Forged in Sand #2
Nic didn’t take his eyes off Gravis, but he dropped back a step, muscles still strained.
“Yeah, because clearly, Helen’s been funneling tax money straight into my wrist.” His voice was sharp, edged with mockery.
“She bought this with her own earnings—jewelry she made, yarn she sold. But sure, let’s pretend she’s robbing the poor to spoil me. ”
Gravis didn’t respond. His glare remained icy, but after another tense breath, he turned and strolled away.
Collin exhaled sharply. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until his lungs protested. He didn’t like taking sides, but if Nic had needed to fight, Collin wouldn’t have hesitated. Some bonds didn’t ask for permission
“Anyway,” Nic muttered, “I should really stop courting rich girls. It’s bad for my image.”
Aries chuckled, and said, “A year already, and you haven’t run—I’m impressed.”
Nic smirked, his expression losing some of its edge.
Collin handed the watch back with a small grin. “Congratulations—and happy anniversary. Feels like just yesterday you were swearing you’d never get tied down.”
Nic buckled the watch around his wrist, his movements stiff with lingering frustration. “Helen’s perfect. Her parents, though? Let’s just say they’d rather gift me a swift kick than a watch. The idea that they’d hand her money for me is about as likely as them naming me their beloved son-in-law.”
No one replied. It was no secret that Helen’s parents detested the fact that their only child was being avidly courted by the builder’s son.
Whenever Nic brought up the unpleasant topic, no one could offer helpful advice.
Helen seemed indifferent to her parents’ disapproval, and Nic—though he cared—could hardly do anything to change their minds.
Instead, the lovers were drawn more intensely together, their passionate and effusive relationship growing and flourishing right before everyone’s eyes.
“What did you give Helen?” Collin asked curiously.
Nic’s grin softened, almost bashful. “Nothing extravagant,” he said, voice low. “Just a little box I carved—for her trinkets. Thought she might like somewhere to keep the stuff she never throws away. But it’s not finished yet. Hope we get some free time.”
Aries snorted, crossing his arms. “Right. And maybe they’ll throw in a vacation while they’re at it.”
A couple of shade canopies away, Captain Eric stood giving instructions to a group of guards. The rising sun caught in his copper hair, making it glint like burnished metal.
Collin watched him, unease rising in his stomach.
He wondered what awaited them on this first day of training.
He doubted it would be a gentle introduction—no time to acclimate, no easing into their new reality.
More likely, they would be thrown into the deep end, forced to adapt quickly or suffer whatever punishment Sol deemed appropriate.
He exhaled slowly, watching Eric drag out his conversation with the guards. “Anytime now. Maybe if we stand here long enough, they’ll mistake us for trees and leave us alone.”
Nic huffed, crossing his arms. “More likely chop us down for firewood.”
As if some higher power were eavesdropping, Eric finished speaking to his guards and turned, striding purposefully across the sandy expanse toward the waiting cadets.
Aries let out a breath, his smile tight with unease. “Well, looks like they’ve decided we’re worth chopping down after all.”
Instinctively, the friends crowded together, drawn by some primal need for solidarity. Even Rhea, who had spent much of the morning radiating discontent, set aside her grievances for the moment.
Collin shoved his sweating hands into his pockets, finding a small measure of comfort in their numbers.
Eric approached with the easy swagger of a man who knew he held absolute authority. His smile was amiable—too amiable.
“Good morning, wolf pups.” His tone was light, almost playful, but the spark of danger in his eyes betrayed him. Though he addressed the entire group, his gaze lingered on the three young women, his grin stretching just a little too wide.
“Good morning, Captain Eric,” they replied automatically, their voices drained of any real enthusiasm.
Beside Collin, Dragonfly shuddered. He wished he could squeeze her hand, let her know she wasn’t alone. He didn’t trust Eric’s smile. It was too bright, his gray eyes gleaming with something unspoken, something calculated.
And Collin hated being called a wolf pup.
The guards referred to themselves as wolves—predators, enforcers, creatures of strength. But in Collin’s mind, the title was far too noble for men who carried out such deplorable acts.
He had always been fond of wolves. As a child, his father had filled his nights with ancient wolf legends—stories of guardians, protectors of the forest, keepers of departed hunters.
