Twelve years later
The sky burned red at dusk, as if the land itself remembered an old crime. At the heart of the abandoned orchard stood a tall tree, its branches heavy with ripe guavas. No one was meant to be here. Stepping inside was forbidden.
And forbidden places always called the loudest.
Elyra climbed.
"Elyra."
A sharp whisper cut through the wind—tense, urgent.
"Get down. If someone comes—"
"Be quiet, Cael,"
she snapped, not even glancing down.
"Your voice will get us caught faster than my feet."
She twisted higher, plucked three guavas, and stuffed them into her satchel. With a sharp exhale, she jumped.
Thud.
The ground answered like a judge.
"Who's there?"
A man's voice—heavy, alert, dangerous.
Cael's eyes widened.
"Run."
They bolted, weaving through the trees, branches clawing at their skin, lungs burning with every step. Only when the sounds of pursuit faded did they stop, bent over, gasping.
Cael laughed between breaths.
"I won't lie… that was worth it."
He glanced at her satchel.
"So… how many?"
Elyra reached inside.
"Three."
"Three?"
His grin fell.
"For all that risk?"
She shot him a glare.
"If you wanted more, you should've climbed."
Cael raised his hands, still laughing.
"I was joking. You're… fierce today."
"Great joke,"
she said, eyes closing.
"Now you get nothing."
She turned and ran.
"Elyra—wait!"
He chased her. Laughter turned to sharp shouts. He caught her wrist—and in the next heartbeat, Elyra lost her balance.
They fell. Guavas scattered across the dirt.
Cael twisted mid-fall, landing hard but keeping a small distance between them. Both froze.
They were not alone.
A boy stood nearby. Golden hair caught the last light of dusk. A sword hung at his side—not ceremonial, not decorative. Real.
He bent down, picked up one of the fallen guavas, and looked at them with a calm, assessing gaze.
"As I see it,"
he said quietly,
"these were stolen."
Elyra hesitated.
"We didn't steal… we only took a few."
Before she could finish, Cael snatched the guava from the boy's hand. Their eyes met—sharp, measuring, dangerous.
Cael gestured to Elyra. They ran.
Falconreach was alive.
Training camps stretched in every direction tents, weapon racks, watchfires, banners of different kingdoms fluttering under the same wind. Steel rang against steel. The ground bore the scars of countless drills.
At the center lay a vast open field. Two lines stood there: boys on one side, girls on the other.
Silence pressed down as an old man stepped forward.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his posture unbroken by age. Deep lines etched into his face not by time, but by command. His eyes moved slowly across the trainees, sharp and measuring, as if weighing their worth without a word.
When he spoke, his voice carried without effort.
"Welcome to Falconreach."
The field stilled.
"I am Kaeric Thorn," he continued, "Master of Arms."
No pride. No warmth. Only fact.
"You are here for one reason alone: to forge yourselves into iron. Iron that does not bend. Iron that does not break."
His gaze swept the lines again.
"For me, there are no divisions. Boy or girl here, you are brothers and sisters of the same blade."
A few heads lifted. A few brows tightened.
"Discipline is law," Kaeric went on. "Break it once, and you are warned. Break it twice, and you are punished."
His voice hardened.
"Break it again and you will be sent home. And once you leave Falconreach," he added coldly, "do not expect another training ground to take you in. I oversee every campus across the kingdoms."
That landed heavier than any threat.
"You are dismissed."
Kaeric Thorn stepped down from the platform. No applause. No whispers. His presence lingered, heavy, unavoidable. Every line in his face, every measured step, spoke of power. Some had heard the tales whispered in taverns and war camps how he carved through enemies on the battlefield, how men twice his size fell at his command. Others had heard nothing at all.
But all thought the same thing:
If this is Kaeric Thorn at sixty-five… what had he been in his prime?
Was it pride that gave him such authority? Or power?
No one knew. No one ever had.
After Kaeric's departure, the field remained silent.
Then another man stepped onto the platform. Younger, broad-shouldered, battle-worn. A long scar ran along his jaw. Every step spoke of years spent obeying orders and giving them.
He did not waste words.
"I am Captain Rovan Drake, your combat instructor."
His eyes swept over the trainees sharp, unsympathetic.
"You are welcome to Falconreach," he said. "But understand this: welcome does not mean comfort."
A few shifted uneasily.
"Discipline is not suggested here. It is expected. Follow the rules, and you will endure. Break them, and you will learn why you should not have."
He gestured to a woman standing at the edge of the field.
"Ms Edda Frostvale will guide you. She will show you where you eat, where you sleep, and where you train."
His gaze hardened.
"Listen to her. If you get lost, Falconreach will not come looking."
Silence followed. Then, with a single nod, Captain Rovan Drake stepped back his presence lingering like a promise of pain yet to come...
Camp Orientation Falconreach
Ms. Edda Frostvale walked ahead without waiting to see if anyone lagged behind.
She was lean, sharp-eyed, dressed in layered leathers stained by weather and use. Nothing about her suggested comfort. Nothing suggested mercy.
"This,"
she said, stopping before a wide stretch of scarred ground,
"is your battlefield."
The word settled heavily.
"Here, Captain Rovan Drake will break your bodies," Edda continued calmly.
"And rebuild them."
A few swallowed.
"My task,"
she went on, turning to face them,
"is to ensure you survive long enough for him to try."
She gestured toward the treeline beyond the field dark, dense, unforgiving.
"I will teach you how to live where the land wants you dead,"
she said.
"How to move without being seen.
How to eat when there is nothing.
How to endure hunger. Cold. Wounds."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And when you are bleeding in the wild," she added, "I will teach you which plants heal and which will finish the job."
Silence followed.
"Traps,"
Edda said flatly.
"Beasts. Weather. Infection."
She let the words hang.
"Any questions?"
No one spoke.
She nodded once, as if that was the correct answer.
"Follow."
They moved again.
Moments later, she stopped before a cluster of camps arranged with military precision.
"This is where you will sleep,"
she said.
"One camp. Three people."
Her eyes swept the group.
"No one enters another camp without permission," Edda warned.
"Curfew is absolute. Lights out on time. Up on time. Every task on time."
She paused.
"Falconreach does not forgive carelessness."
Then, almost casually:
"Be careful,"
she said.
"And if you survive good luck."
Without another word, Ms.Edda Frostvale turned and walked away.
The trainees stood still for a heartbeat longer…
then began forming their groups.
Author; KRIS
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