Forged in Sand #4
Collin smirked, pushing himself up. “Right. Nothing says survival like out-eating the men who actually want to be here.”
“Exactly. If we’re going to suffer, we should at least do it on a full stomach.”
Collin turned to Dragonfly, patting her shoulder, his fingers lingering on the ridge of her collarbone. “Shall I get you something?”
She smiled up at him, her eyes warm. A smudge of dirt clung to her cheek, and he longed to reach out, to brush it away.
“Another piece of bread and some of that gravy would be nice,” she said.
He nodded, reluctant to pull away—but he did.
Collin eagerly devoured his second helping, and when the jolly-looking cook began bellowing about the abundance of leftovers, he didn’t hesitate to go back for a third.
Nearly two hours later, most of the guards had vacated the tent, returning to their duties.
Yet Tate and Spencer had not come to collect their groups.
The pavilion had dwindled to a dozen late-arriving guards, the cook scooping leftovers into smaller trays, and a handful of women in white aprons wiping down tables and gathering used dishes and cutlery.
Collin shifted on the bench, wincing. His body was beginning to protest in earnest. The next few days would be a battle—not just for his endurance, but for his ability to move at all.
His muscles burned, his neck and back ached, and even his tendons seemed to creak and groan as if he were a decrepit old man.
And now, to top it off, a headache was building behind his eyes—slow, steady, relentless. It felt as if his skull were tightening, squeezing his delicate eyeballs from their sockets with every breath.
A guard arrived to fetch the cadets, introducing himself as Morr.
Ah, so this was the guard Nic had easily outperformed during the assessment.
Morr’s manner was friendly—too friendly. He asked for their names with an easy smile, his tone light, almost conversational. But something about him felt off.
Collin couldn’t quite place it, but the guard’s charm carried an edge, like quicksand—harmless on the surface, luring its victim in before revealing the trap beneath.
Beside him, Dragonfly shuddered.
Collin glanced at her, startled to see the color drain from her face. When Morr asked for her name, she answered quickly, eyes averted, her voice barely above a whisper, and Collin could feel her fear, though he didn’t know why.
Morr led them out of the tent, past the changing stalls, toward a small building. On the way, he struck up casual banter with Gravis, his tone still unnervingly pleasant. When they reached the storage shed, he handed each of them a rake.
“Your job is to even out the field,” he instructed. “Anywhere the sand isn’t level. Spread out and no chattering. Social hour is over. I will be watching and reporting your diligence to your commanding officer.”
Collin gripped the rake, his arms sluggish, his body protesting the movement. His stomach was overly full, the gentle afternoon sun too warm on his back, and the rhythmic scrape of metal against sand only lulled him further into exhaustion.
Sleep tugged at him, heavy and insistent.
He wasn’t the only one struggling. Every so often, his mind and body jolted out of a comfortable lull as Morr’s voice cut across the field.
“Dragonfly, keep moving.”
“Nic, stop leaning on your rake.”
Collin knew his own name would follow—he didn’t bother lifting his eyes.
He moved like his joints were rusted shut, his muscles aching with every drag of the rake. Still, they managed to make progress, the teeth of their tools forming neat, uniform lines across the vast expanse.
By the time the sun dipped below the clearing, Morr finally excused them.
Collin was so wiped out that even changing his clothes felt like an impossible task. He managed a short grunt of farewell to his friends before slogging homeward, his feet dragging with every step.
When he staggered through the front door, Aries was already home—slumped over the dinner table, completely asleep. His shirt was missing, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, and his shoulders, neck, and back bore the telltale signs of sunburn.
Collin barely registered the sight.
He dragged his depleted body into his bedroom, too exhausted to wash, change, or even undress—he collapsed fully clothed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The days blurred together in a relentless cycle of exertion. Every few days, the cadets were handed off to a different guard or captain, each with their own grueling regimen.
Some mornings began with endless jogging, Collin’s feet pounding against the packed dirt as sweat dripped into his eyes.
Other days, they were sent to the lake, swimming lap after lap until his limbs felt like lead.
When the captains grew particularly cruel, they forced the cadets up and down the steep North Town hill, Collin’s legs burning with every climb, each breath tasted like acid as he struggled to keep pace.
And then there were the days when they did nothing but rake the training grounds, the monotonous scrape of metal against sand stretching on for hours beneath the unrelenting sun.
No matter the task, the workouts were punishing—exhausting in ways that seeped into Collin’s bones. But there were moments, rare and fleeting, when the strain gave way to something almost enjoyable.
Whenever Captain Kyle took charge, the atmosphere shifted.
He turned training into competition, dividing them into teams for relay races on land and in the water.
Some days, he had them battle it out in lightweight canoes, their paddles slicing through the lake as they fought to outmaneuver one another.
Under Kyle’s command, the days felt less like grueling labor and more like a challenge—a game to win, a skill to prove.
Training under Captain Owen meant swords.