Collin’s favorite remained the tale of the White Wolf and her lover, a poem he could never tire of. Wolves were noble. Wolves had honor.
The guards had no right to claim the name. And Collin certainly didn’t want to be associated with them.
Eric’s gaze flicked over his charges, assessing their common-day attire.
“There are proper clothes for you lot to change into,” he said, nodding toward a row of boarded-up stalls near the meal pavilion.
“But before we get to that, I will divide you into smaller groups. Depending on your progress, groups may change or be dissolved altogether.”
With a simple motion of his hand, the cadets instinctively formed a line. Eric clasped his hands behind his back and paced slowly, his sharp gaze dissecting each of them.
“Ladies,” he said, his eyes alone separating the trio, “you three will work under Lieutenant Tate today and run the track. You may go change your clothes.”
Dragonfly, Sky, and Rhea wasted no time peeling away from the boys, scampering toward the changing stalls.
Eric continued his slow, deliberate pacing, his calculating gaze flicking over each cadet. Though he wore a smile, there was no warmth in it—only scrutiny. Did the captain actually remember all their names, or did he simply see them as bodies to be sorted, tools to be sharpened?
Then, abruptly, Eric stopped.
“Nic, Clive, Collin, and Gravis—you four will work with Lieutenant Spencer on muscle building today.”
Collin’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know much about Spencer, but he had heard enough to suspect that muscle building was just a polite way of saying pain endurance.
“Aries, Lekyi, Niall, and Uriah—you boys are with me. We’ll be heading to the lake for a few hours of swimming.”
Collin glanced at Aries, who exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable.
“Go!”
Everyone jumped, and then they sprinted for the stalls.
Collin’s pulse tapped faster in his throat. He’d told himself he was ready, that he’d see this moment coming—but now that it was here, his thoughts scattered like startled birds, and the weight of it settled heavy in his chest, colder than he’d braced for.
There was no escape now.
The changing stall was cool and deeply shaded beneath its low roof. Straw covered the floor, muffling footsteps, and the air carried an aged scent—damp, sweaty, and faintly musty, as if years of training had seeped into the walls.
The stall was divided into two spacious changing areas, separated by partial walls that offered little in the way of privacy. Benches lined the perimeter, and shelves built into one side provided space for personal belongings.
Collin hesitated. He wasn’t exactly shy, but stripping down in front of his group mates felt different than changing at home. Clive seemed equally uncertain, glancing around hesitantly, while Nic—unsurprisingly—showed no reservations, shrugging off his shirt without a second thought.
Through the half-wall, Collin caught a glimpse of Aries’s bare back as he pulled off his clothes in the adjacent stall. With a capitulating sigh, Collin surrendered to the inevitable and began to strip, stopping at his shorts and socks.
The green shirts they had to wear matched those of the seasoned guards, though theirs lacked the fine gold embroidery on the breast. The trousers were a stiff, itchy tan fabric—uncomfortable from the moment he pulled them on.
Before following the others out of the stall, Collin took a cue from Nic, removing his watch and tucking it safely between his folded clothes. He found an unclaimed cubby next to Clive’s belongings and made a mental note to leave his valuables at home from now on.
Lieutenant Spencer was waiting when Collin filed out of the stall behind Gravis.
The man was built like a fortress—his shoulders and arms enormous, his shirt left open to reveal a chiseled chest covered in a thick layer of dark hair.
His eyes were calm, but it was the calm of a cliff edge, quiet, sheer, and promising pain below.
As Spencer led them across the training grounds, none of the boys dared to speak. The lieutenant moved with an easy confidence, pausing now and then to exchange quips with passing guards, his tone light, almost amused—an unsettling contrast to the silence he demanded from his charges.
The boys followed without protest, like names written on a list they’d never agreed to sign. Their boots kicked up dust as they reached a far corner of the camp where the sandy ground had been packed down solid.
Collin took in the equipment surrounding them.
Some contraptions looked like standard training tools—rails of various heights, benches stacked with weights, pulleys with ropes and kettlebells.
Others looked more like instruments of punishment.
His gaze landed on a plank, seven feet long and two feet wide, elevated three feet off the ground.
A short iron rod was affixed to one end, with two horizontal wooden pieces attached to the top.
A torture device?