After lunch everyone was visibly looking better and there was an excitement in the room.
Elara's fingers curled tightly around the worn leather strap of her pack as she moved through the towering stone corridors. The War Academy was more imposing than she'd imagined—ancient arches carved with swirling runes, echoing footsteps, and walls lined with portraits of battle-scarred heroes who seemed to watch her every step.
A smile tugged at her lips. She had made it. After all the scrapes, the frightening nights, the whispered doubts—she was here.
This was her first real step toward changing her fate.
No longer the peasant girl waiting for death's call. No longer the shadow of a past life's broken promises.
Here, she would carve her own name into the story.
She stole a glance at Fig, who bounced lightly on her shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief and approval.
"Well, chaos queen," he whispered just for her, "looks like the universe finally agreed to stop kicking you in the ribs."
Elara laughed softly, feeling something fierce and bright flare within her. It wasn't just relief. It was hope.
She fell into step next to Teryn, who seemed deep in thought.
"Thinking about kicking my butt?" Elara asked jokingly.
"Nah, Lyssandra's got that covered." He says with a crooked grin.
Elara laughs. "So then what is your plan?"
He thinks for a moment before answering deadly serious. "Well, failure isn't an option, so I am just going to work as hard as I can."
"Hey! He stole your plan!" Fig jokes "You probably shouldn't have wrote it on all the walls in Silverkeep."
"Great plan," Elara says. "mind a side-kick on your mission?"
Teryn smiles at her, his silver eyes looking sad but determined.
"Sure, but I think I will be more of a sidekick to you."
Elara punches him jokingly on the shoulder and Teryn feigns injury.
As Sergeant Kael led the group through the training grounds, the clang of steel and sharp shouts filled the air. Young warriors practiced maneuvers, arrows zipped toward distant targets, and the scent of sweat and iron was thick but invigorating.
"This is where you'll learn to be more than just a fighter," Kael said, voice steady and sure. "Strategy, honor, control. If you survive here, you'll be ready for anything."
Elara tightened her grip on her pack again, her eyes scanning the grounds with determination.
Sergeant Kael stopped at the edge of the sprawling practice field, where seasoned warriors in leather and chainmail moved through fluid drills, their swords clashing and boots pounding the dirt in steady rhythm.
"Alright," Kael said, voice sharp and clear. "You're joining the second training group. Each newbie gets paired with a warrior-in-training. Learn from them. Keep up. Don't get crushed."
A chorus of groans and determined murmurs rippled through the group.
Elara's heart hammered. This was it—the real test.
Her assigned partner stepped forward: a tall, sinewy woman with eyes like sharpened steel and a confident grin that didn't quite reach them.
"Name's Neelia," the woman said, voice cool. "Try not to embarrass yourself."
Elara bristled. "I made it through the Trials. I'm no joke."
Neelia smirked. "We'll see."
The match began.
Elara lunged, sword slicing through the air—and immediately found herself flat on her face.
Fig's voice popped up, clear only to Elara, dripping with mock enthusiasm: "Ooh, smooth move! Ten out of ten for landing technique!"
Elara groaned, scrambling up. "Fig! I swear, if you cheer for her one more time, I'll rip those wings right off you."
Fig chuckled. "I'm just appreciating the artistry of your face-plant. It's performance art, really."
Every time Elara charged, Neelia countered flawlessly, sending her sprawling—again and again.
"Focus, Elara!" Kael's voice cut through the din. "Learn, adapt, survive."
Elara grit her teeth, wiping dirt from her cheek. She was furious—and fueled.
On the third fall, Fig's laughter nearly broke her concentration.
"You're killing me, fox."
"Fig," she muttered, voice tight, "if you don't start rooting for me, I'm making you wear training armor."
"Tempting," Fig replied. "But I'd probably trip you on purpose."
Elara rolled her eyes, shook off the dirt, and squared her shoulders.
By the time Kael called lunch, Elara was drenched in sweat, dirt caked under her fingernails, and bruises blossomed across her arms and ribs. Her muscles screamed with every movement, every breath heavy in her chest.
She scanned the field. The other candidates looked just as wrecked—chest heaving, clothes torn, faces streaked with grime. The Trial had been brutal, but the training was far worse.
Her eyes searched for Teryn, who also looked like he got his butt kicked- in a lot of different ways. His clothes are torn in a few places and it seems someone had landed a punch to his jaw as a bruise was starting to form.
Lyssandra is the only one rubbing dust from her uniform, looking like she had hardly worked up a sweat. Damn, whoever had trained her, taught her some serious skills.
Elara allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Well, she survived.
The walk to the dining hall felt like crossing a battlefield. She pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the warm scent of roasting meat, fresh fruit, and herbs.
After downing several long, cool glasses of water, Elara tore into a thick slice of smoked venison, the juices dripping down her chin. She followed it with crisp apples and sweet berries, the flavors bright and clean on her tongue.
Teryn slid quietly onto the bench beside her. He didn't say a word, although he did smell strongly of antiseptic herbs. He definitely went to the infirmary before heading for food.
A few others gravitated toward the table—wary glances exchanged but no introductions offered. They sat, eating steadily, their eyes wary but tired.
No one spoke much.
Elara caught Teryn's eye and offered a tired smile.
He just nodded. Looking defeated.
Fig, curled lightly against her collar, muttered, "Silent eating clubs—my favorite kind of socializing."