Forged in Sand
At dawn, Collin and Aries dragged themselves down the sloping path toward the North Town training grounds. The sky was a dull smear of gray-pink, the kind of morning that couldn't commit to being hopeful or ominous.
Collin's head throbbed dully with sleep deprivation—he’d only managed a few tangled hours of rest sometime after the moon had tipped past its zenith.
His thoughts sloshed in his skull like water in a half-filled jar, and each step felt like trudging through knee-deep mud.
Though the air was crisp but mild, an involuntary tremor rattled through him that had little to do with the chill. His body was cold; his stomach colder.
Beside him, Aries matched his silence stride for stride. Normally, Aries woke up with a sharp tongue and a sharper appetite—ready to quarrel or joke before breakfast. This morning, he walked with his arms crossed and jaw tight, emitting the kind of quiet that said, Speak to me and lose a tooth.
They passed the shuttered shops of North Town in silence, their boots scuffing against the cobblestones, and rounded the bend near the granary when two other figures emerged from the morning mist, Nic and Uriah.
Nic looked like a sleep-deprived demon haunting a borrowed human body.
His eyes were bloodshot, his hair couldn’t decide which direction to fall, and his brow was set in a permanent scowl that could curdle milk.
He glared at a squirrel that skittered past them, as though personally offended by its cheerfulness.
“If one more bird chirps at me,” he muttered, voice gravelly, “I’m eating it. ”
Uriah offered a smile that might've passed for cheerful if not for the twitch in his left eye. “Good morning,” he said, too brightly. “Or... at least, a morning. We can all agree it is that.”
“Barely,” Aries grumbled.
Collin tried to summon an expression—annoyance, a greeting—but all he managed was a grunt that might have been mistaken for indigestion.
The four fell into step without another word, bonded by misery.
They passed a fencepost where someone had chalked the words, Abandon Hope, followed by a lopsided drawing of what might’ve been a boot stomping a skull. Nic eyed it and nodded approvingly. “At least someone gets it.”
Collin chuckled flatly. “I think I’m going to vomit from nerves or hunger. Possibly both. Maybe at the same time.”
“Well,” Aries muttered, “aim for Nic.”
They trudged on, four shadows stretching long across the dirt road, toward whatever fresh torment awaited them just over the rise.
As they entered the training camp, Collin’s gaze swept the clearing beneath the pale morning canopy.
The others had already gathered, scattered like fallen leaves caught in a windless pause.
Dragonfly, Lekyi, and the twins stood at the fringe of the open-air pavilion, their postures drawn tight by unspoken tension.
Dragonfly had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, more for protection than warmth. The sleeves of her blouse looked too large, swallowing her delicate frame like the morning shadows swallowing the light. She wasn’t just anxious—she seemed paper-thin, as if the right word could tear her.
Lekyi carried the storm in his body—shoulders bowed, brow furrowed deep as a fault line.
Clive stood rigid, breath slow and practiced, but his eyes jittered, bright with nerves.
A bead of sweat traced his temple, unnoticed.
Niall worked his jaw like he was chewing stone.
Collin felt his own teeth clench in answer. The tension was catching, like a fever.
Then, across the sandy field, Gravis appeared.
Not trudging, not hesitating—strolling, as if arriving at a garden party rather than the first day of what might well be a gauntlet of pain and humiliation.
His shirt and waistcoat looked freshly pressed, his stride calm.
He even offered a mild nod in greeting. Maybe he was genuinely unfazed. Or maybe it was all theater.
Collin couldn’t decide if he envied that composure or distrusted it.
He leaned against a canopy strut. It groaned under his weight, a low, ominous creak that made him wonder how much strain it could take before giving in. His gaze swept across the training grounds, taking in the space that would soon shape them—or break them.
The North Town training ground was a vast sand-filled clearing carved into the forest, surrounded by towering trees that loomed like silent sentinels.
The sun had barely begun its ascent, its faint rays filtering through the gaps between the trees.
While the village was still stirring to life, the training grounds were already alive with movement.
Dozens of guards were on site, their discipline evident in the efficiency of their tasks.
Some raked the sand, smoothing out the rough patches, while others tended to the canopies and training equipment.