Collin’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his fingers slick with sweat. His arms ached from repetition, his shoulders burning with every strike. Across the training grounds, the rhythmic clash of steel rang out, punctuated by Captain Owen’s sharp corrections.
“Again,” Owen barked. “Your stance is wrong. You’re leaving your ribs wide open.”
Aries exhaled sharply, adjusting his footing with visible reluctance. Nic muttered something under his breath but obeyed. Lekyi rolled his shoulders, his expression unreadable. But Gravis—Gravis bristled.
They were all exceptional swordsmen, trained since childhood, their movements honed through years of practice. But Owen demanded adjustments, forcing them to unlearn habits they had always relied on.
“I’ve been fighting this way for years,” Gravis snapped, his jaw tight. “It works.”
Owen’s response was swift—a controlled strike that slipped past Gravis’s guard and sent the hilt of his sword cracking against his nose.
Gravis staggered back, blood dripping onto the sand.
“It works,” Owen repeated, his voice calm, “until it doesn’t.”
Gravis wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his expression dark, but he said nothing. The others exchanged glances, their resistance tempered by the unspoken warning.
Collin flinched, but he watched the exchange with quiet focus. He had always wanted to improve, but until now, he had only trained with his peers—never under the guidance of a true master.
And now, as he stepped forward to face his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, he felt the earth tilt.
Aries lunged first, his blade slicing through the air. Collin reacted instinctively, parrying with precision, stepping into the movement rather than retreating.
Aries’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Not bad.”
Collin pressed forward, forcing Aries to adjust. Their swords clashed, the impact reverberating through Collin’s arms—but he held firm.
He caught the angle of Aries’s blade just in time and twisted, forcing his opponent to go wide. He stepped inside the strike, pivoted, and countered—just as Owen had taught him.
For the first time, Collin wasn’t just keeping up.
He was winning.
Aries narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance. He feinted left, then struck right, but Collin saw it coming. He parried smoothly, knocking Aries’s blade aside and struck.
Aries grinned, breathless. “Where the hell did this come from?”
Collin didn’t answer. He was too focused, too exhilarated.
Owen watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But when Collin landed a clean strike against Aries’s shoulder, the captain gave a small nod of approval.
Collin lowered his sword, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.
He had spent years believing he would never catch up to Aries and Nic.
But now, under Owen’s expert guidance, he realized something.
He had always possessed the capability to meet them.
And perhaps—just perhaps—he could surpass them.
From that day forward, Collin threw himself into training with renewed determination.
Owen’s methods were brutal, but they worked.
The soreness in his arms became familiar, the weight of the sword more natural in his grip.
And with each lesson, he no longer felt like he was chasing Aries and Nic—he was standing beside them.
Archery belonged to Captain Eric.
Eric took his craft seriously—too seriously. He delivered long-winded lectures about becoming one with the bow, about the harmony between archer and arrow. He boasted of impossible feats—shooting a moth in flight under starlight, impaling three blackbirds with a single arrow.
But when he finally stopped talking and picked up a bow, his skill was undeniable.
Even Dragonfly and Clive, both capable archers, found themselves adjusting their technique under his direction.
Captain Sol never trained them directly.
He observed.
Sometimes he stood in the shade, taking notes. Other times, he walked amongst them, offering brief critiques, sharp corrections. More often, though, he remained distant, seemingly absorbed in the training of other guards.
But Collin knew better.
Even when Sol was far away, his presence lingered—watching, assessing. Dangerous.
It was in those moments that Collin felt most vulnerable.
It was like walking through a dark forest, too quiet, too still. He didn’t know where the danger lurked, only that it was there. Waiting.
Days turned to weeks, and Collin grew stronger.
The endless swimming, the grueling jogs through deep sand, the weight training—all of it had once drained him completely. But now, the soreness faded. His body adapted. His endurance increased.
He knew it would take years to match the sheer size and strength of the seasoned guards, but he could already see the changes—the definition in his arms, the power in his stride.
Training consumed everything.
They arrived at dawn and rarely left before sunset. Life outside the training ground came to a halt—no time for socializing beyond their small group, no time for house chores. Laundry piled at the foot of Collin’s bed, untouched. Hunting, once a cherished necessity, became pointless.
Despite the exhaustion, Collin found himself enjoying the time spent with his closest friends. It felt like childhood again—before girls, before romance, before the weight of adulthood had settled on their shoulders.
Back then, they’d spent their days battling in the meadow like knights, hunting in the woods, pilfering bird nests for eggs. They had camped, fished, swum, sailed. Another lifetime ago.
Without distractions, they had accomplished so much more. But then Lekyi had discovered his charm. Aries had fallen for Hadria. Nic had become utterly engrossed in Helen. And slowly, the bonds between them had loosened.
As Collin felt the ties of brotherhood rekindling once more, he also fell more in love with Dragonfly.
He hadn’t expected it, but watching her move with such confidence and precision—it was thrilling. She was like a warrior queen from a long-lost tale. She grew in skill but never losing what made her luminous.
And he found himself more drawn to her than ever.