The Starfall had left Redhaven behind under the rising sun, Orin's group now on foot as they traveled through the wild, untamed lands of Eldoria. The dense forests stretched far and wide, the trees towering like ancient sentinels that had watched over the eastern continent for centuries. The undergrowth was thick and tangled, a maze of roots and vines that threatened to trip even the most careful traveler. The canopy overhead was an intricate weave of leaves and branches, letting only slivers of sunlight pierce through, casting dappled shadows across their path.
Roderyk walked near the front of the group, his sword sheathed at his side, his senses sharp and his breath steady. A month had passed since his intense training on the ship had began, and while he had grown significantly in skill, he knew the real challenges lay ahead. He glanced around at his companions—each one a seasoned adventurer, moving with a mix of purpose and ease that spoke of their experience.
Keldan walked beside him, his massive greatsword resting on his broad shoulder, glinting even in the dim forest light.
"This is where the real fun begins, Rod," he said, his voice booming with a hearty cheer. "The wilderness is unforgiving, but it's the best teacher. Just don't wander off too far, or you might end up as dinner for something lurking in the shadows." His laughter echoed among the trees, but his eyes held a seriousness that belied his words.
Roderyk smirked, feeling the weight of Keldan's words. "I'll stay close, but I'm not afraid to test my limits."
"Good," Keldan replied, giving him a hearty pat on the back that nearly sent him stumbling. "Remember, the trees can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Keep it in mind."
Orin, walking ahead of the group, turned back to address them. His grizzled face was set in a serious expression, his eyes scanning the path ahead. "We'll be passing through some tricky terrain before reaching the next harbor city, Ironreach. It's a few days' journey through forests, rivers, and hills. It'll be wise to use this time to sharpen our skills, so keep your eyes open."
The crew acknowledged with nods and murmurs of agreement. Sylva, her glaive resting across her shoulder, walked with an alert grace, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Volos moved with a ghost-like silence, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the main path, while Nara walked with her bow loosely held, ready for any sudden movement in the foliage.
As they ventured deeper, the forest grew denser, and the sounds of civilization faded behind them. The air was cooler here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. Every step felt more deliberate, every rustle of leaves carried weight, like a whisper from the trees.
By late afternoon, they had reached a small clearing. Orin decided it was time to introduce a new training challenge. As the crew set up camp under the thick canopy, the sun dipped lower, and the forest began to take on a different, more mysterious atmosphere.
"Tonight, we're going to push your senses to the limit," Orin announced, gathering everyone around the fire. His voice cut through the soft crackling of the flames. "We're in Nyxes territory now, where shadows rule and every whisper can be a warning. Let's see how well you do when the world around you disappears into shadow. Roderyk, you and Volos will be up first."
Volos, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, gave a silent nod, his face as unreadable as always.
Orin continued, "the scenario, a night ambush. You'll need to rely on more than just your eyes—use your ears, your instincts, and trust in the darkness rather than fear it."
Roderyk nodded, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through him. He had grown accustomed to the daylight sparring sessions, but this was different—Eldoria was the land of Nyxes, the goddess of night and dreams. Here, everything felt charged with an unseen energy.
As the others retreated to the edges of the clearing, the fire was snuffed out, plunging the area into near-total darkness. The temperature seemed to drop, and the forest took on an eerie stillness. Roderyk could hear his own breathing, the rhythmic beat of his heart, and the soft rustle of the trees. His muscles tensed, every sense heightened.
Volos moved like a ghost, his steps barely audible as he melted into the shadows. Roderyk stood alone in the center, his sword half-drawn, trying to focus. He closed his eyes briefly, letting his ears and instincts take over. The darkness wasn't just an absence of light—it was a living thing, wrapping around him like a cloak.
A faint rustle behind him. Roderyk's eyes snapped open, and he turned, his blade ready, but saw nothing but shadows. Then, a twig snapped to his left. He dropped low, his body coiled like a spring, his eyes darting between the trees. The darkness was disorienting, but he forced himself to stay calm, to breathe.
Suddenly, a shadow lunged from the side—Volos, his daggers gleaming faintly in the dim light. Roderyk reacted instinctively, his sword flashing up to parry the attack. The clash of steel rang out, echoing through the trees.
Volos pressed the attack with a fluid, relentless rhythm. His daggers were a blur, striking from different angles with speed and precision. He moved like a shadow given form, each step was silent, perfectly balanced. Roderyk countered with his own swift, decisive movements, deflecting the blows with his sword while trying to anticipate Volos's next move.
Volos twisted his body mid-strike, spinning low and slashing at Roderyk's legs. Roderyk leaped back, his boots barely touching the ground before he launched forward again, his sword coming down in a powerful arc. Volos sidestepped, he moved with an almost unnatural grace, with eyes cold and calculating.
The fight continued, both of them circling, their weapons cutting through the dark air with deadly intent. Roderyk could feel sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing steady but strained. He tried to use the terrain to his advantage, ducking behind a tree to evade Volos's blade and then springing out with a quick thrust aimed at Volos's midsection.
But the tip of his sword met air. Volos anticipated the move, twisting his body to the side and slipping behind Roderyk. Before Roderyk could react, he felt the cold press of a dagger against his throat, the other dagger positioned at his ribs.
Orin's voice cut through the night, breaking the tension. "Enough!"
Volos stepped back, sheathing his daggers with a flick of his wrists. His face remained expressionless, his eyes unreadable.
