Sweat dripped down the faces of every initiate on the mustering field. Akaro strained himself to keep his body balanced upright. A five foot log was held up by his arms and rested onto his aching shoulders. Yet, Akaro stood strong, as he was expected to. “How…much..longer..” Akaro muttered between pained breaths.
“Can’t be much longer…” Arneth replied. He was also holding a log onto his shoulders, keeping a steady pace of breathing so as to not tire himself. Yet he couldn’t ignore the pain that washed all throughout his body.
Every initiate that stood in the field held a log on their arms and shoulders. If one initiate was to let the log fall, every team would be sent on a hellish punishment of cardio.
A painstaking three hours of running the field. If one initiate seemed to be failing, the others beside them were expected to aid in their shortcomings. In the end, all of the training was to prepare every man and woman that stood on the field to work together no matter the pain they endured.
Khalia Metamin watched the suffering initiates carefully. She looked for any individual that seemed ready to give up only so that she could taunt them, and even goat them into giving up. It was her cruel way of shaping them into hardened soldiers ready for the exhaustion of war and battle.
“I can’t do this anymore!!!” shouted a well built young man with a hearty black beard, tossing the log from over his shoulder and onto the grassy field. His face was wet and glistening from the sweat that ran down his neck.
Khalia marched through the field of tired initiates and approached the man that dropped his log. Khalia glared down at the hunk of wood by her feet then back at the sweaty young man who said nothing. She recognized him as Ranwell Danes, a member of Team Witten.
“Are you giving up, Ranwell?” she asked in monotone.
“Yes, Lady Metamin.” he responded, without breaking eye contact.
“Ranwell, you were mandated by your High’lord to serve as punishment. If you quit now you are aware of what will happen to you, correct?”
“I’ll serve my sentence rotting in a dungeon,” he stated, fully aware of what would happen.
With a disappointing sigh, Khalia planted her hands on her hips and chewed her lower lip. Despite her reputation of being a battle hardened woman from the Red March she still showed a semblance of care for the initiates. Whether it was through small acts of making sure every initiate ate or checking up on people after training, it was clear she cared.
“Very well. Go pack your things. You will be returned home tonight.” Khalia ordered.
Ranwell nodded and stepped out of formation walking off the field with a sunken feeling of defeat. His eyes dared not to make contact with any of his other fellow initiates. His fate was sealed, he would never be a Warden of the Veiled.
Khalia watched Ranwell leave the field behind and head to the Citadel. She ran her fingers through her braided black hair and took a deep breath. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for what was going to happen to him. This was something she still had to learn to deal with as a first year trainer.
“Alright everyone, put your logs down,” Khalia ordered, walking back to the front of the formation.
The second the order was given a collective ‘thud’ was heard throughout the field as logs were dropped, followed by the aches and groans of relief.
Akaro stretched his bruised shoulders and turned to look at Arneth and Iris who were on his left in the formation.
Iris’ face was a light red hue from the training. Her pale face no longer held its doll-like complexion but instead sweat ran down from her forehead to her upper lip. Yet, she never once complained.
Arneth held a similar shade of red to his face and arms but he barely broke a sweat. The man was a machine made of muscle, but it came to no surprise as the Ashkelli were men and women bred for the hardships of the Ash Mountains.
Akaro raised his arm and offered a fist to Arneth. The Ashkelli man grinned and greeted the fist with his own, bumping their knuckles.
Arneth’s attention completely shifted to something behind Akaro. He used his chin to point at whatever was behind him in order to get Akaro to look.
Akaro furrowed his brows and turned to look over his shoulder. It was Wigyur, laid out on the floor with his eyes closed. Strands of his long black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, while the rest was laid out messier than usual on the grass.
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“You alright man?” Akaro asked, desperately holding in any sort of laughter.
“Let me perish please,” Wigyur said without opening his eyes.
Akaro shook his head and pressed a tongue against his inner cheek. He took a moment to compose himself before walking over to Wigyur and offering his hand. “Come on, no perishing today.”
Wigyur opened a single eye and glanced at the hand. “Uuugh..” he groaned, raising a shaky arm to grab hold of Akaro’s hand.
Akaro lifted the thin man off the grass with ease and returned to his place in formation. While Wigyur stumbled back to his place with shaky legs to each step.
Khalia stood patiently in front of the formation with her hands held proudly on her hips. She had news to tell the initiates, but decided on giving them a few minutes to recover and collect their thoughts from the grueling experience they had just been put through.
Everyone reacted differently to the training and it was to be expected. While Arneth and a few others stood strong, some involuntarily threw up, and some others could barely stand.
Letting a few more minutes pass, Khalia finally cleared her throat to get the attention of initiates. The sound of her throat clearing was enough to get every tired and suffering initiate into an instant attention. All eyes were trained on the Red March native.
