Morning came slower the next day. The sun crawled lazily across the thin curtains, filling the dorm with a hazy light that turned the dust in the air into drifting specks of gold. Someone snored softly on the lower bunk. The smell of old straw and smoke hung thick in the air, and somewhere below, the faint clatter of pans meant breakfast was coming — if there was anything left to cook.
Rion sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair, already a mess of black strands that never seemed to behave, stuck up in uneven directions. He ran his fingers through it, yawned, and squinted toward the window. The world outside looked peaceful again — the yard empty, the fields stretching out in quiet stillness. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that yesterday's unease had just been imagination.
Across the room, Elias was still sprawled under his blanket, half his arm hanging over the edge of the bunk. He had the kind of sleep that ignored everything, even the sound of shouting. His blond hair caught the morning light, bright like straw, and his freckled face was relaxed in a way that made him look far younger than he liked to pretend.
Rion threw a pillow at him.
"Wake up, hero."
Elias grunted. "Five more minutes."
"You said that yesterday."
"And the day before that," came Seren's quiet voice from the other corner of the room. He was already dressed, sitting by the window with a book open on his knees. His pale hair fell neatly over his forehead, and even in the dim light, his eyes looked sharp — like he was constantly studying something no one else could see.
Elias groaned and pulled the blanket higher. "You two talk too much in the morning."
Rion sighed, got off the bed, and yanked the blanket away in one swift motion. Elias let out a strangled noise of betrayal, tumbling off the mattress and landing face-first on the wooden floor.
The laughter that followed wasn't cruel — it was the kind that came easy, a small burst of warmth that made the cold room feel alive. Elias sat up, rubbing his nose and glaring up at Rion. "You think that's funny?"
"Yeah," Rion said, grinning. "Kind of."
Seren shut his book and stood. "If you don't hurry, the others will eat everything."
That was enough to make Elias move. He scrambled up, threw on his shirt — brown and patched more times than it had thread — and stormed toward the door. Rion followed behind, barefoot, his old tunic loose around his frame.
Downstairs, the kitchen was as chaotic as always. The younger kids crowded around the wooden table, each trying to grab the larger piece of bread before anyone else could. The caretaker, an older woman with graying hair and kind eyes, tried to keep order with a wooden spoon that had seen more battles than most soldiers.
Rion slipped in, offering to help ladle the thin stew into bowls. It wasn't much — watery broth with a few slices of potato floating in it — but the smell was enough to make everyone's stomachs growl. He handed the bowls out one by one, smiling, even as he counted and realized there wouldn't be enough for him if someone asked for seconds.
He didn't mind. He never really did.
When the others had eaten, Rion sat by the window, sipping what little was left in the pot. The sunlight poured through the glass, catching the dust in midair. The sound of laughter filled the room — Elias boasting about how he'd win next time they sparred, Seren pretending not to listen but clearly amused. It was a small life, maybe even a poor one, but it felt whole in its own way.
After breakfast, they spilled out into the yard again. Elias had already grabbed two sticks, tossing one toward Rion.
"Come on," he said, twirling his in a circle. "Rematch."
Rion caught it easily, shaking his head. "You never win."
"That's because you cheat."
"I just think faster."
Elias lunged without warning, swinging wide. Rion blocked, stepped back, and the rhythm of the fight took shape — a blur of movement, laughter, and the sharp crack of wood meeting wood. It wasn't serious, but it carried something deeper underneath: a hunger to grow, to be strong enough to survive whatever waited beyond those fences.
The other children gathered around, cheering and jeering. Dust kicked up around their feet. Elias grinned through the sweat on his brow, his swings wild but full of heart. Rion moved lightly, always one step ahead, always careful not to strike too hard.
When Elias tripped again, it ended the same way it always did — both of them on the ground, panting, staring up at the sky. The clouds drifted slowly above, too far away to care about the small battles of boys below.
Elias let out a sigh that sounded half like a laugh. "You ever get tired of winning?"
