The yard was alive with noise. Wooden swords cracked together, boots thudded against packed dirt, instructors barked orders until their throats turned raw. The morning sun cut across the field, flashing on iron helms and sweat-darkened tunics. It smelled of dust, blood, and damp linen — the perfume of the Order.
Kaelen swung his practice blade up just in time to block Deren's downward strike. The impact rattled his arms.
"Too slow!" Deren crowed, pressing harder. "You've got to move like you mean it, Ash-boy!"
Kaelen twisted, shoving him off balance, and swept a leg out. Deren stumbled, flailing, but managed to hook Kaelen's arm on the way down. Both hit the dirt in a tangle.
From the sidelines, Seralyn sighed. "You two fight like idiots."
"Better idiots than cowards," Deren grunted, rolling to his feet. His grin was crooked, dirt smeared on his chin. "Come on, Kaelen, again."
Before Kaelen could rise, Seralyn stepped in, bow slung but practice blade drawn. "He's mine."
Deren gave an exaggerated bow. "By all means, Lady Arrow. Try not to break him too badly."
Kaelen barely had time to find his footing before Seralyn lunged. Her strikes were precise, sharp as needle pricks, leaving no room to breathe. He blocked high, then low, but her footwork was better, her rhythm unyielding.
"You're hesitating," she snapped between blows. "Stop thinking. Move."
Her blade slipped past his guard, kissing the hollow of his throat before he even saw it.
"Dead," she declared flatly.
Deren clapped mockingly. "Well, that was quick. Maybe I should start betting on her instead."
Maeve, sitting cross-legged nearby with her nose buried in a small rune-carved slate, muttered without looking up: "I'd put coin on Seralyn any day."
Kaelen wiped sweat from his brow, frustration prickling. "You could at least pretend to believe in me."
Maeve glanced up, lips twitching. "I'll believe in you when you stop leaving openings the size of a barn."
Seralyn sheathed her practice blade with a flick. "She's not wrong."
Kaelen let out a breath, half a laugh, half exasperation. "Gods, you're all merciless."
"That's what keeps us alive," Seralyn said.
Later, they sat beneath the shade of a weathered wall, catching what rest they could before the next round of drills. Deren stretched out like a cat, hands folded behind his head.
"I swear, the instructors are trying to kill us," he muttered.
"That's the point," Maeve said dryly. "If we survive them, maybe we survive what's outside."
Deren shot her a sidelong look. "You ever get tired of being the voice of doom?"
"Do you ever get tired of being an ass?" she fired back without missing a beat.
Seralyn smirked. "She's got you there."
Kaelen chuckled, the sound surprising even himself. He leaned back against the wall, eyes on the training yard. Other squads sparred, shouting challenges, laughing when someone got thrown. There was a rhythm to it — pain, sweat, bruises — but also camaraderie.
For the first time, he felt the faint stirrings of belonging.
That afternoon, their group was rotated into the smaller practice hall, where long benches and rune-marked stones lined the walls. A white-haired instructor waved them in, voice echoing.
"Magic, recruits. The most fickle of gifts. Few of you will touch it. Fewer still will master it. But you'll all learn the principles, whether you like it or not."
Maeve's eyes lit with something Kaelen didn't often see — excitement. She leaned forward as the instructor explained the weave of symbols, the pull of essence, the way sparks answered will. Kaelen, on the other hand, felt only dread.
They paired off. Maeve was already sketching runes on her palm, whispering words Kaelen couldn't quite catch. The air shimmered, faint threads of light gathering between her fingers until they burst in a small, controlled spark. She grinned, cheeks flushed.
Deren blinked. "Holy shit. You can actually do it."
Maeve arched a brow. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"
"No," Deren said, scratching his neck. "Just didn't think you'd make it look easy."
Seralyn tried next, producing little more than smoke and a frustrated huff. "Waste of time."
Then Kaelen's turn. He mimicked Maeve's gestures, traced the lines, whispered the syllables. Nothing. The stone before him remained stubbornly cold. He tried again. Still nothing.
The instructor frowned. "Focus, boy. You must will it."
"I am," Kaelen said through clenched teeth.
"Then will harder."
He tried until his throat was raw, sweat dripping down his temple, but the stone never glowed. Around him, whispers rose — other recruits smirking, muttering.
Maeve caught his eye, her expression softening. "It doesn't come to everyone," she murmured, low enough for him alone.
Kaelen swallowed, frustration knotting in his chest. "It comes to you."
"Which means I can cover for you when you burn yourself out with a sword," she said. "Teams, remember?"
Her words were kind, but they didn't soothe the sting.
That evening, the four of them sprawled in the dormitory loft, the lantern dimmed to a dull glow. Outside, crickets sang in the grass, a rare moment of peace.
Deren tossed a ball of cloth into the air and caught it lazily. "So, Seralyn, what's it like being perfect at everything?"
She shot him a look sharp enough to cut. "Perfect? I lose sleep listening to you snore."
Maeve snickered. "She's not wrong."
"Fuck all of you," Deren muttered good-naturedly. "I was trying to give her a compliment."
Seralyn arched a brow. "Then try harder."
Kaelen grinned despite himself. "You walked into that one."
The cloth ball bounced off his shoulder, courtesy of Deren.
Silence fell, but it wasn't the heavy silence of the forest. This one was lighter, easier, the kind that came with shared bruises and survival.
Maeve broke it after a while. "What do you want out of this? The Order, I mean. Not just surviving."
Seralyn answered first. "I want to be the best. So no one can take anything from me again."
Deren whistled low. "Remind me never to piss you off."
Maeve shrugged. "I want to understand what's inside me. If I can control it, maybe I can stop being afraid of it."
Then their eyes turned to Kaelen.
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of his blanket. Images flickered unbidden: Lyra's smile, the hidden library, the kiss that haunted him. He forced them down, locking them away.
"…I just want to protect the people I have left," he said quietly.
The others didn't press, but Seralyn's gaze lingered on him longer than the rest.
The next morning, drills began again, and the cycle of sweat, steel, and bruises returned. But something had changed.
When Seralyn knocked him flat, she offered a hand up.When Maeve's sparks fizzled, Kaelen was the first to nudge her shoulder and say, "Better than me."When Deren cracked jokes at their expense, they laughed instead of scowling.
Piece by piece, bond by bond, they were becoming something more than recruits.
A squad.