s just a line.”

“QUIET!” the corporal roared, his voice slicing through the morning air like a whip. He turned sharply toward Chloe, his eyes narrowing as he strode over to her position. “You wanna talk!? Talk to the dirt while counting my pushups!”

Chloe stiffened, her face flushing as every set of eyes turned her way. She opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it, snapping her gaze forward.

“That’s what I thought,” the corporal growled, stepping back to address the entire group. “NO TALKING! Eyes forward, shoulders back, and I don’t want to hear a peep!” His glare swept across the recruits, daring anyone to challenge him.

The group quickly straightened, their movements hurried and tense as they fixed their postures. Chloe bit her lip, her jaw tight with frustration, but she kept her eyes locked ahead, determined not to draw any more attention.

The corporal resumed his pacing, his boots crunching against the dirt as he continued his tirade. “You think this is just a line? Just some simple formation? WRONG! This is discipline! This is order! If you can’t even stand in a straight line, how the hell are you gonna fight on a battlefield?!”

The recruits stood frozen, their shoulders tense as the weight of his words hung in the air.

“That’s better,” the corporal muttered, though his tone still brimmed with disdain. “But let me be clear—if I see so much as a single crooked line tomorrow morning, you’ll ALL be doing laps until you puke. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Drillmaster!” the group shouted in unison, their voices shaky but loud enough to echo across the yard.

The corporal smirked faintly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good. Now keep those lines straight, recruits. Because this? This is just the beginning.”

As the recruits finally began to settle into something resembling a proper formation, the corporal stepped back, his sharp eyes scanning the lines. “That’s better,” he growled, though his tone still carried a note of dissatisfaction.

“Yes, Drillmaster!” the group shouted in unison, their voices uneven but loud enough to echo through the yard.

“What in the nine hells was THAT?!” the corporal roared, his voice booming across the yard. “Everyone, DROP! Pushups! Now!”

The recruits dropped to the ground all at once, their hearts racing as they hastily assumed the position.

“When you sound off, you sound off TOGETHER! Do I make myself clear?!” the corporal barked, his voice biting into their ears.

“Yes, Drillmaster!” the recruits yelled again, this time louder and more in sync.

The corporal’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. “Better. But you’re not done yet. Hop tall! Back on your feet, NOW!”

The recruits scrambled to their feet, straightening their lines as quickly as they could manage.

“Now stay in formation until I say otherwise!” the corporal commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “Let’s see if you can manage that much without embarrassing yourselves.”

He resumed his pacing, his boots crunching against the dirt as his sharp gaze swept over the recruits. The tension in the yard was thick, every recruit standing stiffly in their imperfect lines, too afraid to move or breathe too loudly under the corporal’s scrutiny.

The only sound was the rhythmic crunch of his boots as he stomped up and down the lines, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he inspected the recruits. The corporal’s eyes darted over each individual with a practiced intensity, his hands occasionally darting out to adjust a collar, straighten a belt, or tug on a strap that wasn’t properly secured.

He stopped in front of Liam, his brows furrowing. “That belt’s too loose, recruit. Tighten it! You think it’s gonna stay put when you’re running drills?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the belt and yanked it tight. “Fix it before I have to fix you.”

Liam stood rigid, his jaw clenched. “Yes, Drillmaster!”

The corporal moved on, stopping in front of Chloe. He frowned, reaching out to adjust her hat. “Too low on your forehead. You blind or just trying to hide from me, recruit? Fix it!”

Chloe swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Drillmaster!”

Next, he stopped in front of Jack, his sharp gaze scanning him up and down. His eyes landed on the straps of Jack’s boots. “Too loose. What happens when you run and they slip off? Fix them, NOW!”

Jack bent down, quickly adjusting the thick leather straps and ensuring they were snug around his calves. “Yes, Drillmaster!” he barked, his voice steady but rushed.

The corporal continued down the line, stopping in front of Olivia. He tilted his head, eyeing her blouse critically. “Tuck that shirt in tighter. This isn’t a fashion show, recruit. You wanna look sharp out here or do you wanna get smoked?”

“Yes, Drillmaster!” Olivia replied, quickly adjusting her blouse under his scrutinizing gaze.

When he reached Jordan, the corporal paused, his eyes narrowing. “You’re standing too stiff. Loosen up your shoulders. You can’t fight like a tree trunk. Move like you mean it, recruit!”

Jordan rolled his shoulders slightly, adjusting his stance. “Yes, Drillmaster!”

