The short rest ended quickly. One by one, the trainees returned to their positions on the ground, forming rough lines as they waited. No one spoke loudly. All eyes turned when Mr. Drake approached.
"Rest over?" he asked, scanning their faces. "Good. Then we begin again."
He stepped forward and gestured toward the heavy logs they had dragged earlier.
"The wood you carried is not just for strength drills. You will now shape it into your own bows. You will use them later. Choose your tools from the table ahead two people to a set. Share everything. Nothing here belongs to you alone."
A quiet exchange of looks passed between the trainees before they moved. Metal tools scraped softly as they were picked up and divided. Some hesitated, uncertain how to begin. Others examined the wood like it might judge them.
"Listen carefully," Mr. Drake continued, voice firm but controlled. "A bow demands patience, Focus and Discipline. One careless cut, and the work is wasted. This is not about speed. It is about control."
They began.
Wood dust rose into the air. Blades carved slow lines. Hands adjusted grip, angle, pressure. Mr. Drake moved among them without hurry, watching closely. Whenever someone struggled, he stopped beside them correcting posture, guiding hands, saying little but seeing everything.
No one wanted to be the first to ruin the wood.
No one wanted to be seen failing.
And under the quiet scraping of tools, a different tension settled in the understanding that this was not just crafting a weapon.
It was the first time they were being trusted to make one.
Everyone worked with intense focus. Time moved steadily, yet it felt too fast for the amount of work left. As the minutes passed, each trainee drew closer to finishing their bow, hands growing more confident with every careful cut and adjustment.
"Alright," Mr. Drake said at last, stepping forward. "We are at the final stage. Watch closely. Tie the string carefully. Do not rush, and do not cut your hands."
They followed his instructions in silence, fastening the string with measured care. One by one, the bows took shape. Some were rough, some cleaner but all were functional.
When the last knot was secured, Mr. Drake surveyed the group.
"That concludes today's training," he said. "I will inspect your work next session. You are dismissed."
Without another word, he gathered his tools and left the ground, while the trainees remained for a moment tired, quiet, and aware that the first real test had only just begun.
The ground slowly emptied as everyone gathered their tools and began to leave. Fatigue showed clearly on their faces; the first day had taken more from them than any of them wished to admit. Eylra and Cael finished their work and rose as well.
"Cael, wait here. I'll be back in a moment," Eylra said, glancing at him.
He gave a short nod.
She walked ahead and spotted Thessa, approaching quietly. "Thessa, are you done?" she asked, her voice steady but curious.
"Almost," Thessa replied without looking up, still focused on her bow.
Eylra shifted her gaze to Mireya. "Alright… and you?"
"I'll come with Thessa," Mireya said with an awkward smile. "Just a little more to finish. I'll meet you at the mess hall."
"Okay. I'll see you there," Eylra replied, then turned back.
When she returned, she found Cael speaking with another boy. "Shall we?" she asked, then paused as she noticed him.
Cael understood the question in her eyes. "Eylra, this is Rowan. He's sharing my camp."
Rowan gave a slight bow. "Rowan. Nice to meet you, Eylra."
"Nice to meet you too," she said, dipping her head in return.
"Let's go," Cael added, glancing at the dimming sky. "It's already evening. We shouldn't be late for dinner."
Both of them agreed, and together they left the training ground, the weight of the day still resting quietly on their shoulders.
Eylra, Cael, and Rowan reached the mess hall and took seats at a long wooden table.
"Eylra, where are you from?" Rowan asked, studying her across the table.
"The kingdom of Maahir," she replied evenly, without ceremony.
Rowan lifted a brow. "Maahir… what sort of kingdom is it?"
"The sort that survives," Eylra said at once.
Rowan gave a short, crooked laugh. "Fair enough. I'm from Norhollow."
Cael and Eylra both looked up.
"Northern Norhollow?" they asked together.
"Yes." Rowan nodded once, eyeing them both. "Six months of snow, if that's what you're thinking."
"I've always wanted to see snow," Cael said. "What's it like?"
"Snow is snow," Rowan replied dryly. "Beautiful from a distance. Hard to serve in."
Eylra leaned forward slightly.
"Then how do you grow food? How do you manage supplies?"
"Not all of Norhollow is frozen," Rowan said. "Our main seat lies between the far north and the southern valleys. And if we lack something, we trade with Southern Norhollow—my uncle rules there."
Eylra nodded slowly. "He helps without demanding much? Kings grow… self-interested."
Rowan smiled faintly.
"Southern Norhollow suffers heat. We store ice through winter and send it south. They keep their harvest fresh. We keep our alliance."
"Mutual need," Cael said. "Stronger than loyalty."
Eylra listened carefully, committing every detail to memory.
After a moment Rowan glanced around the hall.
"Where's Varric? Haven't seen him."
Cael shrugged without looking up. "Somewhere here."
Eylra noticed the edge in his tone. "Who?"
"My partner from the morning task," Rowan said. "Golden hair."
"Ah. Him," Eylra said.
"You two met him before?" Rowan asked, surprised. He had seen little familiarity between them in camp.
Cael cleared his throat.
"Briefly. At the outer gate… before we arrived."
Eylra shot him a warning glance. Both of them were thinking the same thing:
If Rowan learned about the stolen guavas, the first day would never end.
Moonlight spilled across the river.
In the shallow current stood a lone figure, half in shadow. With one hand he pressed a strip of cotton cloth against his side, wiping blood from a fresh wound.
A sharp breath escaped him.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the sound down.
How long will this take to heal? he thought. At this rate, staying here will be… difficult.
He drew in two slow breaths, steadying himself, then glanced toward the treeline.
I should move. Before someone comes.
He stepped from the water onto the stony bank, picked up his clothes from a flat rock, and dressed quickly.
the mess hall, most had already eaten.
Trainees drifted back toward their tents in small groups.
Cael, Eylra, and Rowan stood together near the exit, Thessa and Mireya beside them. They had just finished their meal when Rowan noticed him approaching.
"Varric. Where were you? We were waiting," Rowan said.
"We weren't. You were," Cael muttered under his breath.
No one heard except Eylra.
Varric gave a small, hesitant motion of his head.
"I was… behind. Eating."
"Why not join us?" Rowan asked.
"Tables were full."
His voice was low and cool. Without another word, he walked past them.
The others exchanged glances.
He kept apart. Too apart. It looked like arrogance.
Later, the group sat around a low bonfire. Flames cracked softly in the dark. Cael sat beside Eylra, staring into the fire.
"Cael," Eylra said quietly, "did something happen between you and Varric?"
"No. Why would you think that?"
He didn't look at her.
"When Rowan mentioned him, your face said enough."
She watched him carefully.
Cael exhaled.
"Eylra, nothing happened. We're all new here. You think too much."
"Rowan, Thessa, and Mireya are new too," she replied. "I've known you since childhood. You pick fights when something bothers you."
A faint, crooked smile touched her lips.
Cael's brow tightened.
"You've known me since childhood," he said quietly, "but you don't always understand me."
He stood.
"I'm tired. See you in the morning."
Before she could answer, he was already walking away.
Cael strode quickly toward his tent. He pulled the flap aside and stepped in.
Varric was there.
For a moment they looked at one another.
Cael said nothing. He crossed the tent, dropped onto his bedroll, and turned his back.
Author;KRIS