Rael wasted no time.
Lylan and Lucas were pulled from standard recruit drills and brought to a quieter section of the training grounds.
"This is unfair," Lucas muttered cheerfully. "Others get group suffering. We get elite suffering."
Rael ignored him.
"To survive," Rael began, "you must first endure."
The days that followed stripped illusions mercilessly.
Lylan's body, unprepared for the brutality of military conditioning, screamed in protest.
Endless laps.
Weighted lifts.
Sword drills until arms trembled uncontrollably.
He fell.
Often.
Face-first into dust.
Muscles burning.
Breath ragged.
Lucas wasn't spared either, though his stronger frame gave him a slight advantage.
Still—
He never stopped talking.
"Bro… if I die here," Lucas gasped during one punishing run, "tell them I fell heroically."
"You're not dying," Lylan panted.
"How do you know?! My legs have officially resigned!"
Despite exhaustion, Lylan laughed.
Rael observed quietly.
Lylan's weakness was undeniable.
But so was something else.
He got back up.
Every time.
No matter how hard he fell.
No matter how badly his muscles shook.
There was no complaint.
No excuses.
Only quiet resolve.
Lucas noticed it too.
One evening, both collapsed against a wooden fence, drenched in sweat.
"You're insane," Lucas said between breaths.
Lylan stared at the sky. "Why?"
"You never quit."
Lylan smiled faintly. "Neither do you."
Lucas scoffed. "I complain loudly. Big difference."
The Breaking Point
Weeks passed.
Pain became constant.
Lylan's body changed slowly — strength creeping into limbs once mocked as fragile.
Yet doubt still lingered.
One brutal afternoon, after repeated failed attempts to lift a training shield, Lylan's arms finally gave out.
He dropped to one knee.
Breathing hard.
Vision blurred.
Around them, distant recruits whispered.
"Still weak."
"Commander wasted his time."
The words pierced deeper now because Lylan had begun believing he was improving.
Lucas stepped closer.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Lylan clenched his jaw. "Maybe they're right."
Lucas frowned.
Then grinned.
Then did something unexpected.
He sat beside Lylan in the dust.
"If you quit," Lucas said casually, "who's gonna become a legendary knight so I can brag about being your best friend?"
Lylan stared at him.
Lucas nudged his shoulder.
"Besides… you didn't join because you were strong."
Lylan looked away.
"You joined because you were stubborn enough to try."
Rael, watching from a distance, said nothing.
But approval flickered in his eyes.
Training Montage
Seasons seemed to shift around them.
Sweat.
Bruises.
Laughter.
Growth.
Morning runs beneath crimson dawns.
Sword drills under relentless sun.
Balance training atop narrow beams.
Rael correcting Lylan's posture with precise patience.
Lucas turning every mistake into comedy.
"Again," Rael commanded.
Lylan struck.
"Too slow."
Lucas struck wildly.
"Too reckless."
"I call it creative aggression," Lucas protested.
Evenings brought exhaustion and camaraderie.
Shared bread.
Shared pain.
Shared dreams.
Lylan's movements sharpened.
His strikes grew cleaner.
Faster.
More controlled.
Lucas' strength complemented Lylan's precision.
They sparred endlessly.
Sometimes laughing.
Sometimes fiercely competitive.
Always pushing each other forward.
Rael trained Lylan personally.
Teaching him not brute force — but efficiency.
Observation.
Timing.
Control.
"Strength is not merely muscle," Rael told him one dusk.
"It is clarity."
Lylan absorbed every word like scripture.
Lucas, sprawled on the grass, groaned.
"Clarity says my body hurts."
Closing Beat
Months after recruitment, two boys once laughed at stood in the training square again.
No longer feeble.
No longer dismissed.
Lylan Ardent moved with quiet confidence.
Lucas with playful swagger.
Rael watched, arms folded.
Satisfied.
Lucas grinned at Lylan.
"Told you the joke would work."
Lylan smiled.
"For once… you were right."
Lucas gasped dramatically.
"Write this down. Historic moment."
Lylan laughed.
But deep inside—
He knew.
This was only the beginning.