Three days had passed.
The gates of the Citadel groaned as they swung open, the iron hinges creaking against the cool morning air. Sunlight spilled across the stone path, painting the mist in shades of gold. From the pine forests beyond, birds called out, their songs a sharp contrast to the quiet tension within the group.
Rafael led the way, his longsword strapped to his back, eyes fixed on the winding road ahead. Beside him walked Maria, sword and shield ready, her steady gaze edged with worry. Behind them, the others followed in a loose formation—Mark's spear tapped rhythmically against his shoulder, Angela adjusted the strap of her travel bag, and Patricia checked the vials of healing potion secured at her waist.
Vincent and Miguel exchanged a quiet fist bump, their confidence fueled by months of training. Clarisse moved lightly, eyes scanning the trees for threats. Sofia and Joshua whispered at the middle of the line, faces flickering between excitement and anxiety. Nolan took up the rear, eyes sweeping their surroundings with quiet vigilance.
The instructors walked among them, calm and composed. At the front, Thalion's silver hair caught the sunlight, his sharp gaze missing nothing. Faelar's quiet voice offered occasional reminders, while Eryndor's heavy boots beat a steady rhythm into the path, a silent promise of strength.
Vaelrya kept close to the center, her staff glowing faintly with elemental energy. Lythiel strode beside her, hands tucked in his robe sleeves, the serenity in his expression barely concealing a hidden edge of caution.
At the rear, the three healers—Serael, Nythorel, and Caelum—moved with quiet purpose. Serael murmured soft prayers as they walked, Nythorel adjusted the satchel of herbs and bandages on her shoulder, and Caelum's tranquil demeanor belied the alertness in his eyes.
For a time, no one spoke. The crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the rustling leaves were their only companions. The road stretched on, winding through dense forest. Shafts of sunlight pierced the thick canopy, casting dappled patterns across the path.
Rafael glanced over his shoulder. "Everyone ready?" he called.
A ripple of nods followed. Vincent smirked. "Just so we're clear – if monsters attack, I'm taking the biggest one."
Miguel laughed. "Hope you brought something big enough to handle it."
"Focus," Thalion said, his voice firm but faintly amused. "The forest may look calm, but appearances can deceive."
They walked on, senses sharpened. The trees whispered above them, and though no danger appeared, a quiet undercurrent of tension clung to the air.
An hour later, they reached a small clearing. Thalion raised a hand, and the group halted. "We'll rest here. Stay close. Do not wander."
The students settled quickly—some sitting on mossy stones, others leaning against the trees. Patricia took a sip from her waterskin, then handed it to Angela. Sofia rummaged through her pack. Rafael stood watch at the edge of the clearing, eyes flicking across the trees.
Lythiel stepped beside him. "Take a moment to breathe, Rafael. You must not burn yourself out before the real trial begins."
Rafael exhaled slowly. "I know. It's just… I keep wondering. Are we truly ready for this?"
"You are," Lythiel replied, his gaze calm and steady. "Training prepares the body. Courage will carry the soul. And you have both."
Rafael nodded. "Thanks."
Nearby, Maria adjusted the straps on her shield. Thalion approached, watching her work. "How does it feel?"
"Solid," she answered, giving it a firm tug. "Nothing's getting past me."
"Good. But remember—defense is timing as much as strength. One well-timed block can win a fight."
She gave a quick nod, absorbing his words.
Their break was brief. Soon Thalion's voice rang out again: "On your feet. We move."
They pressed forward, the forest thickening. The path narrowed, the light dimming beneath the trees. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air.
After another hour, the forest began to thin. The dense trees gave way to a wide, sunlit expanse of dry grass and cracked earth, stretching out before them like a golden corridor. The ground was mostly flat, with only occasional undulations, and the canopy overhead broke apart, revealing a sky streaked with wisps of cloud.
Thalion raised a hand, bringing the group to a halt. His sharp gaze swept the open terrain. "This stretch leaves us exposed. Stay alert, and move quickly—but do not scatter."
