The fire crackled softly in the camp, sending faint plumes of smoke into the cold air. The mercenaries huddled around it, their faces tired. None of them spoke much, the weight of the day's travel sitting heavily on their shoulders. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
Kael sat apart from them, his back against a tree, his body sore and aching from the march. His stomach growled, but he had learned not to ask for food. The mercenaries shared their rations sparingly, and Kael was not yet one of them. He was just another mouth to feed, a burden they tolerated only because Kerric had decided to bring him along.
Kerric, sitting by the fire, glanced in Kael's direction, his eyes hard and unreadable. Kael didn't meet his gaze. He kept his eyes on the ground, his fingers tracing patterns in the dirt, his mind drifting back to the burned village and the faces of the dead. The loss still sat heavy on his chest, but he had stopped crying days ago. There was no room for tears here anymore.
After what felt like hours, Kerric grabbed a long stick from the ground, inspecting it briefly, before tossing it to Kael.
"Get up."
Kael looked up, confused for a moment, before his hands moved to catch the stick. It was rough and uneven, a poor substitute for a weapon, but the sharpness in Kerric's voice told him this wasn't a request.
Kael slowly got to his feet, his muscles protesting. He gripped the stick tightly, unsure of what Kerric expected from him.
"You'll fight," Kerric said, his voice cold. "Or you'll die. That's the lesson."
Kerric wasted no time. He grabbed another stick, swinging it lightly through the air as if testing its weight, before taking a step toward Kael. His eyes were focused.
His heart pounded in his chest. He had never fought anyone before, let alone someone like Kerric. His hands trembled as he held the stick, unsure of how to even begin. He wanted to run, to hide, but there was nowhere to go.
Kerric's first strike came fast, the stick whistling through the air before slamming against Kael's leg. Pain shot through his body, and Kael cried out, stumbling backward, nearly dropping the stick.
"Again," Kerric growled,
Kael gritted his teeth, tears stinging his eyes as he raised the stick in a clumsy attempt to defend himself. Kerric's next strike came down on his arm, the force of it nearly knocking Kael off his feet.
"Fight back!" Kerric barked.
Kael swung wildly, the stick heavy in his hands. His strike missed Kerric completely, and before he could recover, Kerric's stick landed another blow, this time across Kael's side.
Kael gasped, the wind knocked out of him as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his side. His vision blurred with tears, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out again.
Kerric stood over him, his expression hard. "You're weak now, but that will change. You'll learn to fight, or be left behind."
The other mercenaries watched the scene unfold from the fire, their faces impassive. None of them moved to help Kael.
One of the older mercenaries, a man with graying hair and a scar across his face, gave a slight shake of his head. "Kid won't last a week."
Another man chuckled darkly. "Kerric's wasting his time."
Kael heard their words, but they only made the fire in his chest burn hotter. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him fail. He wouldn't be another body left to rot on the side of the road.
Kerric offered Kael a hand, pulling him to his feet. "Tomorrow, we'll do it again. And the next day, until you can stand without falling."
Kael, still gasping for breath, nodded weakly. His body throbbed with pain, but there was something else inside him now, something harder, more determined.
That night, after the fire had burned low, Kerric approached Kael again. He handed him a small piece of bread and a flask of water, more than Kael had eaten in days.
"Eat," Kerric said. "You'll need your strength."
Kael took the bread, his hands shaking as he bit into it. The dry crust scratched his throat, but he didn't care. It was food, and he needed it. He drank from the flask, the water cool and refreshing, and for a moment, the pain in his body faded.
Kerric didn't say anything more. He simply stood, watching as Kael finished the food, before turning and walking away, leaving Kael alone with his thoughts.
As the camp settled into a heavy silence, Kael laid on the hard ground, staring up at the night sky. His body ached, and every breath sent a sharp pain through his ribs. But he didn't cry. He didn't let himself feel the pain for more than a moment.
Tomorrow, he would do it again. And the day after that. He would learn to fight, to survive, no matter how much it hurt.
The world had already shown him how cruel it could be. Now, under Kerric's brutal guidance, Kael would learn how to face that cruelty head-on.