The shaking stopped. The sudden silence felt heavy—like the world was holding its breath.
"If you disturb me one more time…" came the gruff voice from inside the tent again.
Kael shifted uncomfortably, the dirt beneath him cold and gritty. The faint rustle of dry leaves stirred in the wind.
"Sorry, Anita! It's just—this kid is too much," one of the mercenaries shouted back, half-laughing.
"Right, he grew up in the mountains. My bad," the mercenary added with a smirk.
Kael's fingers twitched. Mountains or not, he wasn't about to be dismissed so easily.
"Well, kid, you can't just stroll into the academy unless you're a student or a teacher," Rasterk muttered, arms crossed.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"And unfortunately," Rasterk added, glancing around the circle, "none of us qualify as either." The others chuckled and nodded, their laughter flickering in the cold air like firelight.
Kael's jaw clenched. Strength is everything here.
"What's the requirement?" he asked, voice low but sharp with curiosity.
"Age and strength, of course," Rasterk replied. His crooked grin looked almost like a challenge. "You've got the age, maybe. But strength? That's another story."
Kael flexed his fingers tightly. Strength… that's the one thing I'm not giving up on.
"But aren't there sects? Why is there an academy at all?" Kael asked, squinting against the glare of the fire.
Rasterk scratched his chin, the movement slow and deliberate. "It's… a unique case. Think of it as a fishing ground for the sects. The idea came from the ruling sect, and the others saw value in it. Before long, the Ashspire Martial Academy was born."
"It's a golden ticket," the mercenary next to him said in a hushed voice. "Resources, training… maybe even a place in one of the great sects."
Kael's mind raced. Resources. That's what I need most.
"Not to mention," another leaned in, grinning, "you'll get to see her."
Kael didn't respond. His fist clenched.
"So how do I get in?" he asked aloud.
Rasterk raised an eyebrow, amused. "Simple. Be the right age… and be Ember-hand."
Kael clenched his fist tighter, the muscles aching with remembered pain and resolve. Easy enough. Too easy.
"And pass the exam," a mercenary muttered from the circle's edge.
"Yeah," Rasterk agreed with a chuckle. "The dreaded exam. That's where most dreams die. Happens once a year. Lucky for you—it's in a week."
"You should take it," the mercenary added. "But don't get your hopes up too high."
Kael's eyes burned with quiet determination. "I will. What's the exam about?"
"That's the thing, boy," Rasterk said. "It changes every year. No one ever knows what it'll be. That's half the challenge. But give it your best—maybe you'll get lucky."
The chill evening wind tugged at Kael's hair, carrying a faint scent of smoke from the campfire.
"And if you do get in," one of the mercenaries grinned, "try and snag me one of those Retyit paintings, would you?"
"I'll pay a fortune," he added, thumping his chest. "Just ask for Ling."
"I'll pay more," another piped up.
"I'll double that," a third laughed, and soon the circle broke into playful bickering over imaginary bids.
Kael stared down at his clenched fist, ignoring the banter. I have to get in. No matter what.
Then, that strange gaze returned—the same one from earlier. Kael turned his head just in time to see the merchant walking toward them. Behind him, the quiet boy rushed back into the tent, vanishing behind the flap.
"What's wrong with him?" Kael muttered quietly.
---
Inside the Tent…
Elyas exhaled sharply, shoulders tight with regret. He should have gone. Joined them. Said something. Maybe made a friend.
Instead, he'd just stood there. Watching. Listening. While they laughed like it was nothing.
Why can't I be like him?
That image burned in his mind—the boy asking questions without a hint of fear, unbothered by laughter.
I'm just different. Special, maybe.
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound muffled by the canvas walls.
"Who am I kidding," he whispered.
He rolled onto his mat, eyes tracing the threads of the tent ceiling. Outside, a chill wind rattled the tent poles.
Maybe someday I'll change. But not today.
Reaching for a scroll, he pulled it into his lap and began scribbling furiously, losing himself in ink and lines—anything to quiet the noise in his head.
---
The rest of the journey passed uneventfully, with Rasterk making most of the noise—telling stories, cracking jokes, and occasionally complaining about the food, which smelled stale and bland compared to the sharp mountain air.
The merchant, to Kael's surprise, was a pleasant man. He claimed his friendliness brought him "good luck." No one questioned it, though no one quite knew what he meant either.
They crossed mountain ridges and dense forests over two days, the sun warm on their backs and the scent of wood heavy in the air, until finally they stood at the edge of a cliff path overlooking a vast landscape.
"There it is," Rasterk muttered, pointing to the horizon.
Kael followed his gaze. The city looked small from here, yet sprawling in shape. At its heart, a monumental structure pierced the sky—two symmetrical towers rising like twin mountain peaks, connected by a glowing bridge of stone and crystal that shimmered faintly.
Kael stared, breath caught in his throat. Beautiful didn't even begin to describe it.
"Stunning, isn't it?" Nyric said beside him, voice low. "Wait until you see the inside." He gave a faint smirk.
"Let's move," a large, gruff mercenary said, cracking his knuckles. "This job's been peaceful—but I'm bored."
"Not surprising," Ling muttered as the group began descending the winding path toward the city.
"Why?" Kael asked, walking beside him.
"Because of the Special Patrol Force," Ling replied. "Ever since they formed, they wiped out most bandit activity around here. Any scum left must be either suicidal… or something worse."
"Or devils in human flesh," Rasterk added with a smirk, spinning his dagger.
They were partway down the narrow path between two mountains when it happened.
Thunk.
An arrow slammed into Long's back, embedding between his shoulders with a sickening crack.
He staggered, the sound of his armor scraping stone loud in the sudden silence, before collapsing to his knees.
"Ambush!" someone shouted.
Instantly, the mercenaries surrounded the caravan, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the cliffs above. The air grew tense, thick with dust and the scent of disturbed earth.
Then, ten figures emerged from the mountain top—five on each side—melting out from the stone as if born from it.
"Shit," Ling cursed, clutching his shoulder.
Then the rocks below shifted. More figures pulled themselves free of the earth—silent, expressionless, as though they'd been part of the mountain all along.
"We're doomed," a mercenary whispered, voice tight with fear.
Kael dropped into a stance—legs apart, arms loose and ready. His breath slowed, heart pounding like a drum in his ears. His senses sharpened; the scent of dust, the taste of adrenaline thick on his tongue.
The attackers wore tight-fitting clothes that clung to their bodies like a second skin. Brown, like soil. No patterns. No weapons. Their faces were smeared with matching brown paint, making them appear mask-like, inhuman.
"Earth Bandits," Rasterk muttered grimly, eyes narrowing. He drew a curved dagger as green veinfire ignited along the blade, flickering like a wild flame.
"Earth Bandits?" Kael asked, eyes scanning the motionless figures.
"That's what most call 'em," Rasterk muttered. "Their real name's the Burrowed, but no one sane wants to say it out loud."
"If it's really them, we stick together. Watch each other's backs," Nyric said, sweeping his cloak aside and raising his arms into a fluid, balanced pose.
Rasterk let out a dry chuckle. "And hope we live through it."
"I don't put much faith in hope," Nyric replied as the figures raised their hands—and the earth around them rose, shaping into heavy stone hammers.
"Kael, stay near me," Nyric said sharply.
Kael nodded, muscles tensing, blood roaring through his veins. This is it. Real combat. He could die here, yet he smiled.
The Earth Bandits surged forward as one, hammers crashing down.