The first hint of dawn was breaking as Agan reached the clearing, his muscles still aching from the previous day’s drills. Garik was already there, crouched low and toying with a blade of grass, pretending not to notice Agan’s approach. But the faint smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Surprised you’re awake,” Garik said, not looking up.

“Surprised you haven’t wandered off yet,” Agan replied with a shrug. He glanced around, noticing Tarek pacing at the edge of the clearing, spear in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping over them both.

“Today’s lesson is control,” Tarek announced. He held up his spear, demonstrating a series of fluid, low sweeps and stabs. “Move without disturbing the ground beneath you. Understand where your body weight lands. If you can’t manage that, the swamp itself will betray you before your enemy even gets the chance.”

Agan and Garik exchanged a glance, each weighing the other’s determination, but neither said a word as they picked up their own practice spears and took up stances.

At first, the lesson seemed straightforward enough. Agan shifted his weight slowly, following the rhythm of Tarek’s movements, his feet sliding carefully across the ground to avoid sinking into the soft mud. His muscles burned with the effort, but he kept his balance, moving as quietly as he could.

Garik moved at a brisker pace, his steps bolder, heavier, each thrust and pivot kicking up small clumps of mud. It didn’t take long for Tarek to shake his head in Garik’s direction.

“Stop stomping around like a marsh drake,” he scolded, his tone sharp. “Move as though you’re stepping across thin ice. Control every motion.”

Garik frowned, glancing sideways at Agan, who was suppressing a smirk. “Easy for you to say,” Garik muttered under his breath, but he tried again, this time planting his feet with more care.

Tarek watched, his gaze flicking between the two boys as they continued the exercise. As they moved through the sequence again, Agan felt his muscles starting to tire, his movements growing heavier. But he pushed through, unwilling to falter while Garik was still going.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

When Tarek finally called for a break, both of them dropped their spears with sighs of relief, each too proud to acknowledge the exhaustion mirrored in the other’s face. Tarek tossed them each a water skin, his gaze still assessing.

“You’re getting better,” he said, his tone begrudgingly approving. “But don’t mistake practice for progress. Your movements need to be second nature.”

As Agan took a long drink, Garik shot him a sideways look, his face flushed. “Let’s go again,” Garik said, setting down his water skin, determination sparking in his eyes. “I’m not finished yet.”

Agan rolled his shoulders, feigning a casual shrug. “Fine by me. Just don’t slow me down.”

They both grabbed their spears and moved back into position, neither willing to let the other claim any kind of advantage. This time, they fell into a rhythm, their movements echoing Tarek’s demonstration, the silence of the swamp amplifying the soft scrape of their feet against the mud.

The sequence was relentless, demanding more control and precision with each pass. Sweat ran down Agan’s face, and his legs shook as he pushed himself to keep pace. But the focus it required blocked out everything else—the pain, the rivalry, even Tarek’s watchful gaze. All that remained was the steady rhythm, each movement synchronized with the swamp around them.

And then Garik stumbled, his foot catching on a hidden root. He staggered, nearly toppling forward, but before he could fall, Agan shot out a hand, catching his arm and steadying him.

Garik jerked back, muttering a low, “Didn’t need help,” but he didn’t pull his arm away. Agan just shrugged, letting go without comment. They shared a quick nod, the tension momentarily forgotten as they resumed the drill.

As dusk began to fall, Tarek finally called them to a halt, and the two boys collapsed onto the ground, their breaths ragged. For a moment, neither of them spoke, each focused on catching their breath. The clearing was silent, save for the steady hum of insects and the soft rustle of leaves.

Tarek stood over them, his expression approving, though he kept his tone stern. “Remember today. Control is everything out here. You can fight like wolves all you want, but when it’s life or death, the swamp demands patience, not pride.”

Agan nodded, too tired to do anything but agree. He could feel the day’s effort weighing on him, the ache settling into his bones. But beneath the fatigue, there was a sense of accomplishment, of progress hard-won through sweat and silence.

As they rose to leave, Garik held out a hand, his gaze steady. “Next time, try not to drag me down with you,” he said, his tone light.

Agan huffed a quiet laugh but took the offered hand, pulling himself to his feet. “Only if you can keep up.”

They both knew it wasn’t quite a truce, but for now, it was close enough.