The students nodded, their eyes scanning the horizon. There were no immediate threats, but the openness of the land brought a new kind of tension. There was little cover here—no tall trees or thick brush to hide behind, only the rustle of the wind moving through the dry grass.
They pressed on, their footsteps muffled by the parched earth. Clarisse walked closer to the center of the group now, her usual forward position abandoned in favor of caution. Rafael kept his hand near the hilt of his sword, his eyes shifting constantly.
Miguel muttered, "I don't like this. Too quiet. Too open."
Vincent nodded, his grin replaced by a more serious expression. "Feels like we're being watched, even if we're not."
"Maintain formation," Faelar said calmly, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. "Eyes forward, minds sharp."
Angela and Patricia moved side by side, their shoulders nearly touching. Patricia whispered, "I'd rather have trees. At least you can hide from what you can't see."
Angela gave a short nod. "At least in the forest, you feel like the shadows are on your side."
Suddenly, a deep, guttural growl shattered the quiet.
From the tall grass to their right, the first creature burst forth—a sinewy, four-limbed beast with mottled gray skin and bone-white fangs. Its eyes gleamed yellow with hunger. More followed, their movements fluid and feral, fanning out in a crescent to encircle the group.
"Positions!" Thalion barked, drawing his twin blades with a metallic hiss.
The students scrambled into formation. Rafael and Maria moved to the front, shields up. Vincent and Miguel flanked them, spears and swords at the ready. Patricia and Angela shifted to cover the sides, while Clarisse, Sofia, and Joshua took defensive stances at the center.
The instructors responded with practiced precision. Faelar's staff lit with radiant sigils as he chanted a spell, a burst of arcane light slamming into the nearest beast and sending it tumbling back. Vaelrya unleashed a wave of searing flame, igniting the grass beneath two of the monsters. Eryndor's war hammer met another head-on, the crack of bone echoing across the field.
One of the beasts lunged toward Clarisse, but Maria intercepted it with a roar, her shield absorbing the brunt of the impact. She countered with a precise slash, her blade tearing across the creature's flank.
"Behind us!" Nolan shouted, fending off a creature that had circled wide. Caelum and Nythorel rushed to support him, their staffs glowing with protective enchantments.
A beast pounced toward Sofia and Joshua—but Rafael was already moving. He slammed into it mid-air, sword flashing, driving the monster back into the dirt.
"Don't hesitate!" he shouted. "Stay together!"
Patricia tossed a potion to Miguel, who caught it and hurled it toward the advancing monsters. It exploded in a plume of green mist, blinding two of them. Angela followed up with a shield bash that knocked one off its feet.
The creatures fought savagely but without coordination—driven by hunger, not strategy. And one by one, they fell beneath steel, fire, and spellwork.
After several minutes of furious combat, the last of the beasts let out a shriek and fled into the grass, vanishing into the distance. The students stood in a tight ring, breathing heavily, weapons slick with sweat and blood.
Thalion lowered his swords, eyes scanning the field. "Report."
"No casualties," Faelar confirmed, checking over Sofia and Joshua. "Scratches only."
"Light wounds," Serael added as she knelt beside Vincent, who had a gash along his arm. "Easily treated."
Rafael looked over the group, chest heaving. "That… that was real."
Lythiel nodded solemnly. "And it will not be the last."
They remained in silence for a few moments, the adrenaline still pulsing through their veins. Even the wind seemed to have gone still.
"We need to move," Thalion said at last. "Quickly, before more arrive."
They pressed forward once more, the weight of the attack heavy on their shoulders—but they moved together, more united than before. Hardened.
By the time they reached the shadow of the trees again, the sun had begun its descent. The light was softer now, casting long shadows across the path ahead.
Rafael glanced at his friends, his voice low. "We survived."
Maria nodded. "Next time, we'll be even stronger."
They didn't slow until the shadows of trees returned. Thalion allowed them a brief pause at the treeline.
"This is only the beginning," he said.
But they had faced death—and walked forward.
