Two days had passed, and Kaelen was beginning to get the hang of the camp. He stepped out of his tent just as the morning light was beginning to spill over camp, filtering through high banners and fluttering canvas. The air tasted like steel and ash, thick with the scent of sharpening oil, scorched leather, and brewing tea. Kaelen stood outside his assigned tent, the Ember Sigil clipped to his chest, its ember lines pulsing faintly with his heartbeat.
It had been only two days since he'd entered the camp, and yet it felt like he'd stepped into an entirely different world. Gone were the stone chambers of the Trial grounds and the previous experiences he'd had. Here, everything moved whether it be blades, bodies, beasts and even elements.
A sharp whistle rang out across the barracks.
"Rise and bleed!" a voice bellowed. "Strike Unit Three, report to the eastern ring!"
Kaelen grabbed his training gear and made his way toward the commotion. The eastern ring was already alive with sparring duels, and instructors barking orders.
He barely made it past the wooden boundary post before a cheerful voice called out, "I was wondering when you'd show."
He turned to find Syllara, her silky hair tied up in a practical knot, her sharp slit eyes gleaming. She wore the curved insignia of a First-Rank Hunter as well, but hers was a deep sapphire flecked with froststeel, marking her bond with a glacial wyrm.
"Word travels fast," Kaelen said, nodding toward her badge. "Didn't expect you to still be here."
She laughed. "Still? I'm practically rooted to this place. Commander Heshra would skin me if I so much as looked bored."
Her eyes flicked to the badge on his chest. "Ember Sigil. So it's true."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "What, you didn't believe the rumors?"
"I thought they exaggerated. I mean, *rewriting the core's resonance structure?* That's usually the kind of thing that ends with explosions."
"There was an explosion," Kaelen muttered, recalling the trial's end. "Just... internal."
Syllara grinned. "Well, you're here. And not burned to cinders. That's good enough for me. Come on. They're assigning partners for the next few days of training. Might as well see who you're stuck with."
***
Routine settled in quickly but nothing about it was easy.
Strike Unit Three was a high-tier hunter division, responsible for missions that veered into deadly territory. Kaelen was thrust headfirst into drills with seasoned warriors, each of them scarred, skilled, and skeptical.
Each day started before dawn with core conditioning, strength and speed training under pressure from arcane weights that shifted gravity. Then came formation practice, tactical dueling, elemental focus control.
Kaelen fought alongside Brann, a huge hammer-wielder with a booming laugh and an impressive braid. Brann treated everything like a game even getting slammed into the dirt. He had a surprising talent for pulling Kaelen out of his own head.
"You think too much when you fight," Brann said after one session. "Use your instincts, rookie. Let it guide you."
Kaelen thought about that as he wiped blood from his lip.
***
One evening, Kaelen returned to his tent to find a small package tucked inside. It had no name, but the scent was unmistakable.
Syllara's spice blend.
He opened it and found a carefully folded note, it read, "Congrats on not getting disarmed today. Figured you earned this. It's for tea. Not combustion."
He chuckled. It had been three days since he'd accidentally set the training dummy on fire.
---
Amid the routine, oddities began to crop up.
A herd of sky-elk had crash-landed outside the perimeter wall during a midnight storm — all of them stunned, their antlers glowing with runic energy. The handlers couldn't figure out what had driven them from the mountains.
Then, a scouting party returned from a nearby ridge with tales of a broken wyrmgate, long thought dormant. It had been pulsing.
Commander Heshra increased the number of patrols, though she said little about it in briefings.
***
By the sixth day, Kaelen found himself called into the strategy tent at dusk.
Inside, parchment maps were spread across tables, marked with sigils and troop movements. Heshra stood near the head, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Beside her stood Ardin Vald, a lanky, hawk-nosed hunter known for his reconnaissance skills.
"You're being deployed," Heshra said without preamble. "Two days from now."
Kaelen straightened. "Where?"
"South ridge valley. We lost contact with an outpost team near the crystal caverns. Strike Units Two and Four are occupied with border containment. It's on us."
Ardin slid a map across. "You'll be part of a six-person group. Baku's leading the field team. You'll be our elemental support. We suspect core fluctuations. Possibly a corrupted drake."
Kaelen nodded, his fingers resting on the badge at his chest. "Understood."
As he turned to leave, Heshra added, "This isn't just about showing you can swing a blade or throw a fireball. This is your first true mission. Real fieldwork. Real danger."
Kaelen paused. "I'm ready."
"Good," she said. "You'd better be."
By nighttime, Kaelen couldn't sleep.
He lay on the cot, staring at the sloped canvas above him, the faint flicker of flame dancing on his fingertips. The Ember Sigil on the nearby table pulsed softly in the dark, its warmth steady, like a heartbeat in sync with his own.
Outside, a low wind passed over the tents, rustling banners and distant bells.
In a few days, he'd be stepping beyond the safety of routine. Into something more primal. Something closer to the truth of what it meant to be Aetherwrought.
He closed his fist, extinguishing the flame, and began drifting into sleep.