Dawn broke over Murkrest in a hazy glow, filtering through the dense canopy and casting the swamp in muted shades of green and gray. Agan wiped the last traces of sleep from his eyes as he made his way to the clearing where Tarek had instructed him and Garik to meet for training. The air was thick with the smell of moss and wet earth, and somewhere in the distance, a frog let out a low, resonant croak.

When Agan reached the clearing, Garik was already there, looking far too alert for the early hour. He was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed, his face set in a look of impatient disdain.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re late,” Garik said, not even trying to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

Agan rolled his eyes. “It’s not even dawn, Garik. Did you sleep out here or something?”

“Some of us actually prepare for things,” Garik replied, his smirk widening.

Before Agan could retort, Tarek’s voice cut through the clearing. “Enough.”

Both boys straightened, their gazes snapping to Tarek as he stepped forward, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression. He carried a staff in one hand, its surface worn smooth by years of use, and his gaze was sharp as he looked between Agan and Garik.

“You two may think you’re ready to face the swamp,” Tarek began, his tone measured but firm, “but you don’t know the half of it. Strength is one thing, but it’s useless without discipline. And discipline starts here.”

Tarek motioned for them to take their places on opposite sides of the clearing, his expression stern. “We’ll start with footwork. This isn’t about brute force—it’s about balance, control, and understanding the ground beneath your feet.”

Agan nodded, positioning himself in a low stance as Tarek demonstrated. He moved cautiously at first, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, feeling the soft, uneven ground beneath him.

Garik, meanwhile, took to the movements with his usual confidence, his steps fluid and sure. Agan tried to ignore him, focusing on keeping his own movements steady, but it was difficult not to feel a surge of irritation every time he saw Garik’s easy grace.

“Good,” Tarek said, nodding as he observed their movements. “Now, increase your speed.”

Agan shifted faster, his steps quickening as he tried to maintain his balance. But the ground was slick, and his foot slipped, sending him stumbling forward. He caught himself just in time, but Garik’s snort of laughter stung.

“Careful, Agan,” Garik sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “Wouldn’t want you to get your feet wet.”

Agan gritted his teeth, shooting him a glare. “Keep talking, Garik. Maybe Tarek can teach you to hold your tongue, too.”

“Enough,” Tarek said sharply, his gaze hard. “This is training, not a contest. If you can’t focus on the task, then neither of you will learn a thing.”

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Both boys fell silent, though Agan’s frustration simmered beneath the surface. He forced himself to focus, to ignore Garik’s smirk and concentrate on the movements, feeling the ground give and shift beneath his feet.

They continued the exercises, moving through basic stances, footwork, and balance drills. Each motion was simple on its own, but the repetition, combined with the slick ground, made it difficult to maintain control. By the time Tarek finally called for a break, Agan’s legs were burning, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Take a moment,” Tarek said, gesturing for them to rest. “The next part requires your full attention.”

Agan collapsed onto a fallen log, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Garik sat a few paces away, looking far too composed for someone who’d just gone through the same grueling exercise.

Agan could feel his patience fraying, his irritation bubbling up as he watched Garik. But he held his tongue, forcing himself to stay quiet as he caught his breath.

After a moment, Tarek returned, holding two wooden practice spears. He tossed one to each of them, his gaze steady as he spoke.

“This next exercise is about control,” he said, his tone serious. “Your spear is an extension of yourself. Every movement you make, it should follow—no hesitation, no overreach. If you can’t control the weapon, you have no hope of controlling yourself.”

Agan gripped the practice spear, feeling its weight settle in his hands. He took a deep breath, centering himself as he watched Tarek demonstrate a series of slow, deliberate movements, each one precise and controlled.

“Follow my lead,” Tarek instructed, moving slowly so they could mimic his actions.

Agan mirrored the movements, shifting the spear with each step, his focus narrowed to the rhythm of the exercise. For a moment, he forgot about Garik, forgot about the tension that had been gnawing at him since the encounter with the drake. All that mattered was the spear, the steady flow of movement, the feeling of control.

But as they continued, Garik sped up, his movements growing faster and more forceful, as though he were trying to turn the exercise into something more. Tarek’s expression darkened, but he didn’t stop him, letting Garik push himself faster.

“Garik,” Tarek said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “Slow down. This isn’t about speed.”

Garik’s jaw tightened, but he complied, his movements slowing as he adjusted his stance. Agan felt a faint surge of satisfaction, though he quickly buried it, focusing on his own practice.

When Tarek finally called an end to the exercise, the sun had risen high overhead, casting long shadows across the clearing. Agan’s arms ached, his legs felt like they were made of lead, but he couldn’t deny the sense of accomplishment that lingered in his chest.

“You both did well,” Tarek said, his tone approving. “But remember—this is just the beginning. Discipline isn’t learned in a day. It takes time, patience, and a willingness to fail.”

Garik scoffed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Maybe that’s easy for you to say, but some of us don’t have time to waste on slow progress.”

Tarek’s gaze sharpened, his voice cold. “And that impatience will get you killed, Garik. Strength without control is a weakness.”

The words landed like a blow, and Garik’s expression shifted, his pride bruised. Agan almost felt sorry for him—almost.

As they gathered their things, Tarek pulled Agan aside, his gaze serious. “You’ve got potential, Agan. But don’t let pride get in the way. Strength means nothing without discipline.”

Agan nodded, his gaze steady. “I’ll remember that.”

Tarek placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression softening. “Good. I know you’re eager to grow stronger, but it’s patience that will get you there. Learn to control yourself first.”

Agan felt a flicker of determination, a spark of resolve that had been missing before. He wanted to prove himself, not just to Tarek or the village, but to himself. And he knew that path would take more than brute force.

As he left the clearing, Garik’s voice called out from behind him, a smirk playing on his lips. “Guess even you can learn a few things.”

Agan shot him a look, a faint smile tugging at his own lips. “Just try to keep up.”