By late afternoon, they reached a cluster of tall stones near a bend in the river—an ideal place to rest. The instructors chose the spot deliberately: open enough to spot any danger, yet sheltered from the wind by a natural wall of rock.
As the sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across the earth, a small fire crackled at the center of their makeshift camp. The flames flickered orange and gold, licking at the dry wood, casting dancing silhouettes onto the stone.
The students sat in a loose circle, their faces lit by firelight. Packs were loosened, boots unlaced, armor eased off tired shoulders. For the first time that day, the tension in their limbs softened.
Rafael sat with his back to a stone, arms draped over his knees. He stared into the fire, brow furrowed.
"I didn't even see them coming," he muttered. "Not until they were already on us."
"You weren't meant to," Clarisse said gently. "They were fast. Trained ambushers. That wasn't your fault."
"But I froze," Rafael added. "For a second, anyway. I just… froze."
Maria nudged him with her shoulder. "And then you moved. We all did. That's what matters."
Nearby, Miguel was poking the fire with a stick, watching embers float upward. "I thought I was ready," he said. "After everything. Training, drills, sparring matches. But that—" He paused. "That was different."
Vincent nodded, lying on his back with his arms behind his head. "It's real out here. It hits different when something's actually trying to kill you."
Sofia, sitting cross-legged beside Joshua, spoke quietly. "I kept thinking… what if they got through? What if one of you—what if I couldn't help?"
"You could," said Nythorel, her voice calm as she knelt to tend a minor cut on Patricia's forearm. "You stayed focused. You followed orders. You protected each other. That is more than enough."
Across the camp, the instructors sat together, watching but not intruding. They spoke in low tones, reviewing the encounter, discussing terrain and magical signatures.
Eryndor's deep voice rumbled low. "They were testing us. That was no chance encounter."
Thalion gave a small nod. "Agreed. But the students held. Their formation was sound. Their resolve, solid."
Vaelrya glanced toward the firelight, her expression unreadable. "Still… tonight we keep double watch."
Back at the fire, Patricia looked around at the others. "You know what scares me more than monsters?"
Angela raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"That we've only just started."
Silence settled over them for a moment.
Then Joshua spoke, his voice steadier than expected. "That may be true. But we're not alone. And we're not weak."
Maria smirked. "Look at you. Mister Encouragement."
Joshua smiled sheepishly. "Hey, someone has to say it."
Laughter bubbled up—soft, tired, but genuine. It cut through the heaviness like a blade through fog.
Clarisse tossed a twig into the fire, watching it catch. "Well… that was our first real fight."
Vincent snorted. "You call that a fight? I barely got to swing."
Miguel gave him a look. "You screamed when that thing jumped at you."
"It startled me!" Vincent protested. "There's a difference."
Patricia rolled her eyes, smiling faintly. "You were halfway up a tree."
"Strategic positioning," Vincent said smugly.
Laughter broke out again—light, tired, but honest.
Rafael shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We survived. That's what matters."
"Barely," Angela murmured, still rubbing a sore shoulder. "But yeah… we made it."
They sat quietly for a while after that, letting the fire crackle, the stars blink awake overhead. The trees whispered secrets beyond the light, but no one felt alone.
Tonight, they had seen what waited outside the walls of the Citadel.
And they had stood together.
Tomorrow would bring new dangers.
But for now, they rested in the glow of their first victory—small as it was.
And in that warmth, something deeper began to take root:
A bond not just of survival… but of trust.
After a few hours of cautious rest, the group resumed their journey.
The forest slowly thinned as the path stretched out onto flatter, exposed terrain. Hills gave way to wide grasslands peppered with debris—twisted steel, sun-bleached bones, and the rusted remains of old war machines half-swallowed by the earth. In the distance, a ring of darkened stone and sharpened barricades cut a stark silhouette against the sky.
The southern stronghold.
It was less a fortress and more a testament to survival. Its walls were mismatched—stone piled atop scrap metal, rusted girders jutting like ribs from its frame. Smoke drifted from within, and above the gate, the blackened remnants of an old banner fluttered in the wind. No horns sounded. No shouts of welcome came. The guards at the wall raised their weapons, eyes narrowing as they took in the approaching party.