“Four weeks into training and there are now only thirty six of you. I must say, I expected there to be far less,” Khalia said, running her eyes along the rugged men and women standing in formation. “But there are still seventeen more weeks of training for you all to endure. The hardest part is done. Now, we must build you all up into Warden’s capable of killing even the strongest of foes.
Khalia paused for a moment to let the initiates process what they have been told. Her brown eyes watched them like a hawk, for a moment she felt a sense of pride. It would be her and Scar’s duty to raise the next generation of Wardens into killing machines.
“Is that understood?!” Khalia shouted.
“Understood Lady Metamin!” shouted multiple voices in response.
“Good to hear. Everyone go wash up, eat, and head to class. Seer Gwenneth will be expecting you all in two hours,” Khalia explained.
In the last four weeks of training, Scar held back from getting too involved in the training. He wanted to give Khalia the opportunity to train the way she saw fit. However, this didn’t mean Scar wasn’t watching. Behind the stained glass of the Citadel, he and Alexios watched silently over the mustering field.
“Khalia was a great pick for the job. She’ll mold them into fine warriors,” Alexios said, crossing his arms over his chest, still peering out of the window.
“I trusted her with my life and I’ll trust her with theirs,” Scar uttered from under his helmet. He turned his head to Alexios who was mostly ever quiet, but he knew just from the look in his eyes something was bothering him. “Alexios?”
“Hm?”
“Stop worrying.”
“I do not worry for myself, I worry for him. If he is up to the task,” Alexios explained.
“Do you not believe he could overcome his nature?” asked Scar.
“I am unsure. But until then, do not take your eyes off him,” Alexios said, turning his head to look at Scar. A warm smile set on his lips and without a word he gave Scar a single pat on his back. Alexios turned away from the window and made his leave, likely returning back to his office in the high towers of the Citadel. Scar watched over his shoulder as his old friend left the room. With nothing but silence left, Alexios’ words swirled in Scar’s mind.
The initiates all rushed off the mustering field and used the next two hours to tend to their needs. Arneth rushed straight to the dining hall to grab a bite to eat. A big man such as himself tended to eat tons of calories, and the Citadel never refused to serve meals, so it was like a paradise for Arneth.
Meanwhile Wigyur headed for the washrooms to soak his aching muscles in the soapy pools of warm water. His entire body felt the waves of goosebumps the moment he submerged into the waters. Wigyur’s body felt as if it was on fire most of the morning, but for a brief moment it all went away.
Iris felt most at peace meditating in the gardens of the Citadel. While it wasn’t allowed for initiates to even be in the garden, Khalia never said anything to her and knew the Ivorian wanted peace and quiet with nature. As it was a big part of their culture to be amongst nature.
However, Iris’ meditating was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps approaching. When Iris swiveled her head in the direction of the footsteps she was surprised to see Akaro trying to step as light as he could. He stopped in his tracks seeing was no longer meditating but instead staring at him.
“Hey, didn’t mean to bother,” Akaro softly said.
“Well, you’re bothering,” Iris plainly spoke.
“Sorry, can I meditate with you?” Akaro asked.
“As long as you’re silent,” Iris replied.
Akaro gave a simple nod and walked to a spot in the grass only a few feet from Iris. There he sat himself and crossed his legs into a meditative posture, closing his eyes.
The two said nothing to one another, instead they only listened to the sounds of the wind blowing through the leaves of the surrounding trees, and the occasional Warden shouting out orders in the distance. With the complete tranquility the garden offered it was a little hard to tell how much time had passed, but Akaro didn’t care. He enjoyed this moment.
“Why are you here?” Iris asked, breaking the long silence between the two.
“Uh,” Akaro was blindsided by the question. He thought for a moment but was only able to utter a simple answer, “I like gardens.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Iris spoke in a cold tone.
“You mean, why am I here in the Citadel?” Akaro questioned.
“Yes.”
Akaro sat confused for a moment, why all of a sudden did Iris want to talk about this? His brown eyes met with her blue eyes, she was beautiful but so difficult for him to understand. Which is the exact reason he liked her. But maybe the only way to get to know her was by opening up to her? So he did.
“I’m here because I want to help people. Scar saved me and this is my way of repaying my debt,” Akaro explained, “and you?”
Iris broke eye contact and stared down at the grass she sat on. For the first time since Akaro had known her, she looked sad. It all made sense to him. This was why she didn’t want to talk about any of it the day Wigyur asked her, because it was something that took her to the dark reaches of her mind.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Akaro interjected.
Iris’ wet eyes shared the image of a person that held emotional pain deep inside. However, she tried to mask the image with a weak smile. “We should get to class..”