Dawn brought no relief.
Only a gray light filtered through the small windows of the barracks.
Aren sat up, his body still remembering the most recent fight. The bunk creaked under his weight. Around him, the low murmur of the barracks said the same thing for everyone: accumulated fatigue, nerves, and that kind of tension that sleep does not wash away.
Hal was sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands.
"If they make us run again today, I'll change my name and become a baker," he muttered.
Bromir let out a grunt from above.
"A dwarf baker, now that would be a tragedy."
Eryndor was already on his feet, silently adjusting his belt.
Aren took a deep breath.
'Today is the last trial,' he reminded himself. 'After this, we either continue… or we go home.'
The thought should have calmed him, but instead it only made him tense.
Then, the sound of a horn cut through the air.
"Formation in two minutes!"
No one answered or complained.
The recruits moved out into the courtyard with quick, clumsy motions, fastening straps and placing their metal plates on their chests. Mist covered the ground like a damp blanket. The torches were still lit, even though daylight had already arrived.
Aren immediately noticed that the courtyard felt different.
Quieter and much emptier.
Only a few dozen recruits remained.
'When did this happen?' he thought, confused.
They had failed the first and second parts of the previous trial and even had a punishment. And yet, they were still there, even Lysander, who had suffered the most during the trials.
'Were the other groups really that bad?'
In the center of the courtyard, Captain Rorik was waiting with his hands behind his back. Beside him, several instructors held tablets and parchment scrolls.
"Listen carefully," he said without raising his voice too much. Even so, the entire courtyard seemed to hear him clearly. "As you already know, this is the final trial."
A murmur rose and died instantly.
"Those who pass will no longer be recruits," he continued. "You will be accepted and trained as squires of the Order of the Solar Blade. Those who fail will be dismissed."
The word fell like a stone into a well.
Rorik took a few steps, scanning them with his gaze.
"I will say this one last time, and I expect you to remember it," he said. "We are not looking for heroes, nor for the strongest or the most noble."
His eyes stopped on a couple of overly proud human faces.
"We are looking for those who can operate under orders."
Aren felt a knot form in his stomach.
'Operate,' he repeated mentally. 'As if we were tools.'
Rorik raised a hand, and the instructors began moving through the ranks.
"We will choose the groups."
Discomfort spread immediately.
Hal opened his mouth as if to protest, but Bromir looked at him, and that was enough to make him stop.
The instructors began pointing.
"You and those two."
The recruits were separated and quickly rearranged into new lines, like pieces on a board.
Aren was called, without surprise. What did surprise him was that he was assigned to the same group he had worked with before.
What he did not expect was for someone else to be added to his team.
Aveline.
She took her place without a word. Her gaze was firm, her chin slightly raised, as if exhaustion did not exist for her.
Hal let out a choked sound.
"No… no way," he murmured.
Bromir elbowed him.
"Shut your mouth, halfling."
Hal swallowed and looked at Aren with a mix of indignation and admiration.
"You… do you get along with the goddess of luck or something?" he whispered.
Aren did not answer. He did not understand either.
Aveline glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
It was not a soft look.
It was an evaluating one.
As if she were already measuring how much she could trust him.
The teams were completed.
That was when Aren realized someone was missing.
And at that moment, he saw him.
Lysander was standing at the end of a line, his back straight. His face still showed signs of the previous day: dark circles, pale skin, and the stiffness of someone who had slept badly.
When the instructor pointed at him and sent him toward Aren's group, the gnome walked forward without hesitation.
Hal stared at him as if seeing a ghost.
"You're back!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Lysander looked at him calmly.
"I said I would continue," he replied firmly. "I don't plan to fail again."
Aren held his gaze for a second.
He nodded when he saw the determination in his small companion.
Rorik raised his voice again.
"The final trial is a tactical simulation."
He pointed toward one of the side gates. Beyond it, a fenced training ground could be seen: fake ruins, broken stone walls, narrow wooden corridors, and a central tower that looked like the highest point of the course.
"Your mission is simple," he declared. "Recover the Order's banner and bring it back to this courtyard."
A couple of recruits breathed in relief.
Too quickly.
Rorik watched them as if he had heard their thoughts.
"But there will be interference," he added. "Instructors, squires, and obstacles."
He turned slightly.
"And one more thing."
The recruits tensed.
"The team that defeats the most opponents will not win," he said. "The team that follows the directive will. If you deviate, improvise, or decide that you know better than command… you will fail."
Aren felt his stomach tighten.
'What if the order is stupid?' he almost thought.
But he bit his tongue, even inside his own mind.
Aveline did not react.
She seemed… used to it.
The teams were lined up and sent into the training ground at intervals. When it was Aren's group's turn, an instructor stopped them before they crossed the gate.
"Your instructions," he said, handing them a sealed parchment. "You will open it when I say so."
Aren held it with sweaty hands.
Aveline reached out and took it without asking.
Aren frowned slightly.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to read them for everyone," she replied without looking at him. "We don't have time for pride."
The comment hurt more than it should have.
A second later, the instructor snapped his fingers.
"Now!"
Aveline broke the seal and read in a low voice, but clear enough for the group.
Objective: Recover the banner in the central tower. Return by the northern route. Do not cross the western bridge. Priority: Maintain formation.
The orders had been given, and the course stood before them.
The moment of the final trial had arrived.