The corporal resumed his pacing, his boots pounding against the dirt. He didn’t just inspect their uniforms; he scrutinized their postures, their expressions, and even their breathing. With each correction, he barked orders and criticisms that cut through the tension like a blade.

By the time he finished, the recruits were standing straighter and looking sharper, their uniforms adjusted to his exacting standards. The corporal stopped at the front of the line, crossing his arms as he surveyed them once more.

“Better,” he muttered, his tone begrudgingly approving. “Tomorrow, you’ll get it right the first time. No excuses. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Drillmaster!” the recruits shouted in unison, their voices ringing across the yard.

The drillmaster stepped forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over the recruits. His voice, deep and commanding, carried the authority of someone who demanded respect. “Now that you rabble are in lines listen up! I am Drillmaster Halric Stonefell.”

Halric was an imposing figure, his broad shoulders and powerful build making him seem larger than life. His head was shaved clean, emphasizing the strong angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His beard, thick and immaculately maintained—only a few inches of neat, sharp growth framing his face with a dark, almost black hue, streaked lightly with silver near his chin. The edges were trimmed with precision, giving him an air of both discipline and authority. It was the kind of beard that spoke of tradition but adhered to strict military standards.

His steel-gray eyes were intense, scanning the recruits with a look that could burn through stone. A faint scar ran along the corner of his mouth, curving upward slightly and giving him a perpetual smirk that hinted at a dangerous sense of humor. His voice matched his appearance: gravelly, steady, and layered with decades of experience on the battlefield.

“You’ll address me as Drillmaster, Drill Instructor, or Sir. Nothing else. Do you understand?” he barked, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip.

“Yes, Drillmaster!” the recruits shouted, their voices a mix of nerves and determination.

Halric’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing their response. He nodded slightly before continuing. “I am one of two Drillmasters in your regiment. You are now Class 2-225. Don’t forget it!”

He paused, glancing toward the edge of the yard. His smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. “Ah, here comes your other Drillmaster now.”

Drillmaster Tasha stepped into view, her presence commanding immediate attention from the recruits. Her uniform was immaculate, every crease and fold pressed to perfection, fitting her form with precision.

Her fiery red hair was pulled back into a flawless bun, not a single strand out of place. The sunlight caught the edges of her hair beneath her hat, giving it a faint, almost ethereal glow as she moved with purpose and poise. Every step she took was measured and confident, the kind of stride that spoke of authority and control.

The recruits couldn’t help but notice the precision in her appearance—an embodiment of discipline and excellence that seemed to demand the same from everyone in her presence. Her sharp eyes scanned the ranks as she approached, her demeanor radiating both professionalism and a quiet, underlying intensity.

"Listen up! I am Drillmaster Tasha Hawthorne! You will address me as Drillmaster, Drill Instructor, or Ma'am! Are we clear, Class 2-225?"

"Yes, Drillmaster!" the class shouted in unison, their voices echoing across the yard.

"Good," Drillmaster Hawthorne said sharply, beginning to pace up and down the lines with measured steps. Her piercing gaze swept over the recruits as she spoke. "Your instruction time here is six weeks, and for all six of those weeks, your asses are mine!"

She stopped abruptly, turning to address the group directly, her voice carrying authority that left no room for argument. "Today, we’ll be conducting station testing! Look around you!"

The recruits, caught off guard, began glancing around the courtyard. For the first time, they noticed several stations set up in the expansive yard. Each station was manned by other instructors or soldiers, their expressions as serious and unforgiving as Drillmaster Hawthorne’s. The equipment and tasks at each station were varied—some involved climbing walls, swords and shields, while others appeared to focus on agility or precision.

"Each of these stations will test your weaknesses and your strengths," Hawthorne continued, her voice like a whip, "so we know where to assign you!"

She let the words sink in before gesturing toward the stations. "We will begin by falling out in pairs and heading to each station. You will be observed, evaluated, and scored on your performance. Now, FALL OUT!"

The recruits quickly began shuffling into pairs, their nerves evident as they prepared for what lay ahead. Drillmaster Hawthorne resumed her pacing, barking orders to ensure the lines dispersed in an orderly fashion, her presence as commanding as ever.

The recruits gathered in a semi-circle around Drillmaster Hawthorne, their stomachs full from the midday meal but their nerves heightened by the anticipation of the results. The courtyard was quieter now, save for the occasional sound of other recruits being put through their paces at distant stations. The group sat close to one another, exchanging anxious glances.

