Time passed, and each day began before dawn, with the ringing of the morning bell echoing through the fort, rousing Kellan and his fellow soldiers from their bunks.
Kellan would rise, stretch out the stiffness in his muscles, and join the other recruits for a quick breakfast in the mess hall. The meals were simple but hearty, designed to fuel the long hours of labor that lay ahead. After breakfast, Kellan would make his way to the workshop, where the day's tasks awaited.
The work was demanding but familiar. Kellan spent hours repairing weapons, mending armor, and crafting new equipment. The other blacksmiths had become like family to Kellan. Their camaraderie and good-natured banter lightened the long hours of toil.
Evenings were a welcome respite from the day's labor. Kellan would often find himself at the fort's central mess hall, where soldiers gathered to relax and unwind. He and Eamon, now a scout, would sit together, sharing stories of their respective duties. Eamon's tales of scouting missions were filled with excitement and danger, a stark contrast to Kellan's more methodical work in the forge.
As the month drew to a close, Kellan reflected on how much had changed. The mundane routine of his new life had become a source of stability and strength. The daily grind had forged him into a stronger, more resilient person.
One evening, Kellan and Eamon joined early as groups of soldiers were dining in the mess hall. The room was noisy with the clatter of utensils and the hum of multiple conversations. As they sat down with their trays, they were quickly drawn into a heated discussion about the war.
"The skirmishes are getting more frequent," said Jarek, a seasoned soldier with a scar running down his cheek. "Galdor's forces are testing our defenses constantly. Just last week, we repelled three separate attacks in one bloody day."
"No kidding," replied Tomas, a burly soldier from the southern province. "I heard they've been sending spies into our ranks. Had to double the night patrols because of those sneaky bastards."
Eamon nodded, his expression serious. "Our scouting missions have picked up signs of increased activity near the northern border. They're trying to infiltrate our ranks, probably to gather intelligence or sabotage our supplies."
Kellan listened intently, absorbing the gravity of the situation. "Have we been able to catch any of these infiltrators?" he asked.
"A few," Jarek replied grimly. "But they're clever. They blend in and move quickly. It's like trying to catch shadows."
"But we did catch that one prick last week," interjected Roran, a young soldier with a quick grin. "He was snooping around the armory. Had a whole bloody map of the fort on him."
"Yeah, and what about the rumor of an armistice?" shouted another soldier from across the table. "Think there's any truth to it?"
The table erupted into a chorus of opinions.
"An armistice would give us some breathing room!"
"Can we really trust those Galdorian fuckers?" Jarek emphasized.
Tomas gave his rational take on the situation, "The kingdom's sweating bullets over this. Morale's holding, but for how long?"
"Those motherfucking Galdorians won't quit!" someone else shouted, anger clear in their voice.
"And what about our supply lines? Those Galdorians cut them off again?"
"Yeah, they did. We need to crush those bastards once and for all."
"They're playing dirty, that's for sure."
"Fuck, we need to stay sharp. Can't let our guard down, not for a second."
"Right. And if that armistice bullshit turns out to be true, we'd better be ready for whatever comes next."
The conversation continued in a chaotic mix of frustration and hope, as soldiers vented their frustrations and speculated about the future.