Alyc’s body ached, but she welcomed the pain. Pain meant growth. Pain meant progress.

  The morning air was sharp and cold as the recruits assembled at the training grounds. The previous day’s bruises hadn’t faded, yet everyone stood tall, their breath forming brief clouds in the frigid dawn. Conversations were quiet, expectant. Something was coming. They could all feel it.

  Thomiskee stood before them, hands clasped behind his back. But today, he was not alone.

  Five figures stood in a line at his back, their presence commanding. Even without introduction, it was clear who they were. Warriors of renown. Leaders. Selenia’s best.

  Thomiskee’s voice cut through the cold morning air.

  “You’ve trained. You’ve fought. Some of you have proven yourselves, while others have barely kept up.” His gaze swept over the recruits before turning slightly. “But today, you stand before the Five.”

  He motioned to the figures behind him, one by one. “Commander Vaelith Serowind of the Moon Guard.”

  The first figure stepped forward a tall woman with a composed presence. Her silver-white armour gleamed under the morning light, her cape billowing softly in the breeze. She carried herself with an air of quiet authority, her pale blue eyes scanning the recruits with a sharp, assessing gaze.

  “The Moon Guard stands as Selenia’s shield. We defend its walls, its people, its future. We do not break.” Her voice was calm but carried the weight of command.

  She stepped back, and the next figure strode forward.

  “Commander Ysari Grimholt of the Frostblade

  Vanguard.” The second figure was a stark contrast to the composed elegance of Vaelith Serowind. Ysari Grimholt was built like a fortress, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. His armour, a dark blue steel reinforced with fur at the collar, looked well-worn, bearing the scars of countless battles. His piercing grey eyes swept across the recruits, sharp and cold as the ice he thrived in.

  “The Frostblade Vanguard does not sit behind walls,” Ysari declared, his voice deep and rumbling. “We strike first. We strike fast. We carve the path forward so the rest of Selenia can follow.” He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “We do not wait for war to come to us. We are the war.”

  Alyc felt something stir in her gut at the sheer force behind his words. Ysari Grimholt wasn’t just a commander he was a force of nature, a warrior born and bred for battle.

  As Ysari stepped back, the third commander moved forward with practiced grace.

  “Commander Rhenvar Skythorne of the Glacial Wind Corps.”

  A tall, lean man with sharp features and a regal presence, Rhenvar Skythorne carried himself with the effortless ease of someone who had never been caught off guard. His long silver-streaked hair was tied back neatly, and the intricate designs on his deep blue armour shimmered in the light.

  “We do not fight on the ground like the rest of you,” Rhenvar said, his voice smooth, almost amused. “We fight from the skies. We watch over Selenia’s lands. We are the unseen eyes, the silent blades that fall when least expected.” His piercing green eyes met the crowd, filled with challenge. “The weak stay rooted. The strong rise.”

  Alyc felt her fingers twitch at her sides. Every one of these commanders spoke with such unshakable conviction, their words carried like weapons.

  Then, the fourth commander stepped forward, and something inside Alyc tensed. “Commander Jesta Valance of the Shadecloaks.” Jesta was unlike the others. Where Vaelith carried poise, Ysari exuded brute force, and Rhenvar possessed an effortless arrogance, Jesta Valance was something entirely different something dangerous.

  She moved with a calculated precision, each step measured, silent despite the light armour she wore. Her dark eyes swept over the recruits, not with curiosity or intimidation, but with something far more unsettling: calculation.

  “The Shadecloaks,” Jesta said, her voice smooth, cool as winter’s breath. “We do not fight on battlefields. We do not wear banners. We are the ones in the dark, the ones who move unseen, who shape wars before they begin.”

  She tilted her head, studying the recruits as if memorizing each face.

  “We do what others cannot. What others will not.”

  A shiver ran down Alyc’s spine. Jesta wasn’t making a promise. She was stating a fact. A long pause followed, then Jesta smirked just slightly and stepped back into line.

  And then, the last commander moved forward. “Commander Varek Colmere of the Iceforged

  Artificers.”