Drillmaster Hawthorne stood tall in front of them, her sharp green eyes scanning the semicircle as if weighing each recruit once more. Her immaculate uniform, despite the dust of the training yard, added to her commanding presence.

"Listen up!" she barked, her voice slicing through the tension. "You’ve all been tested, poked, and prodded to determine where you’ll be of the most use. You’ve been sorted, evaluated, and assessed by some of the best soldiers and instructors in the kingdom. Now, it’s time to learn where you’re headed. Pay attention, because I won’t be repeating myself."

She glanced down at a parchment in her hand, her expression neutral as she read down the line. She finally reached near the bottom of the list the last recruits to show up.

"Liam Hayes," Hawthorne called. Liam straightened, his confident smirk returning.

"You’re assigned to the Vanguard.

Liam’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, Drillmaster!”

"Olivia Thompson." Hawthorne’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before continuing.

"Healer Corps!”

Olivia swallowed hard but nodded resolutely. “Yes, ma’am.”

"Jordan Walker." Hawthorne tilted her head slightly.

"Vanguard."

Jordan nodded firmly.

"Chloe Baker." Hawthorne’s sharp gaze softened slightly, her tone lighter but still authoritative.

"Archery Corps. You’ll also undergo scout training."

Chloe blinked in surprise, then quickly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

"Jack Dawson." Hawthorne paused briefly, her lips curling into a faint smile.

"Engineering Corps. Your knack for problem-solving and precision makes you an ideal fit for fortifications, siege equipment, and logistics. You’ll also train in basic ranged combat for defensive roles."

Jack gave a small nod, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. “Understood, Drillmaster.”

"Now listen up! You have your assignments! If your name wasn’t called you’re general and will remain with me! From this moment forward, every morning, you will fall in as you did today. We will begin with training exercises, after which you’ll break for breakfast. Once fed, you will report to your assigned training sectors. You WILL be on time. If I hear otherwise, there won’t be a force in the nine hells strong enough to save you from my wrath.

When dismissed from your training sectors, you will return here to conduct additional physical training before breaking for the evening. And one more thing—you will bathe daily! I will not tolerate pig-wallowing, horseshit-smelling recruits in my unit!

Do I make myself clear, class 2-225!?"

"Yes, Drillmaster!" the recruits shouted, their voices still uneven but loud enough to echo across the courtyard.

Drillmaster Hawthorne’s piercing gaze swept over them, her expression stern. “That was pathetic! Let’s try that again! Is that understood, class 2-225?”

"YES, DRILLMASTER!" the recruits roared this time, their voices uniting in a single, thunderous response.

“Good. Dismissed!”

The recruits let out a collective breath of relief, shoulders relaxing slightly as they exchanged glances. The Drillmasters turned sharply on their heels, leaving the recruits to file back toward their barracks to prepare for the next day.

The group lounged in the bathhouse, letting the warm water soak away the aches of the day. Steam curled in the air, and the tension of the day began to melt as they allowed themselves to relax for the first time since the Drillmasters’ announcements.

Liam leaned back against the edge of the pool, a wide grin on his face. “Vanguard,” he said, his tone smug. “I mean, it was obvious. They saw me with that sword and the magic, and they knew they couldn’t waste me anywhere else.”

Jordan smirked, lazily running his hand through the water. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Liam. You’re not the only one in Vanguard. Looks like we’ll both be swinging swords on the front line.”

“Front lines, huh?” Chloe leaned back, her head resting against the edge of the pool. “Better you two than me. I’ll take my chances with a bow. At least I won’t have to get up close and personal with the enemy.”

“Yeah, rub it in,” Jack muttered, his tone dry. “While you’re all out there being heroes, I’ll be hauling lumber and fixing catapults with the Engineering Corps.”

“You’ll still have to fight, though, won’t you?” Olivia asked, her brows furrowing.

Jack sighed and nodded. “Yeah, they said engineers double as archers when we’re on the battlefield. So, I guess I’ll still see some action—just from a safer distance.”

“Better than stitching people up on the front,” Olivia said with a weak smile. “I’m in the Healer Corps, obviously. I just hope I’m ready for it.”

Chloe reached over and gave Olivia’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You will be. You’re already the most level-headed one here.”

“Doesn’t make it any less terrifying,” Olivia admitted. “But thanks.”

Jordan leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at the group. “At least we’re all here together. Different assignments or not, we’ve got each other. That’s what matters.”

Liam gave him a half-grin. “Yeah, until I have to save your ass on the battlefield.”