Rion smiled, turning his head. "You ever get tired of losing?"
"Never." Elias sat up, brushing dirt off his knees. "One of these days, I'll actually beat you."
Rion didn't answer. He just looked at him — at the fire that never seemed to leave Elias's eyes, even when there was nothing left to burn for.
Seren stood by the steps, watching them like always. He didn't cheer or laugh; he just observed, hands clasped loosely behind his back. There was something unreadable in his gaze — admiration, maybe, or envy, or both.
"Your stance is improving," Seren said finally, his tone calm as ever.
Elias shot him a grin. "Yeah? Maybe I'll challenge you next."
"You wouldn't like how that ends," Seren replied.
The laughter returned, easy and fleeting. For a few moments, the world felt right again — the wind carrying warmth instead of warnings, the sound of their voices echoing across the yard like a promise that nothing would ever change.
They didn't see the soldiers that day, not yet. The war was still a distant rumor, carried by travelers and priests who stopped for water and blessings. But even as they laughed, something quiet trembled beneath it all, a sense that the peace they clung to was only the breath before a storm.
When the sun started to fall, Rion stayed behind in the yard, sweeping the dust they'd stirred. The stick Elias had used lay broken near the fence, split down the middle. He picked it up, running a thumb along the grain, and thought about how even the strongest wood could break in the wrong hands.
He didn't know why, but that thought stayed with him long after everyone else went to sleep.
That night, the wind slipped through the cracks in the dormitory walls, whispering across the sleeping children. Rion lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The wood creaked every so often, the sound almost rhythmic — like the slow breathing of something vast and unseen. He turned on his side, watching the shadows play across the floor.
The day's laughter still lingered faintly in his chest, but it felt fragile, like smoke from a dying fire. He thought about Elias, still boasting in his dreams probably, and Seren, quiet and distant even when surrounded by noise. Sometimes, Rion wondered what went on in their heads when they looked at the same world he did. Did they see hope too, or just the pieces left behind?
He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but the thought wouldn't leave him — that somewhere beyond the fence, the world was burning. Not yet close enough to see, but close enough to feel in the bones.
The next morning came with gray skies. Clouds hung low, the air heavy with the scent of rain that hadn't yet arrived. Rion found Elias outside again, already swinging a new stick around as if daring the storm to come faster. His hair was a tangle of gold in the dull light, and his shirt clung to his back with sweat.
"You're up early," Rion said, stepping out barefoot into the dirt.
Elias grinned. "Didn't sleep much. Figured I might as well get stronger while you were dreaming."
"Stronger how? By hitting air?"
"Hey, air fights back."
Rion laughed under his breath and joined him, grabbing a fallen branch. Their makeshift sparring began again, quieter this time. There was no crowd, no laughter — only the steady rhythm of wood striking wood and the dull thuds of their feet against the earth.
Seren watched from the doorway, arms crossed. He had that same faint frown he wore when he was thinking too hard.
"You two are going to break every branch in the yard," he said finally.
Elias blocked a swing, grinning. "Then we'll move to trees."
Rion struck again, pushing him back. "You'd lose to the tree."
"Not if I hit first."
"You'd still lose."
Seren sighed softly, shaking his head. He didn't join them — he never did — but his gaze stayed fixed on Rion's hands, the way his grip shifted naturally, the way he always found balance in motion. There was something effortless about him, and maybe that was what made it hard to look away.
When the rain finally came, it was sudden. Big, heavy drops that slapped against the ground like thrown stones. Elias threw his stick aside and ran for shelter, laughing like a fool. Rion followed slower, tilting his face up to the sky for a moment before ducking under the eaves.
The world turned gray and silver. The sound of rain on the roof filled the silence between them.
Inside, the younger children crowded around the window, squealing as thunder rumbled in the distance. One of them — Mira, a tiny girl with tangled curls — tugged on Rion's sleeve.
"Will it flood again?" she asked, eyes wide.
He crouched beside her. "Not this time. The rain's just passing by."