  Unlike the others, Varek wasn’t draped in the regal finery of the Moon Guard or the deadly refinement of the Shadecloaks. His armour was thick, reinforced with strange metal plating, and strapped with small devices and alchemical vials. His greying beard was neatly trimmed, his dark brown eyes alight with something between wisdom and exhaustion.

  “The Iceforged do not fight battles in the same way as our brothers and sisters,” Varek said, his voice gruff yet steady. “We build wars. We forge the weapons that win them. We shape the walls that hold them. Without us, Selenia is nothing but cold stone and empty promises.”

  He crossed his arms. “Some of you are meant for blades and battle. Some of you, for something greater.” With that, he stepped back.

  Thomiskee returned to the centre, looking over the recruits.

  “These five,” he said, motioning behind him, “are the strongest forces in Selenia. Each of you will train, fight, and earn your place. Over the next week, they will watch you. They have received my reports. They know your strengths.” His eyes landed briefly on Alyc. “And your weaknesses.”

  Silence settled over the recruits; tension thick enough to cut.

  “At the end of the week, selections will be made,” Thomiskee finished. “Prepare yourselves.” The recruits rose before dawn, the air sharp with cold, their breath visible in the pre-dawn light. The training grounds were silent but heavy each recruit aware that they were being watched. Judged. Measured. No one knew which commander was looking at whom. But they all felt it. The first day was led by Commander Ysari Grimholt of the Frostblade Vanguard. The recruits stood at the base of the Frozen Stair, a brutal climb up the jagged cliffs outside Selenia. The terrain was slick with ice, the winds howling down with enough force to push even the strongest back. “The Frostblade Vanguard does not take the easy path,” Ysari announced. “You will reach the summit. Or you will be left behind.” The climb was merciless. Alyc pushed forward, her breath steady despite the freezing air biting at her lungs. She could hear others struggling some slipping, some barely able to keep moving. Lef gritted her teeth, moving one step at a time with sheer force of will. Rebekka, smaller but quick, used her speed to weave through the safest route. Sol grumbled under his breath but refused to be outdone. Josepe? He laughed between heavy breaths. “The wind howls, the ice sings, and the mountain watches. Who will be swallowed first?” Alyc didn’t speak. She just climbed. By the time she reached the summit, her body was screaming, but she barely felt it. She was first. When she turned back, Sammond was right behind her, moving with calm precision, as if the climb had never been difficult at all. Ysari watched them all, his face unreadable. “Some of you barely survived. Some of you thrived. Remember that.”

  The second day focused on tactical warfare, led by Commander Rhenvar Skythorne of the Glacial Wind Corps. The recruits were placed in teams, given a mock battlefield, and expected to plan three different routes to victory. It was not about fighting it was about strategy.

  Commander Skythorne stood at the center of the training grounds, his piercing gaze sweeping over the recruits. “The Glacial Wind Corps moves like the storm,” he said, his voice crisp as the air. “If you cannot think ahead, you are already dead.”

  The recruits were split into squads, each given a different objective. Alyc’s team, which included Sammond, Lef, Rebekka, Josepe, and Sol, was tasked with ambushing an opposing force while securing a critical vantage point.

  They gathered around a rough map drawn into the dirt, their breath misting as they spoke in hushed tones. “We can’t take them head-on,” Rebekka said, scanning the layout. “They outnumber us two to one.” Sol scoffed, arms crossed. “Then we take the high ground and make them come to us.”

  Lef shook her head. “Too obvious. They’ll expect that.”

  Alyc remained silent, studying the terrain. High ground wasn’t the key. It was movement. “We don’t need to hold a position,” she said finally. “We keep moving. We harry them, hit them from multiple sides, never staying in one place long enough for them to adjust.”

  Sammond nodded approvingly. “Force them to fight blind.”

  Josepe grinned. “Ah, the dance of ghosts. A blade unseen is a blade feared.” Their plan was simple but effective. While the other squads focused on fortifying positions, Alyc’s team became a moving storm. They launched quick, precise attacks before vanishing into the trees, never staying still long enough to be countered. The enemy force was left disoriented, their formations broken apart by the time they realized what was happening.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  When the exercise ended, Skythorne assessed the results. He didn’t smile, but there was something approving in his expression. “Most of you chose defense. You chose safety. But wars are won by those who force the enemy to react.” His gaze flickered briefly to Alyc. “Some of you understand that.”

