I walked along the dirt road towards the edge of town, my boots leaving a satisfying crunch with each step. The sun was just peeking over the ridge, casting a warm glow over the surrounding area. As I breathed in the cool morning air, I could sense the familiar scent of damp earth and pine. Ahead of me, I spotted two figures by the edge of the woods. Rylan's body was tense, his hand hovering near his sword hilt, while Lyra stood close by, her hands nervously playing with her cloak.
They were waiting for me.
I quickened my pace, the thick leather of my armor creaking against my movements. Rylan and Lyra's expressions shifted from calm to tense as I approached. Rylan's grip tightened on his sword handle, and Lyra's hands glowed with a faint blue light. Without hesitation, I burst into a full sprint towards them, causing them to spring into defensive positions in response.
I skidded to a halt just before them, a grin tugging at my lips as they blinked in surprise. "Guys," I said, the teasing edge in my voice clear, "do not underestimate yourselves and your abilities."
Their tense faces relaxed, but the underlying anxiety remained.
"You've been training with me since we were kids," I continued, my tone more serious now. "No one stands a better chance of surviving this war than us."
Lyra's eyes met mine, wide and uncertain, but she nodded slowly. Rylan, always the braver of the two, let out a shaky breath, squaring his shoulders.
"We just have to believe in ourselves," I said, stepping closer. "We take care of each other—like we always have."
Rylan smirked, the edge of fear still clinging to his expression but fading as he clapped me on the shoulder. "Damn right, Lucan."
Lyra's lips curved upwards, revealing a determined smile as she placed a hand over her heart. The tense atmosphere dissipated and for a fleeting moment, it was as if we were back in our childhood days- the three of us against the world, just like old times.
I announced, "It's time," and the three of us proceeded towards the town square, our feet clicking on the pavement. As we neared our destination, the atmosphere seemed to grow thicker, filled with the faint murmur of others' conversations. As we got closer, I noticed a big group of kids around our age gathered together; some appeared anxious while others were wiping away tears. They pleaded desperately for an exemption, their voices quivering with fear, but there was no way out now.
Leading the way, a man confidently approached us encircled by two sturdy knights. His age was evident from his battle-worn appearance, his armor bearing scars and faded from numerous clashes. This was the leader of the Forsaken Legion, known as Gideon Ironheart.
He stopped before the restless group and crossed his arms, his eyes sweeping over the sea of anxious faces. "Listen up, fresh meat!" His voice boomed across the square, silencing the murmurs. "Line up, four lines. Move it!"
The crowd shuffled in a daze, about 300 of us in total. We scrambled into four uneven lines, the sound of boots dragging on the dirt filling the tense silence.
Gideon stepped forward, eyes sharp and calculating. "I know what you're feeling right now," he began, his voice gravelly but steady. "I joined this mercenary group at your age, believe it or not. Fifteen. Just like you. Now, I'm twenty-five and still alive." He let that hang in the air for a moment, scanning our faces. "I can't promise all of you will survive, but if you stick with me, if you train hard and don't lose your nerve, your chances might just rise… drastically."
There was a flicker of hope in some of the faces around me, but I could still see the fear. Gideon's words were a lifeline, thin but there.
"We've got a long journey ahead of us," he continued, his tone hardening. "So I hope you said your goodbyes to your beloved." His eyes locked onto a few stragglers, their tear-streaked faces barely holding it together. "We move out in five minutes. Be ready, or get left behind."
The square fell silent, and I felt the weight of his words sink in. This was it.
There was no turning back.
The knights' voices cut through the tense air, sharp and commanding. "Move!" one barked, eyes scanning the group. "Follow us. Keep your mouths shut unless the captain speaks to you." His tone left no room for disobedience.
We moved, a mass of nervous footsteps echoing down the narrow path. My heart raced, matching the thud of boots hitting dirt. Rylan walked beside me, his jaw clenched, while Lyra's eyes darted around, wary of every sound. No one spoke.
As we left the village behind, the air grew colder. The landscape ahead was rough, with jagged peaks rising like claws in the distance. One of the knights up front, voice low but clear, muttered the name: "Shadowcrag Mountains."
The name alone brought a weight down on my chest. I'd heard of Shadowcrag. Everyone had. Its towering cliffs and dark valleys were home to beasts—monsters that roamed freely, unseen until it was too late. The danger level of its inhabitants ranged from C to B. These creatures were powerful enough to snap a man in two, the kind of nightmares hunters and adventurers whispered about when they thought no one else was listening.
Rylan's breathing hitched beside me. He knew the stories too. I didn't need to look at him to feel the tension in his steps.
"Keep up!" Another knight's shout pierced the growing unease. "You fall behind, you're on your own. And believe me, the creatures in these mountains won't wait for you to catch up."
Ahead, the mountains loomed, dark and foreboding, their jagged peaks piercing the sky like ancient sentinels. The path wound toward them, drawing us closer to whatever awaited beyond. The camp, the monsters, the unknown—all of it pulling us deeper into something we weren't prepared for.
The real test was about to begin.