She frowned. "You said that last time."
He smiled softly. "Then I was right last time too, wasn't I?"
Her expression wavered, then she nodded, satisfied enough to run back to the others.
Rion watched her go, then leaned against the wall, feeling the faint chill from the damp air seep into his skin. Elias sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, poking at a crack in the wood.
"You always sound so sure," he said, not looking up.
"Someone has to."
Elias let out a small laugh. "Yeah. I guess it's better when it's you."
That caught Rion off guard. He turned to look at him, but Elias was already stretching, yawning, pretending he hadn't said anything meaningful. That was just how he was — never serious for too long, always turning sincerity into a joke before it stuck too deep.
Seren, from his corner, spoke quietly. "It's not that he's sure. He just doesn't want anyone to be scared."
Elias looked at him. "And you?"
"I think it's fine to be scared," Seren said, eyes still on the rain. "It means you're paying attention."
For a while, no one spoke. The storm grew louder, the sound of rain against the wood almost drowning out their breathing.
Rion watched them both — Elias, restless and bright, and Seren, calm but shadowed. He wondered if the two halves of their world could ever really fit together. One too full of fire, the other too full of thought. He didn't realize until much later that he'd been the one holding them in place without meaning to.
When the rain stopped, the air smelled clean but heavy. The yard was soaked, the soil dark and soft underfoot. They spent the afternoon repairing the fence that had half-collapsed under the weight of the water. Rion worked without complaint, sleeves rolled to his elbows, mud streaking up his arms.
Elias hammered nails with too much force, cursing every time he missed. Seren handed him new ones wordlessly, patient in that quiet way of his.
The caretaker passed by with a basket of wet laundry. "You boys never rest," she said, shaking her head. "If only you worked this hard when it comes to chores that matter."
Elias grinned. "Fighting matters."
She chuckled, swatting his arm. "You'll learn what matters when you're older."
Rion smiled faintly at that. He didn't say it, but he already suspected that "older" just meant "when it's too late to change anything."
By evening, the sky began to clear. A single line of orange light broke through the clouds, staining the puddles gold. The three of them sat on the steps, legs stretched out, watching the sunset reflect off the wet ground.
Elias rested his chin on his knees. "You think we'll ever leave this place?"
Rion tilted his head. "Why would we?"
"I dunno. Feels like there's something out there. Something big. I don't wanna rot here fixing fences forever."
Seren didn't look up. "Out there isn't better, Elias."
"You sound like the priests."
"They're right about some things."
Rion glanced at both of them. "Maybe it's not about better or worse. Maybe it's just… different."
Elias snorted. "You'd probably find a way to smile even if you were starving in a ditch."
"Wouldn't help much if I didn't," Rion said quietly.
There was a pause, the kind that always came when words hit too close to the truth. The light faded bit by bit, and the sky deepened to blue.
When night finally settled, they lingered a little longer. The world around them was still damp, the smell of wet grass mixing with smoke from the kitchen fire. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked — the kind of sound that made the night feel less empty.
Elias broke the silence again, his voice low. "You think we'll ever be strong enough to protect everyone here?"
Rion looked up at the faint stars pushing through the clouds. "I don't know," he said. "But we can try."
Seren turned his gaze toward him, eyes unreadable. "You always say that like it's simple."
"Because it has to be."
Elias laughed softly. "You really are stupid sometimes."
"Probably," Rion said, smiling again. "But someone's gotta be."
They sat there until the last light disappeared, the three of them side by side — one restless, one silent, one smiling as if that alone could hold the world together. And maybe, for a while, it did.
The rain had washed the dust away, leaving the air too clean, too quiet. Somewhere deep in the forest, a bird called once and fell silent.
None of them knew that beyond those woods, the war was already moving.
And before long, even the smallest things they took for granted — the laughter, the chores, the warmth of shared hunger — would become stories they'd struggle to remember without hurting.
But for that night, they were still boys.
Still whole.
Still safe.