  The next day, Commander Varek Colmere of the Iceforged Artificers took over training. Unlike the others, he wasted no time with speeches. Instead, the recruits were immediately thrown into a grueling endurance test.

  It started with hauling massive stone slabs across the field, then shifted into constructing makeshift fortifications under constant simulated attack. The recruits were forced to build, defend, and rebuild over and over again.

  By midday, many recruits were staggering, barely able to lift their arms. Alyc’s muscles burned, her body screamed for rest, but she refused to slow down.

  Josepe, dripping sweat, dropped beside her. “The storm rages, the tide rises, and yet the mountain does not move.”

  Alyc snorted. “Are you calling me a mountain?”

  Josepe grinned. “No, Malice. I’m calling you a storm.”

  By the end of the day, few were left standing. Alyc remained among them. Sammond, of course, stood just as effortlessly, his expression unreadable, as if he hadn’t just spent an entire day hauling stone and withstanding relentless drills. Lef was still standing as well, though she leaned against a half-built fortification, breathing heavily. Rebekka stretched out on the ground, groaning. “If one of you doesn’t carry me back, I’m staying here forever.”

  Sol, lying flat on his back, exhaled sharply. “I’d laugh, but I think my ribs would give out.” Commander Varek Colmere strode across the field, his sharp eyes sweeping over the exhausted recruits. “Strength is not just in your muscles,” he said. “It’s in your will. When your body fails, your mind must push forward. And when your mind wavers” He glanced at those who still stood, “you let your conviction carry you.”

  His gaze flickered to Alyc before moving on. He didn’t say anything directly, but she felt the weight of his observation.

  By the time the recruits dragged themselves back to the barracks, word had spread. Those who had endured the entire session who hadn’t faltered were being whispered about.

  Alyc woke before dawn, the soreness in her muscles settling into something familiar, something almost comfortable. Pain meant she had pushed past her limits. It meant she had grown.

  When they arrived at the training grounds, Commander Jesta Valance was waiting. Unlike the others, she didn’t address the recruits with a grand speech or a sharp command. Instead, she simply watched. “Stealth,” she finally said, her voice smooth but firm. “Observation.

  Control. These are not skills you can be taught in a day.

  But today, you will either prove you have them, or you will fail.”

  The test was simple, in theory move through a controlled battlefield undetected. The field had been turned into a maze of shadows, broken walls, and uneven terrain. Spotters had been placed at various locations, each with chalk-tipped arrows. If a recruit was struck, it meant they’d been “killed.”

  Alyc, once again, was paired with her barracks.

  “The goal is not just to survive,” Jesta continued. “The goal is to reach the target without ever being seen. If you fail, you are already dead.” Sol exhaled slowly. “Well. This should be fun.”

  Rebekka smirked. “For me, maybe. You? I give you twenty seconds before you’re shot.” Josepe, crouching low, grinned. “The night does not run. It watches. It waits.” Alyc ignored them, focusing instead on the field ahead. Shadows. Movement. Timing. These were all things she had learned naturally.

  As soon as the test began, she moved.

  Alyc’s world became silent. She slipped between obstacles with the same ease she wielded a blade. The first chalk arrow whizzed past her, missing by inches but she had already pivoted, vanishing into a narrow gap between two crumbled walls.

  Sammond moved beside her, just as fluid.

  Behind them, the others fanned out, each taking their own path.

  One by one, recruits were marked.

  Soft grunts of frustration rang out as chalk stains bloomed against tunics and cloaks. One hit. Eliminated. Some recruits fell early, moving too fast or hesitating at the wrong moment. Others lasted longer, weaving through the maze with careful steps.

  Alyc, however, didn’t just move she hunted.

