On the third day, I woke up with my body still aching.
I tried to get out of bed, but a sharp pain shot through my legs, and I was forced to stop for a few seconds.
I gritted my teeth and stood up anyway. Not that I had a choice.
In the afternoon, when we resumed training, I didn't even have time to get used to the pain. Lunges, dodges, strikes, and falls followed one after another.
I had never done anything like this, and the first few days were pure hell.
On the fifth day, while I was cleaning a trough, the faint moonlight filtered through the planks of the stable. I stopped to wipe the sweat with the back of my arm and lowered my gaze to my hands.
I froze.
My fingers were swollen, covered in burst blisters and dark scabs.
I tried to clench my fist, but a sharp pain shot through my fingers, and I opened it immediately.
How do I... keep going like this?
I looked at my hands again. But the thought of Hilda, of being able to see her again one day, was strong. Somewhere inside me, a decision had already been made.
If my body gets used to all this, maybe I'll be able to endure it better.
...Or maybe I'll just end up with hideous hands.
I sighed. In any case, I was forced to continue.
I closed my eyes for a second, and an image flashed through my head.
Hilda's hands, also scarred by hard work, pouring warm, lavender-scented water into a silver basin.I sat in front of her, complaining about a simple ink stain on my fingers.
Before, even just that seemed important to me. I opened my eyes and looked at my hands.
I had never thought about how easy it was to have clean hands.
The scent of soaps, the smooth skin, that feeling of cleanliness I had always taken for granted...
Now it was all gone. I slowly lowered my hands.
Hilda did this every single day.
For the first time, I was able to imagine just how exhausting her work must have been.
Forgive me.
Four weeks passed.
My body had grown leaner, and, day after day, I felt my muscles getting harder. The pain I'd been living with for weeks hadn't disappeared hadn't disappeared, but I was beginning to feel its effects. I felt a little stronger, and that heaviness I experienced every morning had almost completely vanished.
The morning horn blew; shortly after, I got ready for the usual day of training. We gathered in the center of the courtyard, in the biting cold of dawn, waiting to hear the Captain's thundering roar. But the courtyard remained silent.
For the first time, Zoltan hadn't shown up.
I held my breath, letting out a small sigh of relief.
I looked beyond the courtyard fence. The fields, which were normally full of soldiers and recruits, were completely empty.
Is he giving us a day of rest? Maybe... The exercises will be lighter...
I turned to the side to say this to Theo, but the words died in my throat.
Theo wasn't smiling, and all the others were talking among themselves.
He clutched his temples so hard that his knuckles had turned white. He shuffled anxiously from foot to fooalt, muttering to himself in a frantic whisper.
"Oh no... no, no, no... not today... Please..."
"Theo? What's wrong with you?" I asked him in a low voice, furrowing my brows.
"What's the problem? Zoltan isn't here."
"That is the problem!" Theo hissed, snapping his head toward me.
"I heard from someone that this could happen, b-but... Not this soon. Today... "
"Today?" I asked him, perplexed.
"...It's the joint exercise with the official recruits."
My stomach tightened instinctively.
"Exercise... Official recruits?"
Before Theo could answer me, the main gate of the courtyard swung wide open.
A tall man made his way into the courtyard, clad in steel plate armor so polished and scratch-free that it reflected the dim morning light. He wore a dark blue cloak, without a single speck of dirt or a single crease.
I immediately recognized the way he moved his feet.
A noble.
The man stopped several meters away from us.
His gaze passed over our heads, carefully avoiding meeting our eyes, while his sharp, well-groomed features was contorted in an expression of blatant disgust.
Is this someone who teaches here? But looking closely at him... He just looks like one of those fops licking my father's boots.
A boy in the front row took a step forward and cleared his throat.
"Sir... the directives for—"
"Step back, scum, you might stain my new armor!" the man interrupted him in a shrill voice.
This is an instructor!?
He took an instinctive step back, bringing a gloved hand close to his nose.
"Don't you dare approach me, and keep your distance. All of you!"
The silence that followed was heavy.
I watched as the man recoiled at the mere thought of our breath getting too close.
A month ago, perhaps, I would have understood him. Perhaps I would have felt the exact same disdain. But now, looking at him from this side of the fence, I felt only a pang of bitter anger.
The instructor did not come any closer for the rest of the morning.
Remaining at a safe distance, he barked orders at us in cold, detached tones, forcing us into endless push-ups and sprints on the packed dirt, just so he wouldn't have to deal with us directly.
When noon arrived, suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the rear gate creaked open.
Zoltan made his entrance into the courtyard at a slow pace. But this time, he wasn't alone.
Behind him came two figures I knew all too well, walking proudly in training armor polished to a mirror shine.
Rowan and Darian.