The next morning brought drastic changes to the routine of the beginners.
The training yard echoed with the rhythmic clash of wood against wood, boots striking the dirt, and sharp orders thrown without emotion. The time to process their promotion was over. Now had come the moment to carry the responsibility that came with it.
Aren breathed heavily, keeping his guard up as he blocked another strike. The instructor in front of him did not slow down. None of them did.
"Faster!" a voice shouted from somewhere in the yard. "Again!"
Aren clenched his teeth and attacked, executing a clean sequence: sidestep, deflection, counterattack. The instructor blocked it easily and answered with a solid blow that forced him back.
There were no comments.
Only continuity.
Around him, the rest of the aspirants trained without pause. Hal was clearly gasping, briefly leaning on his knees before straightening up again. Bromir endured like a rock, every movement heavy but steady. Lysander was soaked in sweat, but he did not stop. Eryndor moved with silent efficiency, as if fatigue could not reach him.
Aveline, in another section, trained against two aspirants at once. She didn't have the most refined technique, but every strike had brutal intent. She didn't back down or hesitate.
Aren glanced at her for barely a second.
"Valenfort!"
The voice immediately pulled him out of his thoughts.
An instructor stood a few meters away, pointing at him with two fingers.
"Come."
Aren blinked, recognizing the voice.
'It's the same one from the trial,' he thought.
Confused, he simply obeyed.
He felt the looks on him as he made his way through the aspirants. They were not hostile, but they were filled with curiosity. The rumor had already spread.
The recruit who defeated an instructor.
They led him in silence out of the yard, through a side corridor to a more isolated area of the complex. There, a man was waiting for him.
He was a knight.
He did not wear full armor, only a dark breastplate worn by use, a sheathed sword, and a short cloak without ornaments. His hair was graying, and his face bore old scars, proof of experience.
The instructor stopped.
"It's him."
The knight looked Aren up and down without saying a word. His eyes were gray, sharp, evaluating.
, andValenfort, right?" he finally said.
"Yes, sir," Aren replied, straightening his posture.
The knight took a step closer.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Aren hesitated.
"Because of… the final trial?"
The man let out a short laugh, without humor.
"You defeated an instructor," he said bluntly. "You proved you're a little more skilled than the rest of the worms."
Aren felt those words hit harder than any training blow.
"I'm not saying it as praise," the knight continued. "Here, those who stand out are the first to break if they make a mistake."
Aren clenched his fists.
"My name is Sir Kaelreth," the knight added. "And for a time, you will answer to me."
'Answer?' Aren thought, even more confused.
"What do you mean, Sir Kaelreth?"
"You've proven interesting," Kaelreth said, turning away. "But don't confuse interest with approval."
He started walking.
"Follow me."
The following hours were unlike any training Aren had imagined.
There were no constant shouts or mechanical repetitions.
Sir Kaelreth put him through control exercises: held stances, precise footwork, prolonged guards without attacking. Every mistake was corrected with a dry word or, worse, with silence.
"Too much strength."
"Bad balance."
"Was that doubt or fear?"
Aren felt as if each correction stripped something away from him. Not from his body, but from his pride.
At one point, exhausted, he could not help asking:
"Sir… is this part of the special training?"
Kaelreth looked at him as if deciding whether the question deserved an answer.
"This is the warm-up," he said. "There's nothing special about it."
Aren lowered his gaze.
"That power you showed," the knight added, slightly easing his tone. "If you think that means you've already reached the peak, you're very wrong."
Aren looked up.
"Do you know what that power is?"
Kaelreth stepped closer, stopping just one step away.
"A tool," he replied. "And tools are either used… or broken."
Aren did not know what to say.
"Go back to the others," he said, gesturing. "Tomorrow we'll see if that glow was yours… or just a fleeting miracle."
When Aren returned to the yard, the general training had ended. The aspirants were being organized into smaller groups, receiving scrolls with schedules and assigned duties.
Hal was the first to see him.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, approaching. "Where were you?"
"Training," Aren replied.
"Special training?" Lysander insisted, eyes shining.
Aren shook his head.
"Not at all..."
Bromir studied him carefully.
"Your face says otherwise."
Aren did not answer.
Aveline approached shortly after. She did not speak at first. She just looked at him.
"They pulled you out of training," she said finally.
"Yes."
"And?"
Aren hesitated.
"I was assigned to a knight."
Aveline's eyes narrowed.
"Then you're already one step ahead."
Aren looked at the ground.
"It wasn't a reward."
Aveline smiled faintly and stepped closer.
"Maybe not. But it's an opportunity," she added, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Before he could say anything else, an instructor approached the group.
"Listen up," he ordered. "It's time to assign your additional duties."
He began reading names.
Minor guards. Logistic support. Internal patrols.
When he reached Aren, he paused.
"Valenfort. Additional supervised training."
Hal opened his mouth, but Bromir silenced him immediately.
"See?" Lysander murmured in admiration. "It's already starting."
Aren did not feel triumphant.
Being the center of attention was not something he fully enjoyed, especially when expectations began to form.
As evening fell, exhausted, Aren sat on one of the low walls in the inner yard. The emblem on his chest felt heavier than it had at the start of the day.
'This isn't how I imagined it,' he thought.
He remembered the promise from his childhood, to Lylia.
He remembered the glow on his sword during the final trial.
And he remembered Kaelreth's words.
'Tomorrow we'll see if that glow was yours… or just a fleeting miracle.'
Aren closed his eyes for a moment.
He could not turn back.
But for the first time, he began to wonder what he would have to face to keep moving forward.