  She could sense the archers, hear the subtle shift of their weight, feel their presence before they could release their arrows. When one turned, scanning the shadows for movement, she stilled, melting into the darkness. When another prepared to fire, she moved before they could see her, a ghost slipping through the cracks. Sammond was just as effective, his movements precise, controlled. He never hesitated, never secondguessed.

  By the time they reached the final checkpoint, only five recruits remained unmarked. Alyc. Sammond. Rebekka. Lef. Josepe.

  Jesta Valance stood waiting, arms crossed. She glanced at them, unimpressed. “I expected fewer,” she mused.

  Rebekka wiped sweat from her brow, smirking.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Jesta said nothing, but the glint in her eye was telling. “Perhaps.”

  She turned to the remaining recruits. “You have passed. The rest?” She gestured to the marked recruits behind them, their frustration evident. “They are dead. And dead soldiers serve no purpose.”

  Alyc watched as the others shifted uncomfortably. They had fought in this training, had tried their best, but this wasn’t about effort. This was about results.

  Jesta stepped closer, her voice lower now.

  “Remember this feeling. Failure. Death. It is the price of hesitation.”

  She dismissed them with a nod. “Tomorrow is your final test.”

  The recruits stood at attention as Commander Vaelith Serowind of the Moon Guard addressed them. Her silver-threaded cloak fluttered in the cold wind, her expression unreadable. “You have been tested in endurance, in strategy, in strength, in stealth.” She paused. “Now, you will be tested in leadership.”

  A murmur rippled through the ranks. Leadership?

  Serowind continued, pacing before them. “You will be divided into squads of five. Each squad will be assigned a simulated battlefield, complete with obstacles, enemies, and objectives. One of you will lead. The others will follow.”

  Alyc felt her stomach tighten. Lead? She didn’t fight

  for others. She fought alone.

  Thomiskee stepped forward. “You do not get to choose your squad. It has been chosen for you.”

  Alyc’s squad was Lef, Sol, Rebekka, and Josepe. Sammond was assigned elsewhere, his own name called with another group.

  Rebekka nudged Alyc. “I’m guessing they’re about to make you the leader.” Before Alyc could respond, Serowind’s gaze landed on her. “Halcyhon,” she said. “You command.”

  Alyc stiffened. She wasn’t surprised. But that didn’t mean she liked it. Serowind handed her a map a rough layout of the battlefield ahead, detailing obstacles, enemy placements, and the objective. The mission was clear: Capture the enemy’s flag and return to their starting point before the opposing team did the same.

  Alyc exhaled, scanning the parchment. Two main paths. One open but direct. The other winding, covered in ruins, with plenty of places to set an ambush. Lef crossed her arms. “What’s the call?”

  Alyc’s fingers curled around the map. She didn’t hesitate. “We take the ruins,” she said. “The open field is a trap waiting to happen.”

  Sol scoffed. “Or it’s the fastest route, and we’re wasting time crawling through debris.” Alyc’s gaze snapped to him, sharp. “You want to take the field? Go ahead. Let’s see how far you make it.”

  Sol opened his mouth to argue but shut it just as quickly. Rebekka smirked. “I like her plan.” Josepe simply grinned. “Shadows hide truth, and truth is best unseen.”

  Lef nodded. “Ruins it is.” A horn sounded.

  The exercise had begun.

  Alyc’s squad moved fast, slipping through the ruins with practiced efficiency.

  The first encounter came quick a three-man patrol guarding a choke point. They hadn’t seen them yet. Alyc raised a hand, signaling her team to wait. Think. Act. Execute.

  She motioned to Rebekka. “Take the left flank. Sol, cause a distraction on the right. Lef, be ready when they break formation.”

  Rebekka vanished into the rubble. Sol, grumbling, kicked a loose stone down the path, drawing the attention of the guards.

  They turned just as Rebekka struck. A quick, silent takedown. Lef moved the moment the remaining two turned, tackling one to the ground. Alyc took the last herself, one precise strike to his throat.

  Three down. No wasted movement. The flag was deeper inside the ruins. Enemy territory. The team pressed on, moving like ghosts. But they weren’t the only ones hunting. They reached the central courtyard and the flag was there, but so was the enemy squad.