“Please,” Jordan shot back, “we both know I’ll be the one dragging you back to camp when you do something reckless.”

The group laughed softly, the tension easing a little as they settled into the camaraderie they’d built over the past week.

Chloe looked around the bathhouse, her voice quieter now. “This place feels so… normal, you know? It’s hard to believe we’re in the middle of a military camp.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Jack warned. “Tomorrow’s going to hit us like a ton of bricks. This is just the calm before the storm.”

Liam rolled his eyes but grinned. “Well, then I’m enjoying it while it lasts. Because if the storm’s coming, we’d better be ready.”

The group fell into a comfortable silence, each of them quietly reflecting on the path ahead. Despite their fears and uncertainties, they had each other—and for now, that was enough.

The group was huddled together in the warm water, laughing and talking about their new roles, so absorbed in their conversation that they didn’t notice the three newcomers swimming up behind them. It wasn’t until a pointed cough cut through the noise that they all turned, startled.

Liam was the first to recover, spinning around in the water and blinking at the unexpected faces. “Uh… hey?” he offered awkwardly.

The tallest of the three, a broad-shouldered man with a crooked grin, raised a hand in greeting. “Hey yourselves,” he said, his voice deep but friendly. “Figured we’d introduce ourselves, seeing as we’ll probably be bumping into each other for the next six weeks.”

Davos was hard to miss. He was stocky and powerfully built, his broad chest and muscular arms a stark contrast to what most people might expect from an archer. His short black hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, and a five o’clock shadow gave him a rugged, approachable charm. He grinned widely as he gestured to himself.

“Name’s Davos. Archery Corps. You lot seem lively,” he said, glancing at Chloe with a wink. “Bet we’ll be running into each other at the range.”

Davos was hard to miss. He was stocky and powerfully built, his broad chest and muscular arms a stark contrast to what most people might expect from an archer. His short black hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, and a five o’clock shadow gave him a rugged, approachable charm.

Chloe raised an eyebrow but smiled. “I’m Chloe. Same division. Looks like we’re stuck together.”

The woman next to Davos had her arms crossed over her breast, definitely not in a shy way but more of a standoffish approach to the group. Giving everyone a once-over with her piercing green eyes. She was petite, barely reaching Davos’s shoulder, but her demeanor was anything but small. Her short silver-streaked hair was slicked back, and there was an air of precision about her, from the way she carried herself to how she spoke.

“Selene. Engineering Corps,” she said simply, her voice cool and measured. Her gaze landed on Jack. “Guess that makes us teammates. Hope you can keep up.”

Jack smirked, undeterred by her challenging tone. “I’ll do my best.”

Lastly, a quiet woman swam forward, her presence softer but no less confident. Her dark brown hair, tied back in a damp braid, framed her pale, freckled face. Her gray eyes were calm and observant, flicking between each member of the group before settling on Olivia.

“Rhea Calder,” she said, her voice steady but kind. “Healer Corps. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

Olivia smiled warmly, immediately feeling at ease. “Nice to meet you, Rhea. I’m Olivia. Guess we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

“Looks that way,” Rhea replied with a small smile.

The two groups exchanged nods and introductions, the initial awkwardness fading as the conversation resumed. They quickly found common ground in their shared experiences and nerves about what lay ahead.

“Hey,” Liam said, leaning back in the water. “Do you know what ‘General’ means? Some of the other recruits were assigned that. What’s that about?”

Selene, the petite engineer recruit, raised an eyebrow. “I heard someone mention it earlier,” she said. “Apparently, it means they’re going into the regular army. Just standard soldiers, nothing specialized.”

Jack winced. “Oh, that sounds rough.”

Davos let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s not that bad,” he said, his deep voice echoing in the bathhouse. “Besides, they’ll get the Soldier class out of it and levels. That alone is already pretty strong.”

Jordan, frowning, leaned forward. “Uh… class? You mean job, right? What do you mean by ‘level’?”

The atmosphere shifted slightly, curiosity thick in the air as the newcomers exchanged looks, clearly surprised by the question.

For the first time, the recruits began to feel the bonds of camaraderie forming, the beginnings of friendships that would carry them through the challenges to come.

Davos chuckled, leaning back against the edge of the bath with a casual shrug. “Ya know... your class. Like me, for example. I’m currently a level 4 Apprentice Blacksmith.”

Liam blinked, his confusion evident. “Wait, what? Like, you’re ranked or something?”

Selene tilted her head, her piercing green eyes narrowing slightly. “Not ranked. Classed. Everyone has one. It’s what defines your skills, your strengths, and how you grow.”