Thalion slowed his pace, lifting a hand. "Let me speak first. They don't know us."
One of the guards—an older man with a gaunt face and a jagged scar down his temple—called down from the wall. "That's far enough! State your purpose!"
"We come from the Citadel," Thalion said, his voice carrying. "We bring supplies, aid, and healing. Our lord is—"
"The Citadel?" The man cut in, confused. "There's no citadel left. Not out east. That place was ash years ago."
Murmurs broke out along the wall. Another guard, a younger woman with a bow drawn, narrowed her eyes. "Wait... that boy. The one in front." She stepped closer, peering at Rafael. "That's... that's Rafael, isn't it?"
Rafael stiffened, caught off guard.
The older man leaned out for a better look, and his eyes widened. "By the void. It is him." He turned to the others. "Lower the gate!"
Weapons dipped. Chains clanked. The reinforced gates groaned open just enough for a few figures to step out, caution still etched in every movement. Their armor was cobbled together from scrap, their faces wary—but there was no mistaking the shift in posture. Recognition.
The scarred man approached, not unkindly, but with measured suspicion. "Didn't think we'd see you again, Rafael. We heard you were missing two days ago."
"I nearly was," Rafael said quietly. "But I'm here now. And I didn't come alone."
Rafael's group had originally come from this stronghold, sent north just a week ago on a desperate mission for food and medical supplies. But the journey had nearly ended in disaster—until Protheus appeared and saved them during a brutal monster ambush, leading them back to the Citadel.
The man nodded slowly, eyeing the rest of the group, then Thalion and the instructors. "Lot of strange faces and they look strange. You'll understand if we keep a close eye on all of you."
"Of course," Thalion replied. "We're not here to claim anything. We are to help you."
The gates opened wider.
Inside, the stronghold was grim—more refugee camp. Children peeked out from behind walls of stacked crates, their eyes hollow. Men and women moved like ghosts through the narrow walkways, wrapped in patched coats, their hands callused and their gazes flat. A few saw Rafael and paused, whispering to one another.
A man emerged from the largest structure—tall, broad-chested, with one arm ending in a crude steel prosthetic. His eyes fixed on Rafael as he approached. He didn't introduce himself, only offered a hard look and a brief nod of respect before turning to the rest of the group.
Without fanfare, he gestured toward the inner yard.
"Come in. We'll talk inside."
He turned without waiting for a reply and led them across the cracked concrete courtyard, past makeshift tents and scavenged structures, toward a squat, rectangular building at the heart of the stronghold. Once, it might've been a local government office—its faded seal still visible above the door, half-obscured by soot and ivy. Now, it served as the command center, judging by the sandbags and armed lookouts posted on its roof.
Inside, the air was musty and stale. Filing cabinets had been repurposed into barricades, and cracked desks were pushed against the walls, covered in old maps, ration logs, and medical charts. The windows were reinforced with steel bars and broken monitors lay in corners, long dead. A large chalkboard bore hurried scrawls—patrol routes, supply shortages, and a list of missing names.
The man motioned for them to sit or stand where they could. He glanced at the instructors, his eyes lingering on their stone-and-metal-like armor, and for a moment, tension flickered in the room.
"You brought walking statues," he said bluntly. "They look more golem than man."
"We are not golems," Thalion replied, calm but firm. "We came from a citadel called the Citadel of Eternal Hope. We are the assigned instructors of the children we've accompanied here."
The man grunted. "We'll see."
He turned back to Rafael, eyes narrowing with something more than skepticism—relief, maybe, or disbelief struggling to settle into place. "We thought you were dead. You've been gone a week.
Rafael gave a weary nod. "We almost didn't make it."
The man exhaled through his nose, a sharp breath meant to steady something deeper. "If you've brought real help, then we'll need it badly. This place is running on bones and breath. You'll be briefed shortly. But for now, rest while we wait for the others to come."