Kaelen woke with his jaw aching from how hard he'd clenched it in sleep. The barracks still smelled of smoke from last night's fire. Dawn light slanted through the narrow windows, catching dust in the air.
Deren's snore rattled the rafters until Seralyn flicked a pebble at his head. He grunted awake, rubbing his temple.
"Gods damn it," he muttered. "What sort of sadist schedules training after we nearly coughed up our lungs yesterday?"
"You mean after you almost set yourself on fire," Seralyn said coolly, buckling her bracers.
Maeve sat cross-legged on her cot, quietly braiding her hair. "Better hurry. If you're late, Halden will have us climbing cliffs with stones in our mouths."
Deren groaned. "Cliffs? Don't joke."
But she wasn't joking.
The recruits stood at the base of the cliff an hour later, wind tearing at their cloaks. The stone rose jagged and sheer into the mist, disappearing into the clouds. A narrow path zig-zagged upward, broken by ledges.
Instructor Halden's voice carried over the wind. "The Order does not coddle. You'll climb. You'll carry your own gear. If you slip, you fall. If you fall, you die. Any questions?"
Deren raised his hand. "Yes. Why in the name of all miserable gods are we doing this?"
"Because war doesn't wait for level ground," Halden said without missing a beat. "Move."
The recruits groaned but obeyed. Boots scraped on stone.
Kaelen gripped the rock, muscles screaming as he pulled himself higher. He forced his mind blank, focusing only on the next handhold, the next ledge. Sweat dripped into his eyes.
Behind him, Deren muttered curses between breaths. "If I fall… tell my mother… she owes me three silver…"
"You're heavier than three silver," Seralyn said flatly as she passed him, moving like a shadow.
Maeve climbed slower, carefully, her lips moving in silent rhythm as if she was steadying herself with whispered runes. At one point, when another recruit slipped, she caught his wrist and whispered a word—the air seemed to thicken, holding him long enough to scramble back. No one dared comment, but Kaelen noticed the awe flicker in their eyes.
He noticed something else too: when Maeve looked down at the endless drop below, her face went pale.
"Don't look," Kaelen muttered, hauling himself up beside her.
She nodded quickly. "I wasn't."
Deren wheezed, "I was. Beautiful view. Just… don't fall."
The climb dragged on until Kaelen's arms felt like molten lead. Every ledge brought more wind, more biting cold. By the time they hauled themselves onto the final plateau, the sun was a white smear overhead.
Kaelen collapsed onto the stone, chest heaving. Deren sprawled beside him, half-laughing, half-dying.
Seralyn stood tall, barely winded. She looked out over the valley as if she'd barely noticed the climb. Maeve sat with her knees drawn up, quiet and trembling.
Halden gave them one glance. "Not all of you are hopeless. Rest. Then descend."
Deren groaned into the stone. "Sadist. Called it."
They rested in the cold, sharing scraps of dried meat and water. Conversation flickered to life again, carried on weary voices.
"Ever hear the stories about this valley?" Deren asked between bites. "They say the wind carries voices. Soldiers marching who never returned. Or maybe it's just Halden's laughter echoing."
"Or maybe you're delirious from lack of air," Seralyn muttered.
Maeve shook her head. "No. The mountains do hold voices. My grandmother told me. The Hollow Spire isn't far from here."
At the name, even Deren stopped chewing.
"The Spire?" Kaelen asked quietly.
Maeve nodded. "They say it was once the tallest tower of an empire that worshipped shadows. When it fell, they left their queen bound there as a sacrifice. The stone remembers blood."
Seralyn frowned. "Stories to frighten children."
"No," Maeve said softly, almost reverently. "The Order forbids anyone from approaching. They say those who sleep near its base never wake. Some claim the queen's voice calls still, asking for release. Or revenge."
Deren shuddered theatrically. "Lovely bedtime tale. Remind me never to camp there."
Kaelen didn't laugh. He thought of the angel statue deep underground, the shadows of the library, Lyra's laughter echoing where it shouldn't. He wondered what Maeve would say if he told her he'd grown up among those same whispers.
Instead, he stayed silent.
The wind howled across the plateau. For a long while, none of them spoke.
The descent was worse than the climb. Kaelen's arms burned, his fingers ached, and every slip of boot on stone sent a jolt of terror through him. Deren nearly lost his footing twice; Seralyn caught him once without a word.
When they finally staggered back onto level ground, Halden dismissed them with a single nod.
Kaelen's legs trembled as he returned to the barracks. He collapsed onto his cot, body bruised and exhausted. Deren flopped beside him, smelling of sweat and fear.
"Tomorrow," Deren muttered, "if they tell us to wrestle bears, I'm quitting."
"You won't quit," Seralyn said without looking up from her arrows.
"Why not?"
"Because then you'd have to admit you're weak."
Deren stared at her, then laughed. "Cruel. But true."
Maeve said nothing. She sat quietly by the window, her face pale in the moonlight. Kaelen noticed her hands trembling when she thought no one looked. He wanted to say something, to tell her she wasn't alone in her fear. But the words stuck.
That night, long after the others had fallen asleep, Kaelen lay awake. He heard soft voices—Maeve and Seralyn whispering.
"He doesn't see it," Maeve murmured. "But he carries something heavier than all of us."
Seralyn's reply was colder, sharper. "Weight breaks men. If he can't bear it, he'll die. Better sooner than later."
Kaelen shut his eyes. Sleep didn't come.