Olivia frowned. “So, what, you just… get told what you are?”

Rhea shook her head, her calm voice cutting in. “Not exactly. Your class develops based on what you do, what you train for, and sometimes even what you’ve experienced. It’s not something you pick—it’s something that forms as you live your life.”

Chloe looked skeptical. “And… levels? What’s that?”

Selene smirked faintly. “It’s how you measure your progress. The more you train, fight, or practice your craft, the more you grow, and the higher your level gets. For example, a level 10 Soldier would completely outclass a level 2 Recruit.”

Davos nodded. “Right. And with the Soldier class? You’ll gain skills—things that make you faster, stronger, or give you abilities in combat.” He gestured toward Jordan and Liam. “That’s probably what you two will end up with, being in the Vanguard. Chloe will likely get Archer or something similar. Jack? Probably Engineer.”

Liam frowned, glancing at the others in his group. “And… what happens if you don’t have a class yet?”

Selene shrugged. “Then you’re just… unclassed. You’ll get one eventually. The military training practically guarantees it. No one leaves this place unclassed unless they’re trying not to grow.”

The group exchanged uncertain looks, the concept of classes and levels feeling both foreign and oddly familiar, like a game they’d once played. Jordan leaned back, his jaw tight in thought. “So, we just… wait to see what happens?”

Rhea smiled faintly. “Not entirely. You work hard, and the class will come. What it’ll be depends on you.”

Liam grinned suddenly, his confidence returning. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll take it. If I’m gonna be here, I might as well be the best damn Vanguard this place has ever seen.”

Davos laughed, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit" Davos raised an eyebrow, his grin fading slightly. “Wait… do you lot not have classes? Where are you even from?”

The group froze, exchanging quick, panicked glances. Liam, ever quick on his feet, jumped in, plastering on a wide grin. “Oh, uh, yeah! We’re new here—from far to the, um… west.” He nodded emphatically. “Our people never really used classes much, you know. Not the way you all do here.”

Selene’s piercing green eyes narrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued. “Never used classes? How does that even work?”

Jordan jumped in smoothly, his voice steady. “It’s part of why we left,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “We wanted to gain classes and levels, push ourselves further. Back home, things are... well, stagnant. Not much room for growth.” He glanced at the others, his expression firm. “Right, guys?”

Chloe nodded quickly. “Yeah, exactly. That’s why we’re here—to, um, better ourselves.”

Davos shrugged, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Huh. Fair enough. Different places, different ways of living, I guess.” He leaned back against the edge of the bath. “Well, you’re in the right place. No way you’re getting out of here without gaining at least a class or two.”

Selene didn’t look entirely convinced, but she said nothing, letting the conversation move on. Rhea, on the other hand, offered a kind smile. “It’s a big step, leaving home like that. You must have had your reasons.”

“Yeah,” Olivia said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “We did.”

The group fell into an uneasy silence for a moment before Davos clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the bathhouse. “Well, here’s to fresh starts! You lot will figure it out soon enough.”

The tension eased slightly as the conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the group couldn’t help but feel the weight of their hastily constructed lie hanging over them like a shadow.

The group made their way across the courtyard, talking and laughing among themselves, oblivious to the two figures watching them from the shadows near the edge of the training grounds.

Drillmaster Tasha Hawthorne stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on the recruits as they moved toward the barracks. She glanced at her counterpart, Halric Stonefell, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “You remember being that young once?” she asked casually, her tone laced with dry humor.

Halric let out a curt laugh, the sound low and rough. “I’ve a harder time of it than you, that’s for sure,” he replied, his steel-gray eyes following the group’s movements.

“Maybe so,” Tasha said, her smirk fading into a more serious expression. “But I hope they take this seriously. With Merrow’s raids on the Vendrath border getting bolder and bolder...” She trailed off, her voice dropping to a quieter, more solemn tone. “I fear it’s only a matter of time before a full war breaks out.”

Halric nodded slowly, his gaze hardening. “Aye. And when it does, it’ll be on us to make sure they’re ready. No room for mistakes, Tasha. Not when lives depend on it.”

“They’re green,” Tasha said, her sharp features softening slightly. “But there’s potential there. Let’s just hope we can mold them before it’s too late.”

Halric’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “We’ll see. First, they’ve got to survive us.”

Tasha chuckled lightly, though the weight of her earlier words lingered between them. Together, they turned and walked away, leaving the recruits to their chatter and the fleeting peace of the courtyard.