Dust rose with every strike of steel and every heavy step against the packed dirt ground. The yard was alive with the sounds of battle drills—clashing swords, shields colliding, boots scraping against stone.
At the center of the yard stood Solarynth Caelaris.
Across from him stood a towering Spartan warrior.
The man's armor bore countless scratches from previous battles, and a thick beard framed his hardened face. A long scar ran down from his temple to his jaw like a lightning bolt carved into stone.
His name was Rook.
A veteran.
A soldier whose entire body had been shaped by war.
Near the edge of the yard stood Captain Louis, arms folded across his chest as he watched the fight with calm focus.
Solarynth tightened his grip around the training spear in his hands.
The last time he trained here, he had fought recklessly.
Today was different.
His eyes studied every movement Rook made.
The angle of his feet.
The tension in his shoulders.
The slight shift of weight before each attack.
His mind processed every detail like a puzzle.
Rook moved first.
His spear thrust forward with terrifying speed.
Solarynth sidestepped the strike and rotated his body, attempting to counter.
The veteran Spartan blocked it effortlessly.
Their weapons clashed again.
Solarynth moved more carefully this time.
Instead of rushing forward, he circled slowly.
Watching.
Analyzing.
Rook noticed immediately.
The old Spartan's brow lowered slightly.
For several moments, Solarynth successfully avoided two more attacks.
Even Captain Louis raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad," he muttered quietly.
Solarynth predicted the next thrust.
He shifted to block it—
But Rook changed the rhythm.
The attack was a feint.
Before Solarynth could react, the veteran Spartan swept his leg across the ground.
Solarynth's balance disappeared instantly.
His body slammed into the dirt with a heavy thud.
Dust exploded into the air around him.
Captain Louis exhaled through his nose with faint amusement.
"Still thinking too much."
Rook rested the tip of his spear near Solarynth's shoulder.
The grumpy veteran rarely spoke.
But after a moment, he said one sentence.
"Your stance is wrong."
His voice was deep and rough like gravel.
Solarynth slowly pushed himself back to his feet.
Across the yard, another Spartan leaned against a wooden post watching the fight with interest.
This one looked younger but no less dangerous.
His name was Omen.
Short dark beard.
Fresh scars across his arms.
And a grin that looked like he enjoyed every second of watching someone else get thrown into the dirt.
"Well," Omen said casually, "that was quick."
Solarynth glanced toward him briefly.
Omen chuckled.
"Don't look so surprised," he added. "Rook's been throwing warriors twice your size into the ground for twenty years."
Rook ignored the comment completely.
The veteran Spartan simply turned and walked away from the sparring circle.
Training was finished.
For him, the lesson had already been delivered.
Before Solarynth could prepare for another round—
A familiar voice shouted from the edge of the yard.
"Solarynth!"
Grace marched toward the field carrying a heavy leather bag filled with supplies.
Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw the dirt covering Solarynth's clothes.
"You're training again?" she said sharply.
Solarynth stood still.
"Why yes, I want my body to get use to it."
Grace crossed her arms.
"Your body is still recovering!"
She pointed at his arm.
"You reopened your stitches again!"
Solarynth glanced down briefly.
The bandage wrapped around his arm had indeed loosened slightly.
Grace sighed deeply.
"I leave you alone for one hour…"
Captain Louis chuckled quietly.
Grace turned toward the soldiers.
"Were leaving in five minutes."
The training yard suddenly grew quieter.
Louis stepped forward.
"Then we shouldn't waste time."
He looked toward the two elite Spartans.
"Rook."
The veteran warrior stopped walking.
"Omen."
The younger Spartan straightened from the wooden post.
"You're coming with us."
Omen grinned immediately.
"Finally."
Rook simply nodded once.
Grace blinked.
"You're bringing them too?"
Louis shrugged.
"The Red Zone isn't a place for small groups."
He turned toward Solarynth.
"You'll need protection whether you like it or not."
Solarynth accepted the decision silently.
The group began moving toward the supply quarters.
Inside the small building, Grace was already organizing equipment across a long wooden table.
Medical herbs.
Bandages.
Antidotes.
Needles.
Glass vials.
Solarynth watched carefully as she packed everything into several bags.
Grace tossed a large pack toward him.
"Yours."
Solarynth caught it.
Inside were basic supplies.
Food.
Flint.
Rope.
A small knife.
Several unfamiliar tools.
"its a Long journey," Grace said.
"We may not reach the next village for days."
Omen leaned against the doorway.
"Hope you know how to ride," he said with a smirk.
Solarynth tilted his head slightly.
"I will learn."
Omen laughed.
"That's not exactly comforting."
Outside the camp walls, several horses waited near the gate.
Captain Louis tightened the saddle straps of one large warhorse while soldiers nearby finished preparing the others.
Grace mounted a smaller brown horse suited for travel.
Omen climbed onto a powerful gray stallion.
Rook mounted his horse silently without a word.
Louis walked toward Solarynth holding a set of reins.
Behind him stood a massive black-and-white stallion.
The horse was large.
Muscular.
Its breath steamed softly in the morning air.
Louis handed the reins to Solarynth.
"This one's yours."
Solarynth looked up at the animal.
The horse stared back calmly.
"What is his name?" Solarynth asked.
Louis answered simply.
"His name is Vex."
The stallion snorted once.
Solarynth slowly reached out and touched its mane.
The horse did not pull away.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Louis raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he said.
"Looks like he doesn't mind you."
Solarynth carefully mounted the saddle.
It took a moment to adjust.
Omen watched with amusement.
"Try not to fall off before we reach the forest."
Grace shook her head.
"Be nice."
Captain Louis turned his horse toward the massive gates of the Spartan camp.
Soldiers pushed the heavy wooden doors open.
Beyond the walls stretched a long dirt road leading toward distant hills and forests.
Far beyond those lands…
Lay the dangerous territory known as the Red Zone.
Louis spoke one final command.
"We ride."
Hooves struck the ground as the horses began moving forward.
The group left the safety of the camp behind.
And the long journey had finally begun.