The capital city's outskirts had an evening sky that was a deep violet, with trails of gold where the sun's rays were lingering. The training area was peaceful now, the din of hammers, metal, and magic silenced and covered by the gentle crackle of a campfire. The faces of the tired cadets and the main contingent were shadowed by shadows cast across them, creating a surreal light over polished armor and polished weapons.
Nobody talked at first. The quiet wasn't strained—it was a collective sigh after the insistent furnace of the day. Each cadet sat in small groups, scrubbing weapons, checking enchantments, or mending battered limbs. The oppressive weight of the training of the past weeks settled, but the atmosphere was infused with a low warmth, a feeling of cohesion.
Lyrielle, the main party's elven cadet, stepped into the center of the circle. Her silver hair shimmered in the firelight as she closed her eyes and a deep breath heaved from her chest. The moment was intimate, delicate, yet powerful enough to hold attention. She did not say a word, but started singing.
The song was gentle at first, a soft whisper of breeze through the trees, full of elven forest memories, of loyalty, of unshakable friendship. The notes were pure and chosen, echoed deep in the hearts of all who stood there. The song swelled, rising and falling with the tide, speaking of hardship, of shared suffering, of the unbreakable bond that is created through pain and perseverance. It sang of bravery in the presence of darkness, the bond that tied comrades together, and the unspoken vow that no one would be left behind.
The cadets listened, breathless. Even the normally brash and voluble, like Draven and Eryndor, were silent, allowing the music to envelop them. The Beastmen cadets' tails lashed back and forth in time to the beat, their normally agitated energy cowed by the ethereal, lovely melody. The dwarves, strong and earthy as they were, had a faraway gleam in their eyes, as if wrenched to recollections of hearth and home. The students of the Royal Academy, trained and orderly in magic, permitted themselves to be abstracted from calculations, spells, and laws that otherwise ruled their lives, permitting the song to address itself directly to their spirits.
Not one of them disrupted the spell—not one whisper, not one cough. Even the other five A-rank adventurer parties had stopped their own camp work, standing in hushed awe. Lionheart Vanguard braced against one another, Serpent Fang interlocked fingers, Falcon Talons placed weapons on knees, Phoenix Flame's flames dipped slightly in respect, and Dragon's Might just sat, soaking up the music's vibration.
Kael, standing on the periphery of the firelight, experienced a unusual feeling rising within him—something greater than exhaustion or relief. There was pride, certainly, but awe and a guardian's protective tenderness as well. Lyrielle's voice, gentle but firm, recalled to him every challenge they had faced together: Draevor's relentless training, the brutal hammering out of weapons, the numerous sparring sessions, and the friendships formed with each cadet and adventurer group. He could sense the group's communal interest, a beat of survival, devotion, and love entwined.
The song swelled once more, building to a thunderous crescendo, washing over every listener. It bore the memory of the fallen dead, of the cities laid waste by monsters, of the dead villagers, and the fearless knights who had defended them. It told of mourning, but also hope—of the resilience in unity and the heroism to weather the terrors yet to come.
As the last notes dissolved, the world paused in suspense for a moment longer. Then, gradually, sighs of gratitude pierced the quiet. The cadets glanced at each other, their faces moist in the firefight. Smiles, tiny but real, spread through them. Brief hands clasped, shoulders touched in reassuring humor, laughter fermenting softly where it could.
Kael stood up and walked over to Lyrielle, putting a light hand on her shoulder. "Your voice… it holds more than song," he told her softly. "It holds all of us." She smiled, a blush suffusing the tips of her cheeks, and stepped back into the circle, the flames dancing on her peaceful face.
From then on, there was quiet through the rest of the night. Cadets retired to their tents or stood against the warmth of the fire, arms cleaned and bright, minds soothed by the song. Shadows lapped over camp, but they no longer carried only fear or exhaustion—they carried a promise. A promise that tomorrow, with arms polished and resolve sharpened, they would face whatever darkness came at them together.
And for an instant, but a brief one, the terrors of training and the specter of monsters hung less heavy, mitigated by friendship, loyalty, and the hauntingly lovely music of an elf's heart.