Agan tightened his grip on the wooden training staff, feeling the worn smoothness of the handle as he faced Garik across the training circle. Around them, a small group of villagers and younger children watched in anticipation, murmuring bets and whispering encouragements. Tarek stood nearby, arms folded, his sharp gaze tracking their every movement.

It was another morning in Murkrest, and Tarek had gathered the group for a sparring session at the edge of the village. The swamp fog was still lingering, but the air was warm and humid, clinging to Agan’s skin and making every breath feel thick.

“Remember,” Tarek said, his voice carrying over the buzz of the crowd, “the swamp doesn’t care if you’re tired, or if you’re angry, or if you think you’re the best. It only cares that you survive. So get your heads out of your egos, and pay attention.”

Garik shot Agan a smirk, rolling his shoulders back and gripping his own staff with a practiced ease. “Hope you’re ready to eat mud, Agan.”

Agan narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He’d been looking forward to this—ever since Garik’s endless need to be in front, his cocky grin every time he managed to get the upper hand in training. Today, he was determined to beat him.

“Keep the chatter to a minimum,” Tarek added with a sharp look. “This isn’t just a game. Sparring is a tool—a way to learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Understood?”

Both boys nodded, focusing on each other. Agan took a deep breath, centering himself as he adjusted his grip, watching for Garik’s first move.

The moment Tarek signaled, Garik lunged forward, his staff swinging low. Agan sidestepped, dodging the first blow and feeling a rush of satisfaction as Garik stumbled slightly, off-balance. But Garik recovered quickly, spinning around to deliver a series of quick strikes, testing Agan’s defenses.

Agan blocked each hit, feeling the impact of Garik’s strength vibrating through his arms. He could hear Aska and Karu shouting encouragements from the side, but he tuned them out, focusing on the rhythm of the fight.

Garik feinted left, then jabbed forward, catching Agan in the shoulder with a glancing blow. The pain flared, but Agan gritted his teeth and countered with a quick strike to Garik’s midsection. Garik’s grin faded as he staggered back, and Agan pressed the advantage, driving him toward the edge of the circle.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Agan muttered under his breath.

“Shut up and focus,” Garik snapped, regaining his footing. His eyes flashed with a mixture of irritation and respect, and he lunged forward again, his movements sharper, more precise.

The fight continued, both of them trading blows and dodging strikes, neither willing to give ground. The other villagers watched in silence now, the banter replaced by an intense focus as they followed the sparring match, studying the movements and learning from each exchange.

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Finally, Garik overextended on a swing, leaving his side open. Agan seized the opportunity, twisting his staff and hooking it around Garik’s leg, sweeping him off his feet. Garik landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him, and Agan stood over him, breathing heavily, his staff pointed down.

The silence was thick for a moment, and then Karu let out a low whistle. “Guess that’s one for Agan, huh?”

A flicker of a grin tugged at Agan’s lips, but he quickly wiped it away, offering a hand to help Garik up. To his surprise, Garik took it, his expression a mixture of grudging respect and lingering annoyance.

“You got lucky,” Garik muttered, brushing the mud from his tunic.

“Maybe,” Agan replied, shrugging. “But I’ll take it.”

Tarek stepped forward, his face unreadable as he looked between them. “Good work, both of you. Remember—there’s no room for arrogance in real combat. Either of you could’ve made a fatal mistake out there.”

Agan nodded, but he couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction of having bested Garik, even if only in practice. For all of Garik’s bravado, he’d finally proven he could hold his own—and that felt like a small victory.

“Alright,” Tarek said, addressing the group. “Pair off with a new partner. Focus on your form and learn from each other. We’re not just training to fight; we’re training to survive.”

The group broke off, each of them finding new partners. Agan ended up paired with Karu, who shot him an exaggerated look of terror, clutching his staff dramatically.

“Oh no, not the mighty Agan,” Karu groaned, wincing. “Please, spare me. I’ll never survive.”

Agan rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shut up and focus, Karu, or you’ll be eating mud next.”

They squared off, but the intensity of the earlier fight had given way to a lighter mood. They traded blows, laughing as they dodged each other’s hits and stumbled through the mud. Around them, the others were doing the same, their laughter and shouts filling the air.

The sparring continued for a while, until Tarek called them to a halt, signaling the end of the session. The villagers began to disperse, some heading back to their huts, others staying behind to chat and share stories.

As they gathered their things, Aska sidled up beside Agan, her face a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Didn’t know you had that in you,” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

Agan shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just a lucky hit, I guess.”

Garik, overhearing, snorted. “Sure, lucky hit. We’ll see who wins next time.”

Aska rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Garik. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

Karu laughed, slapping Garik on the back. “She’s got you there, Garik.”

Garik muttered something under his breath, but there was no real bitterness in his tone. Agan could tell that, beneath the rivalry, Garik was impressed—and maybe even a little relieved to have someone to push him.

Tarek clapped his hands, drawing their attention back to him. “Good work today,” he said, his gaze sweeping over them. “You’re all improving. Keep it up, because things are changing, and we don’t know what’s coming.”

The mood grew serious, the weight of Tarek’s words settling over them. Agan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dampness in the air. He glanced at his friends, each of them silent, a new understanding in their eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Tarek added, his tone softening. “Go get yourselves cleaned up—and try not to track too much mud back into the huts.”

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving them to gather their belongings. They started back toward the village, still chatting and laughing, but a quiet sense of purpose lingered beneath the surface.