  Alyc scanned them quickly. Five recruits. Trained. Watching. Waiting. No hesitation. She had to break them before they had a chance to react. She turned to her team. “Rebekka, Josepe flank. Sol, make noise. Lef, you’re with me.”

  They moved in a blur.

  Sol charged first, a loud roar echoing through the ruins, drawing attention. Rebekka and Josepe struck from the sides, slipping through gaps in their formation. Alyc and Lef hit last fast, brutal, unforgiving.

  The fight ended in seconds. Alyc ripped the flag from its post. “Move!” she barked. Now they just had to get back.

  The enemy regrouped faster than expected. Alyc’s squad barely made it to the halfway point before they heard the pursuit heavier boots, more recruits coming from other paths.

  “They’re cutting us off,” Lef growled.

  Alyc’s mind raced. One way out.

  She turned to her team. “Rebekka, take the flag.

  Josepe, go with her. Lef, Sol you’re with me.”

  Sol blinked. “Wait, what?”

  Alyc handed Rebekka the flag, stepping into position between her and the pursuers.

  “We’re buying time,” Alyc said simply. “Go.”

  Rebekka didn’t hesitate. She took off with Josepe, vanishing into the ruins. Alyc, Lef, and Sol turned to face the coming storm.

  The first opponent rushed in. Alyc met them first.

  A dodge. A strike. A takedown.

  Sol fought at her side, cursing between hits. Lef held their flank, a wall of strength.

  Seconds stretched.

  Then the second horn sounded.

  The exercise was over. Back at the starting point, Rebekka stood grinning, the flag still in her grasp. They had won.

  Alyc’s breathing was steady as she took in the results. The recruits who had lost stood off to the side, some frustrated, others simply exhausted. The instructors, including the five commanders, gathered near the edge of the training grounds, murmuring among themselves as they observed the aftermath.

  Jesta Valance stepped forward first. “Not bad,” she mused, her keen eyes sweeping over Alyc’s squad. “You didn’t just fight you controlled the battlefield.” She crossed her arms. “That’s the difference between a good soldier and a leader.”

  Commander Rhenvar Skythorne of the Glacial Wind Corps gave a curt nod. “Tactical awareness. Quick thinking. Ruthless execution.” His gaze flickered toward Alyc. “A decisive mind is a dangerous thing. That’s an asset.”

  Commander Ysari Grimholt of the Frostblade Vanguard was less generous with his praise. “Your team abandoned its leader in the final stretch,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing slightly. “A calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless.”

  Alyc held his stare, unflinching. “I didn’t need them to protect me. I needed them to finish the mission.”

  Ysari exhaled sharply, but his expression betrayed something close to approval. “So you say.”

  The last to step forward was Commander Vaelith Serowind of the Moon Guard. Her silver-threaded cloak barely moved as she surveyed the recruits. “War is chaos,” she said. “We do not always get to choose the fights we take or the sacrifices we make.” Her gaze settled on Alyc. “But the strong learn to shape the battlefield to their will.”

  She turned to face the rest of the recruits, her voice calm but unyielding. “The final test is over. You have given us your best. Now, we will decide which of you are worthy of the next step.”

  The weight of those words settled over them like a storm on the horizon. Commander Thomiskee stepped forward, his arms crossed. “Selections will be announced tomorrow. Get some rest.” His eyes lingered on Alyc for a fraction of a second longer than the others before he turned away. The recruits were dismissed.

  Alyc fell into step with her squad as they made their way back to the barracks. The energy around them was different now. Some recruits looked at them with respect. Others with quiet resentment.

  Rebekka stretched her arms over her head, grinning. “That went well.” Sol rolled his shoulders. “Could’ve gone better.”

  Lef arched an eyebrow. “We won.”

  “Yeah, but we almost didn’t,” Sol muttered.

  Josepe, walking beside them, chuckled softly. “Victory dances on a blade’s edge, my friends. The question is who holds the hilt?” He glanced at Alyc. “Or perhaps… who is the blade?”

  Alyc ignored him. Her mind was elsewhere.

  Tomorrow, the commanders would choose their representatives.

  Tomorrow, everything would change.