In one corner, a group engaged in mock hand-to-hand combat, their movements sharp but measured.
Another group fired arrows and hurled knives at target boards, the rhythmic thunk of impact punctuating the morning air.
Pairs of guards clashed swords in controlled exchanges, while others jogged the perimeter of the deep sandy track, their footfalls muffled by the shifting ground.
Nearby, two guards were locked in a violent exchange—no restraint, no pretense of practice.
They struck with brutal force, each blow landing with a sickening thwack of fists on flesh.
Collin watched, transfixed. This was nothing like the sparring matches he and his friends engaged in—where instinct was tempered by caution, where bruises were accidental rather than deliberate.
Here, there was no holding back. No hesitation. Just raw, uncontained violence.
It was a stark reminder. Training wasn’t just about learning. It was about surviving.
Nic paced directly in front of Collin’s line of sight, blocking the combatants from view. Collin shifted, trying to get a better look, when something bright shot into his eye like a bolt of lightning. He flinched, blinking rapidly as he rubbed at the sudden sting.
“Good heavens, Nic, what is that?” He scrubbed at his eye, trying to clear the lingering glare. “It nearly blinded me!”
Nic paused mid-step, his scowl vanishing as a grin overtook his face, eclipsing the simmering irritation he had been exuding all morning. He unbuckled the watch from his wrist and handed it over with a flourish.
“Helen gave it to me last night. Our one-year’s coming up, but she figured the Royal Guard doesn’t do romantic timing.”
Collin examined the exquisite timepiece. Even at a glance, it was obvious how expensive and well-crafted it was. The leather straps were supple, the buckle gleamed gold, and the hands and numerals were gilded with the same rich metal.
He flipped the watch over. The engraving was delicate, etched in elegant script: For the days we get, and the ones we lose. Yours, Helen.
Aries, Clive, and Gravis gathered around, eager to ogle Nic’s handsome new watch.
“Whoa, that’s a fine-looking one,” Aries exclaimed.
“That is a nice gift,” Gravis said, but his tone was oddly cool. His gaze flicked to Nic, sharp and assessing. “It certainly pays to be courting a steward’s daughter, huh?”
Nic stiffened instantly. It was as if he were a porcupine, his quills rattling with ire. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tightened, and he took a step closer to Gravis.
“What do you mean by that?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Are you saying I’m with her because of her social status? Because she’s rich?”
Gravis shrugged, his expression unreadable. “No. I’m just surprised you’d choose to be involved with a steward’s daughter. That steward’s daughter, especially.”
Nic’s smoldering eyes narrowed. It was rare to see him this fierce. “And what, exactly, is wrong with my girl and her family?”
Gravis didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened, laced with contempt.
“That’s a pretty fancy watch she gave you.
I bet she eats extremely well. Her father is Crimisa’s treasurer, isn’t he?
While he collects taxes from the already poor and needy, his daughter is shopping for pretty dresses and shoes and buying her beau fancy trinkets. ”
Nic clenched his fists. He took another step forward, his eyes igniting with fury. “Talk about Helen again and I’ll test how well this expensive watch holds up when I...”
Instinctively, Collin stepped in, his body moving before his mind could catch up.
It wasn’t his habit to interfere when a man was defending his beloved’s honor—but this was different.
They were surrounded by guards and captains, men who wouldn’t hesitate to throw them in a cell for disorderly conduct.
If Nic and Gravis came to blows, it wouldn’t just be bruises they’d walk away with.
Collin needn’t have worried alone. Aries was right beside him, stepping forward in perfect sync, as if they had rehearsed this moment a hundred times before.
Nic’s fury crackled in the air, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His breath was shallow, his shoulders coiled like a spring ready to snap. Collin and Aries didn’t need words—Nic knew them too well, and they knew him.
Collin’s gaze was steady, full of reason. Not here. Not now. Aries’s expression was sharper, edged with caution, but beneath it lay unwavering loyalty. If you fight, we fight. But think first.
For a long, tense moment, Nic’s burning eyes flicked between them. The sons of Crimisa stood locked in silent conversation, a language built over years of shared battles, whispered confessions, and unshaken trust.
“Everyone, come on!” Clive’s tone was light, attempting to break the tension. “We’re all friends here! No need for this.”