Despite turning in so early the night before, they all three slept until right before dawn.
Recruit 7 let out an exaggerated groan, stretching his arms high while still firmly planted on his sleeping mat. "Man, that was so much better than the first night," he muttered, shivering slightly. "Still a bit cold, though."
Recruit 1 smothered a yawn behind her hand. "It was. But once we finish the exterior defenses today, we can risk running a small fire inside."
The morning blurred into a highly efficient grind. Recruit 1 dragged the spoiled Lynx carcass to the edge of the clearing to burn it, then joined Henry and Recruit 7 in the treeline, helping them harvest logs two through six, and then fell back to the camp to begin prepping the logs into floorboards.
By the time Henry and Recruit 7 hauled the tenth and final log out of the woods, Recruit 1 had already stripped and prepped eight of them, expertly thinning the dense wood down to the exact proportions needed to interlock.
Curious, Henry crouched and ran his right hand along the flat surface of one of the finished planks. He blinked in shock. The wood was incredibly smooth.
'I don't doubt I could walk barefoot across the surface without catching a single splinter. The level of craftsmanship that 1 can achieve with just a hatchet is amazing,' he thought.
Watching her finish the dimensions of another plank and begin to drag it toward the entryway, Henry and 7 didn't wait for an order. Driven by a cotton-mouthed thirst and the desire to just get the job done, they both grabbed an end of the heavy wood and let Recruit 1 direct them on where to set it. They repeated this silent, coordinated routine for the remaining logs, locking them into place until the solid, raised floor of their makeshift fortress was completely laid out.
"Good work," Recruit 1 said. "Now, I'll start carving stakes out of the last two logs. You guys need to dig the trap holes around the perimeter. I've already marked the spots."
She tossed two flat, sharp-edged stones at their feet. "Use these to dig. Unfortunately, I didn't have the forethought to request a shovel."
Henry picked up the heavy stone, watching as she immediately turned her back and went to work with her hatchet.
A quiet realization washed over him. It was no accident that Recruit 1 was at the top of their class. Even after single-handedly designing and building a fortified lodge in the middle of a hostile forest, she was genuinely frustrated with herself over a single missing tool. Her standard for perfection was relentless.
Since entering Hope Forest, she had thawed out socially just enough to be approachable, but her competence and natural leadership were so absolute that she commanded total respect. Even the egotistical Recruit 7 hadn't made a single sarcastic comment or questioned her authority since she took charge.
Henry and Recruit 7 stood over the perimeter markings, their stomachs dropping at the same time. The X marks that Recruit 1 had scored into the dirt weren't just simple indicators; they came with actual outlines for the trenches as well. Each massive rectangle measured 12 by 10 feet. She had also marked the depth of the holes at 6 feet.
The only saving grace was the rock face of the mountain wall behind them, which served as an impenetrable natural defense. Because of it, they only needed to dig four of these massive pits to secure the exposed front and sides of the lodge. Still, digging four cavernous holes with nothing but sharp, flat rocks was a daunting, miserable prospect.
They dropped to their knees and started scraping.
Two grueling hours later, the physical toll was undeniable. Henry's hands, already blistered from the axe handle, were bleeding and raw. He was only three feet down, exactly halfway done with his first pit, and Recruit 7 was lagging just slightly behind him in the neighboring trench.
Nearby, Recruit 1 had already finished whittling the dense logs into rows of lethal, heavy spikes and had immediately begun excavating the third pit herself.
By eleven o'clock, Henry and 7 finally dragged themselves out of their completed holes, covered head to toe in dark, sweat-stained soil.
Their productivity had taken a massive nosedive. They were operating in total silence. The absence of breakfast, combined with throats so parched it hurt to swallow, meant every movement felt like swimming through thick mud.
Running entirely on fumes, Henry didn't stop to rest. He stumbled over to Recruit 1's pit and dropped to his knees to help her dig, while Recruit 7 began breaking ground on the fourth and final trap.
With Henry's help, the third pit was finished right at noon. Without a word, both Henry and Recruit 1 crawled out and dropped directly into the fourth pit alongside 7.
By 2:00 PM, it was finally over.
The three of them hauled the heavy, sharpened stakes down into the craters, angling them upward like a bed of wooden teeth. Once the spikes were set, they carefully pushed the excavated dirt back over the tops. They didn't pack it down, though; instead, they left the earth as loose and unstable as possible, ensuring that any heavy predator stepping on the surface would instantly fall through.
They marked the edges of the death traps with small stones to avoid impaling themselves, and then collapsed against the solid, curved wall of their newly built lodge.
"Ahh... finally done," Recruit 7 gasped, his chest heaving as he stared up at the canopy. His lips were cracked, and his voice was a raspy, dry croak. "Hopefully, there's some water near here. I don't know how much longer I can go without a drink."
