The sun was a white-hot hammer by the time we limped back.
Running to the village took an hour, but crawling back took two. Time didn't move in minutes anymore; it moved in heartbeats and the sound of my own gasping breath. My body was a map of fire. My shoulders were raw, my legs were shaking like dry grass in the wind, and my lungs felt like I'd swallowed hot coals.
But the fogginess was a gift. When the world is this loud with pain, the ghosts can't find you.
We collapsed under a big tree near the training field. Theo fell flat on his back, groaning about dying. Margaretha laughed, though her voice was thin and shaky. Robert sat like a statue against the trunk, and Agni just breathed, his face like stone. Pritha looked small, her knees pulled to her chest, her face the color of salt.
I just sat. I didn't have any words left.
Spiro returned with a wooden box and a voice like a whip. "Line up."
We stood. It felt like my bones were being ground into dust. We walked to the box to pick our fates. Robert took a sword and shield. Margaretha took a blade and daggers. Theo grabbed two knives and tried to look cool, even though he was trembling. Agni and Pritha took wands.
Then I saw it.
At the bottom of the box lay a wooden greatsword. It was huge, thick, and almost as tall as I was. It looked heavy enough to crush a man. My heart gave a sharp, painful thump. In my village, the men didn't hide. They carried big blades. They stood in the light. They fought until there was nothing left.
I reached in and hauled it out. The weight nearly pulled me over, but I didn't care.
Spiro walked over and held out a bow. "For you."
I stared at the smooth wood. The tight string. My fingers turned white around the grip of my greatsword. A bow was for people who stayed in the shadows. A bow was for people who weren't there when the screaming started.
"I don't want it," I said. My voice sounded like it was coming from deep inside a well.
"Every warrior needs to hit from far away," Spiro said.
"No." The heat in my chest was rising. I saw my father's face. I saw the fire. I saw the cowards who shot at us from the treeline. "I don't want it."
"Take it."
I didn't think. I just grabbed the bow with both hands and twisted with everything I had.
CRACK.
The wood snapped. The pieces fell into the dirt like dead things. Theo gasped. Agni blinked. Spiro just stared at the broken wood for a long, long time. I expected him to break me too. I wanted him to.
Instead, he just sighed. He reached into the box and tossed me a tiny throwing dagger. "Then carry this."
It was small. I hated it. But it wasn't a bow.
Training was just one word: Again.
Robert, Theo, and I had to swing.
Raise.
Strike.
Reset.
Over and over until the sun stopped moving.
Theo complained until his voice went hoarse, but Robert never stopped. Neither did I.
Every time I raised that heavy slab of wood, my shoulders screamed. Every time I brought it down, my blisters popped and bled.
Good.
If I stopped, I'd hear the door slam. If I rested, I'd see the blood on the floor. So I kept swinging. I made the pain the only thing in my universe.
At lunch, the soup tasted like water, and the bread tasted like sawdust. I ate until I felt sick. It wasn't because I liked it. It was because my body was a machine that needed fuel to keep the ghosts away.
"Do you... like it?" Pritha asked, watching me shove bread into my mouth.
"It has no taste," I said. "But it stops the shaking."
She looked at her bowl and shivered.
During study hall, the room was too still. The only sound was the scratching of pens. My head got heavy. I saw a table. I saw my mom. I saw…
THUNK.
A wooden block hit me in the head.
"Fifty pushups, Rick," Spiro said. "Since you want to sleep."
"I was sleepy too," Robert told Spiro, his voice as flat as the ground. "Can I join him?"
Spiro didn't even look up. "Go."
I looked at Robert, confused. Why would anyone choose more hurt? We dropped down together. One. Two. My arms felt like they were ready to snap. The dirt was so hot it felt like it was cooking my palms.
We started pushing. Up. Down. My arms felt like they were breaking.
"Rick," Robert whispered. He didn't turn his head.
"What?"
"This helps us," he said.
Three.
Four.
"How?"
"The nightmares," he grunted. He kept going, steady as a machine. "If you break your body during the day... if you use up every bit of energy you have... they can't find you at night. The faces don't come."
I stopped for a second, my chest inches from the dust.
"Don't sleep now," he said. "Stay tired. If you recover your strength during the day, the memories come back when you close your eyes. Stay hurting. Then they come less."
My throat felt tight. He knew. He was doing the same thing I was. We using pain to stay hollow. I didn't answer. I just started pushing again.
Five.
Six.
Ten.
Twenty.
Forty.
Fifty.
When we finished, my arms were shaking so hard I could barely stand, but my head was clear.
Back inside, Theo was struggling with his pen. "This is literal torture," he sighed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm a warrior, not a poet. My handwriting looks like a spider had a stroke." He glanced at Robert's paper. "Hey, stone-face, yours looks like a baby did it."
Robert didn't even blink. He just reached out and punched Theo's shoulder.
Thud.
It was a hard, solid hit that knocked Theo right off his chair.
"OW! Hey!" Theo scrambled back up, rubbing his arm.
Margaretha burst out laughing, and even Pritha giggled behind her hand. Agni's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. Everyone was laughing.
I just watched them. I didn't feel anything. I just felt like a ghost watching a play.