The training grounds grew harsher with each passing week. Sir Garrick drove the recruits
harder, his voice cutting through the yard like a blade. "You think war waits for you to be
ready? War comes when it chooses. And it will break the unprepared."
Kael's muscles burned, his hands blistered, but he pushed through every drill. Rowan's
sneers grew sharper, his strikes more vicious, yet Kael no longer faltered as easily.
He was learning to endure. Rumors in the Night
Around the fire, whispers spread among the recruits. Merchants spoke of unrest in the
borderlands, villages burned by raiders, and nobles plotting rebellion against the Empire's rule.
One recruit leaned close to Kael. "They say the Emperor's enemies grow bolder. If war
comes, we'll be the first thrown into it."
Kael stared into the flames, the weight of the words pressing down on him. I came here to
prove myself. But what if proving myself means dying in a war I don't understand?
Rowan thrived in the tension. He strutted through the yard, boasting of his noble lineage, claiming he would lead men into battle while Kael carried their shields.
During sparring, Rowan knocked Kael to the ground and hissed, "When war comes, you'll be the first to fall. And I'll make sure of it."
Kael rose slowly, his jaw tight. He no longer answered Rowan's taunts with words. His
silence was defiance enough.
---
One evening, Garrick summoned Kael after drills. The veteran's scarred face was grim.
"You've got grit, boy. But grit alone won't save you. War is coming and I can feel it. When it does, you'll need more than stubbornness. You'll need allies, strategy, and the will to kill."
Kael swallowed hard. He had dreamed of knighthood, of honor and glory. But Garrick's
words stripped the dream bare, leaving only the cold truth of blood and survival.
That night, Kael sat in the stables, resting his forehead against Tharos's warm hide.
"They speak of war," he whispered. "I thought this path would lead to honor. But what if it only leads to death?"
Tharos snorted softly, pressing his muzzle against Kael's chest. The beast's steady presence reminded him of the bond they shared a bond forged not in titles or blood, but in trust.
The next morning, the recruits were roused before dawn. Trumpets blared across the city walls, and Garrick's voice thundered:
"The Empire marches. Prepare yourselves."
Kael tightened his grip on his sword, his heart pounding. Rowan smirked at him from across the yard, while Tharos pawed the earth, restless and ready.
The laughter of the nobles, the whispers of rebellion, the warnings of Garrick and all of it
converged into a single truth.
War was no longer a rumor. It was coming.