Morning came too early.
A cold ray of sunlight pierced through the window, landing squarely on Midarion's face. But the moment his eyelids fluttered, a cheerful voice broke through the silence.
"Rise and shine, heroes of tomorrow!"
Selina Marrow stood framed in the doorway, a cup of steaming tea in hand. Even at dawn, her smile was criminally energetic.
Reikika blinked from the other bed, her silver hair tangled, eyes half-open."Wha… time is it?"
"Early enough for you to regret asking," Selina answered, walking in.
Midarion sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Regret asking?"
Selina's smile sharpened. "Just a reminder: you're not living here for free."
Midarion blinked. "…We're not?"
"Of course not," Selina said with mock offense.
"The Black Post isn't a charity" she said, placing her tea on the nearest table.
"Midarion, you'll handle maintenance—cleaning, sweeping, minor repairs. Reikika, you're on kitchen duty. And I expect everything spotless. Even the shadows."
Reikika pouted. "That's unfair."
"Welcome to adulthood," Selina replied sweetly.
Then her tone softened.
"One more rule. When you approach the big hall, keep face masks on. Some high-ranking adventurers can recognize faces easily… and that can cause problems in the future. Masks aren't shame. They're caution."
The kids exchanged uncertain glances.
Midarion nodded slowly. "Understood."
"Good." Selina clapped her hands. "Now hurry—your mentors are waiting."
Before either could reply, the door slid open with a faint click.
Two figures entered.
Ren stepped in first, calm as the edge of a blade. His hair was tied back neatly, not a strand out of place. Every step was deliberate, controlled.
Behind him, Theomar appeared— bronze-skinned, his wolf-hide cloak brushed the doorframe, and a grin stretched across his face like sunrise.
"Reikika," Ren said simply. No warmth, no chill—just an order shaped into sound. "Follow me."
Selina raised a hand timidly. "Uh—she's supposed to help in the kit—"
"I don't care." Ren's eyes didn't flinch.
The air froze. Even Theomar blinked. Selina's pen wobbled in her hand, and the room went dead silent.
Then, as if synchronized, Selina, Midarion, Reikika, and Theomar all stiffened in identical comic fear.
"…Y-yes, sir," Selina stammered, forcing a smile.
Ren turned on his heel and left, Reikika scurrying behind like a nervous cat.
The door barely closed before Theomar burst laughing.
"Ha! He's as warm as ever, isn't he?" He boomed. "Don't mind him, young wolf. Ren's idea of small talk is staring at a wall until it apologizes."
Selina rubbed her face. "Why is he like this?"
"A mystery for the stars," Theomar declared dramatically.
"Now, Midarion… about your first task…" Selina continued, regaining her composure. "You're not leaving until you've cleaned the toilets."
The smile vanished from his face. "…The toilets?"
"Sparkling. I want to see my reflection in them."
Theomar leaned down, whispering, "Young wolf, consider it your first endurance test."
Midarion groaned. "I hate this place already."
Midarion discovered new depths of suffering that morning. He scrubbed until his fingers pruned and smelled like defeat.
Theomar, however, seemed to find every grimace, groan, and complaint hilarious.
"You call that elbow grease? Use your back! Your ancestors can hear your whining from the afterlife!"
Meanwhile, Reikika was already elbow-deep in kitchen duty under Ren's watchful eye.
The man's presence was sharp, almost suffocating. He didn't speak much, but when he did, each word carried weight.
"Knife placement," he said once, glancing at her. "Precision is survival. One slip, one distraction… and you fail the mission. Remember: chaos kills."
Reikika nodded, throat tight. She'd only known him an hour, yet the pressure of disappointing him felt heavier than the kitchen knives.
When Midarion finally finished with the toilets, Theomar clapped him on the back—hard enough to make him stumble.
"Good! Now listen carefully."
His playful tone vanished. For the first time, it was the voice of a real mentor—serious, strict, and absolute.
"I have a month-long mission. While I'm gone, you follow this routine. No breaks. No excuses."
Midarion straightened instinctively.
"Morning: stamina training. The indoor grounds upstairs. I'll set your laps, your time, your pace. You finish the hourglass—or you start again."
"Afternoon: maintenance with Selina."
"Evening: meditation."
Midarion frowned. "Meditation? How is that supposed to make me stronger?"
For once, Theomar didn't laugh.
"Strength isn't only muscle. If your mind shatters, your body follows. Meditation sharpens instinct. One day, you'll close your eyes and hear the heartbeat of the universe itself. That's the strength that keeps a warrior alive."
Midarion stood speechless. For once, he didn't argue.
After a sharp whistle, Theomar slung Keel's cage over his shoulder and nodded toward the hallway.
"Come on, kid. I'll show you your training chamber. Try not to cry—the walls have no sympathy."
Midarion followed, heart pounding with a strange blend of dread and excitement.
Across the fortress, Ren didn't waste time.
He led Reikika into a quiet duel hall, lined with racks of worn swords. Without a word, he handed her a wooden blade.
"You are a natural sword user," he said. Not praise—fact. "This is your path. Walk it with discipline, or fall."
Reikika tightened her grip.
Ren walked a slow circle around her, like a patient predator, observing her stance, her breath, the tremor in her hands.
"Reflexes: decent. Fear: high. Control your fear. If you panic, you die. A blade is only as sharp as the mind that wields it."
She nodded, determined. One mistake felt like it could erase all of his approval.
Hours later, Midarion stumbled around the training grounds, lungs burning, legs shaking. Theomar flipped the hourglass again.
"Ten more laps!"
Midarion wanted to die.
Meanwhile, Reikika fought through footwork drills, Ren's gaze following every slip, every hesitation.
By the end of the day, both children were pushed past anything they'd imagined training could be.
Night settled over the fortress.
Midarion collapsed onto the meditation mat in the quiet hall. His body screamed for rest.
Theomar knelt beside him.
"Eyes closed," He ordered. "Listen. The world breathes, even in silence. Find its rhythm."
Midarion tried. He truly did. But the moment he shut his eyes, his thoughts scattered like frightened birds.
Every sound pulled him off rhythm. Every heartbeat felt too loud, too fast.
"I can't focus—"
"You will," Theomar said. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually, you will hear what others cannot."
The simplicity of his confidence cut deeper than any shout.
Across the Post, Reikika sat alone in her chamber. Ren had left after giving her meditation instructions—his presence removed as efficiently as it came.
Selina happened to see Ren heading toward the hall carrying contracts and frowned.
"Why isn't he supervising her?"
Concern tugged at her chest. She walked toward Reikika's chamber and paused at the doorway.
The girl's shoulders trembled. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
Selina sighed softly and stepped inside.
"Your shoulders are too stiff," she murmured, placing a warm hand between Reikika's shoulder blades. "Meditation is alignment, not punishment. Breathe with the world, not against it."
Reikika nodded, grateful in a way she couldn't articulate.
Later, the children dragged themselves back to their small dorm. Midarion collapsed onto his bed, every muscle quivering. Reikika walked in seconds later, equally drained.
They exchanged tired looks—half misery, half accomplishment.
Selina appeared in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Sleep. Tomorrow will be harder."
Midarion groaned. Reikika didn't even respond.
Selina smiled softly and turned away.
The lights dimmed. The fortress settled into its nocturnal hush.
Tonight, the Black Post felt heavy—too heavy for two children.
Tomorrow, it would feel heavier still.
But beneath the weight… something bright flickered in each of them.
The first spark of who they would one day become.