Recruit 1 swallowed hard, her own throat clearly as dry as theirs, but her pragmatic mind was already working on the next problem.
"We have about an hour and a half of time to search before we have to turn around and head back," she said, looking out into the dense, shadowed treeline. "Our best bet is to head downhill. Water flows down, so hopefully, we'll come across a stream or a basin where runoff has collected."
Henry didn't hesitate. His muscles screamed in protest, but the agonizing thirst overriding his system gave him a second wind. He pushed himself off the wooden wall of the lodge. "Well, let's go, then. If we only have that long, we need every minute we can get."
"Agreed," Recruit 7 croaked, using the wall to haul his body upright. For once, there was no complaining or dragging of feet; the desperate need for water had completely unified them.
"Alright, let's move," Recruit 1 commanded, her tone shifting back into an authoritative cadence. "Make sure your swords are sharp and ready. Leave the survival packs inside. We need to move fast and light. Just grab your empty water containers."
Henry ducked back into the lodge, quickly retrieving his empty leather waterskin. He drew his arming sword, relieved to see that Recruit 1 had managed to grind down the worst of the chips and restore a usable, deadly edge with her whetstone.
They set off into the dense woods, letting the natural downward slope guide their path. Recruit 1 took the lead, using her hatchet to carve shallow, visible notches into the red bark of the trees as they passed to ensure they wouldn't lose their way back to the lodge.
Thirty minutes into the expedition, a faint, rhythmic babbling broke through the quiet rustle of their footsteps.
Henry froze, straining his ears against the silence. "Please tell me you guys hear that too, and I'm not just imagining it."
Recruit 7 swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "No, I hear it too."
"There's definitely water ahead," Recruit 1 confirmed, her voice filled with relief as she quickened her pace.
Pushing through a rare thick cluster of underbrush, the ground abruptly gave way. They stood at the edge of a steep, twenty-foot embankment. At the bottom, cutting through the dark earth and tangled roots, a small, steady stream flowed over smooth river stones. The drop was too steep to navigate safely, forcing them to hike east along the ridge for several minutes until the bank finally leveled out, offering a safe slope down to the water's edge.
The moment they reached the bottom, Recruit 7's self-control shattered.
"I don't know about you guys," Recruit 7 said, with desperate excitement, "but I can't wait until we hike all the way back to boil this. I need at least a sip right now."
Recruit 1 stopped, crossing her arms. Her expression was utterly unsympathetic. "Try your luck, then. But if your stomach turns inside out and you end up violently ill, I'll be calling the instructors to come drag you out of here."
Recruit 7 wasn't even listening. He scrambled to the edge of the stream, plunged his hands into the current, and began greedily gulping down handfuls of the cold water.
Henry stood rigid a few paces back, his empty waterskin gripped tightly in his hand. His throat felt like sandpaper, and every instinct screamed at him to join Recruit 7. But Recruit 1's pragmatic warning echoed in his head. Clenching his jaw and fighting the urge, Henry forced himself to stay standing, deciding that a few more hours of burning thirst were better than washing out of the exam over a parasite.
Henry knelt a few yards upstream from Recruit 7, unscrewing the cap of his leather waterskin. The sound of the rushing stream and the cool mist rising from the surface were absolute torture, but he kept his jaw clenched tight, focusing entirely on watching the container fill.
"Hey, guys!"
Recruit 7's voice suddenly broke the quiet gurgle of the water. Henry looked over and saw Recruit 7 pointing toward a patch of thick plants on the opposite bank.
"There's a baby deer over here," Recruit 7 called out, wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand. "We should hunt it. Fresh meat!"
Henry squinted through the dimming light of the canopy. Standing near the edge of the underbrush was a quadruped. At first glance, the slender legs and large ears gave it the silhouette of a fawn, but as Henry's eyes adjusted, he realized something was wrong.
It was way too big to be a cub. The muscle density in its hind legs was entirely wrong for a prey animal, and its coat lacked a deer's white spots; instead, it had a milk-chocolate coat.
'That's not a deer,' Henry's mind raced, his grip tightening on his waterskin.
Ignorant of the warning signs, Recruit 7 took a few splashing steps into the shallow water, moving closer to the bank. The creature didn't flinch. It just turned its head, fixing its solid, unblinking eyes on him.
"Look at this thing," Recruit 7 laughed, his voice laced with arrogant disbelief. "It's stupid, too. It's not even trying to run."
Recruit 7 casually reached for the hilt of his sword, his posture completely relaxed as he prepared to butcher what he thought was an easy meal.
Before the blade even cleared the scabbard, a voice shattered the air.
"What are you doing?!"
It was Recruit 1. Her voice was sharp, and her tone was filled with a violent panic that made Henry's blood run cold.
"Back up!" she screamed, dropping her water containers and drawing her sword in one fluid motion. "Back up right now!"