Frostvale's practice range sat where the fields gave up and the forest began—a strip of hard-packed earth ending in a straw target that had seen more abuse than half the village walls. Arrow shafts jutted from it at odd angles, feathers ruffled and frostbitten.
Kaden trudged up the path, bow slung across his back, and already knew what he'd find. Mira stood planted in the center of the range, legs set, shoulders steady, bowstring drawn to her ear. Her arrow sang across the distance, thudding into the black circle already crowded with fletching.
Kaden let out a theatrical groan. "You know, the rest of us would like a turn."
Without looking, Mira nocked another arrow. "Then hit the center and earn it."
"Brutal," Kaden muttered, but his grin stretched wide. She'd cracked only a hint of a smile, but it counted.
Mira was like that—sharp as flint on the outside, steady heat hidden deep. She didn't hand out praise like sweets at festival. When she gave it, you earned it.
Kaden set his feet the way she'd drilled him a hundred times: shoulder square, jaw loose, breath even. He pulled back, string creaking, arms trembling just enough to betray him.
"Don't overthink it," Mira said.
"My specialty," he muttered, and loosed. The arrow struck the outer ring, holding fast like it had simply refused to fall out of pity.
Mira lowered her bow. "Again."
He obeyed. Again and again until his fingers numbed from the cold. Mira never missed. Even when she pretended to.
By the time Dorin's broad frame appeared at the edge of the range, the ground was littered with Kaden's arrows—some proud, some pitiful. Dorin carried a sack of charcoal on one shoulder, his breath fogging the air in short bursts. He stopped, watched, then shook his head.
"Wasting arrows," he said.
"Training," Mira corrected.
Kaden puffed out his chest. "Hit the black once. Officially insufferable now."
Dorin's mouth twitched—his version of a laugh. "You were insufferable the day we met."
"We were infants"
"Exactly"
Mira's snort cracked the icy air, and Kaden counted that a win.
They finished the session sprawled in the meadow just beyond the range, cloaks wrapped tight as frost rimed the grass around them. Kaden lay flat on his back, staring up at the endless gray sky. Mira sat cross-legged, sharpening an arrowhead. Dorin, as always, sat like a boulder—silent, steady, unmovable.
"Remember the pond?" Dorin asked suddenly. "When we were nine?"
Mira arched a brow. "Which disaster? There were several."
"The time Kaden swore he could walk on ice before it froze."
Kaden groaned into his arm. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
"You nearly drowned," Mira said flatly, though her lips quirked.
"I nearly proved it was possible," Kaden argued. "History will vindicate me."
"History will laugh at you," she countered.
"I kept you alive," Dorin said with a shrug. "Dragged you out by your hood while Mira yelled."
"I was keeping him awake," Mira defended. "And it worked."
Kaden peeked up at her, grinning. "See? It was a team effort. My genius, Dorin's strength, Mira's voice that could wake the dead."
She smacked his shoulder with the flat of her bow. He pretended it nearly killed him.
The three of them lay there for a while, the cold biting through wool and leather, but none of them moved. They'd been together since they were small enough to fit under the same blanket in the longhall. They'd grown up chasing the same goats, stealing the same apples, listening to the same Ranger tales. When one was punished, the other two usually weren't far behind.
Frostvale could be harsh. Winters took without asking. Wolves prowled the ridges. Men broke under labor, women under hunger. But the three of them had always leaned on each other.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" Kaden asked suddenly.
Mira glanced at him, sharp, as if testing the question for weakness. Dorin just waited.
"Not leaving-leaving," Kaden added quickly. "Just… what's out there. Past the ridges. Past the empire roads."
Mira's gaze drifted to the treeline. "The empire doesn't care about villages like ours. Out there isn't better. It's just different."
"Different sounds exciting."
"Different could get you killed."
Dorin snorted. "So could walking on ponds."
Kaden groaned again. "I'll never live that down, will I?"
"Not as long as I'm alive," Dorin said, and for once, the grin broke free across his face.
The sound of goats bleating carried across the meadow. Somewhere, the forge rang. Children shouted, their laughter piercing the winter air. Frostvale was small, but to Kaden, it sometimes felt like the whole world—and other times, like a cage too tight around his ribs.
But looking at Mira's calm, steady focus, and Dorin's unshakable strength, he felt it again: whatever else happened, whatever dangers loomed, he wasn't alone.
That was enough. For now.