Roderyk exhaled, lowering his sword. His muscles were taut, his mind racing. The darkness had played tricks on his senses, and Volos had been relentless—like fighting a shadow that moved with a mind of its own.
"Not bad," Orin said, stepping into the clearing. "But remember, lad, in a real fight, you need to be unpredictable. Volos knew how to read you, to see where you were looking and strike from where you weren't."
Keldan, who had been watching with interest, added, "You've got the basics down Rod, but you need to think like a predator. You gotta make him guess your next move, and keep him off balance."
Roderyk nodded, taking their words to heart. Volos's skill was on a different level—his movements were almost seamless and unpredictable. There was still much to learn.
As the group settled back around a n fire, Sylva approached Roderyk, her expression thoughtful. "Volos isn't one to talk much, but there's a reason for that," she said quietly, glancing over at the rogue, who was already disappearing into the shadows again.
Roderyk looked at her, curiosity piqued. "What's his story?"
Sylva leaned in, her voice low so only he could hear. "I don't know the details but there was something about him being trained by a secret sect within the Nyxes Church, but not one of the good parts."
"A group that operates in the dark, literally and figuratively. Spies, assassins, the kind of people who handle things no one else wants to know about."
Roderyk felt a chill as he listened. "And he was one of them?"
Sylva nodded. "He was betrayed by someone he trusted, someone he considered a brother. That's why he keeps his distance, he hardly lets anyone get too close. Always watching, almost waiting for the next knife in the back."
Roderyk glanced back at Volos, his respect for the man deepening. "Thanks for telling me. I'll keep that in mind."
Sylva gave him a small smile. "Just remember, not everyone wears their scars on the outside."
✧✧✧✧✧
The next morning, the forest was alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirping of birds. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting warm, golden patches on the forest floor. It was a stark contrast to the night before, but no less treacherous.
Orin decided it was time to take their training up a notch. "We've seen how you handle yourself in the dark. Now let's see how you move when the world opens up around you."
Roderyk's training took on a new intensity. Orin and Sylva focused on pushing him beyond simple strikes and parries, introducing him to the art of fluid combat—where every movement was connected to the next.
"Your sword is an extension of your body," Sylva instructed as they sparred. "Don't think about each movement—feel it, let it flow naturally from one to the other."
Roderyk practiced this idea, moving from one strike to another with seamless transitions. He learned to combine high, sweeping cuts with low, unpredictable thrusts, his feet moving in a constant dance of repositioning and evasion. Sylva would push him hard, her glaive spinning in wide arcs that forced him to dodge and counter with precise, rapid strikes.
Keldan joined in to spar with him, his greatsword swinging in powerful, sweeping arcs that cleaved through the air with a menacing hum. Roderyk found himself having to use every bit of his stamina to avoid the blows, rolling under strikes, leaping to avoid wide swings, and using his own smaller blade to deflect and redirect the immense force behind Keldan's attacks.
"Good haha!" Keldan roared, his voice full of excitement. "You're moving well, Rod! Now let's see if you can keep that up when things get heavy!"
Roderyk had to think quickly. He sidestepped a downward swing from Keldan and immediately sprang forward, using the force of his movement to deliver a quick slice toward Keldan's midsection. Keldan twisted his body just in time, catching the blade with his greatsword and pushing Roderyk back with a powerful shove.
The two continued their sparring, the sound of their clashing swords echoed through the trees. Each movement was precise and calculated. Roderyk could feel the weight of Keldan's experience pressing down on him, as he refused to back down.
After the sparring, Orin set up a new exercise for Roderyk. A series of wooden targets were placed around the forest, some hidden behind trees, others perched on high branches. Roderyk was tasked with hitting each one using his combat sling, focusing on both accuracy and speed.
"Think of your sling as a way to control the battlefield," Orin said, watching him closely. "Not just about hitting your target—but dictating your opponent's moves, forcing them where you want them."
Roderyk nodded, loading a his sling. He swung it in a tight circle, feeling the tension build, and released. The stone flew, bouncing off a tree trunk and striking a hidden target behind it. He quickly reloaded and fired again, this time aiming for the high target among the branches.
His shots were precise, and his speed was improving. He learned to think ahead, to see the battlefield as a series of opportunities rather than obstacles. His confidence grew with each successful strike.
Days passed and the crew introduced Roderyk to more advanced close-quarters techniques. They emphasized the need to blend sword strikes with unarmed moves, using the terrain and environment to create advantages.
Sylva demonstrated a series of lock-and-strike techniques, where she would use her glaive to hook an opponent's limb, pulling them off balance and opening them up for a devastating counterstrike. Roderyk practiced these moves against her, learning to combine his sword work with quick grapples and throws.
"Always be thinking one step ahead," Orin reminded him. "In a real fight, you need to be ready to adapt, to switch from offense to defense in an instant."
Roderyk practiced transitioning from deflecting a strike to throwing a knee or elbow, and then following up with a slash. Each movement flowed into the next, creating a dance of fluid, controlled aggression.
By midday, the crew stumbled upon an ancient stone circle hidden deep within the forest. The stones were covered in strange carvings—symbols of Nyxes, the Goddess of Night and Dreams. The air around the circle felt charged, as if the stones themselves held a memory of something powerful.
Nara, usually quiet and reserved, stepped forward. "These are markers of Nyxes's influence," she said softly. "Places like this were once used for rituals to 'commune with the night and seek guidance in dreams'."
Roderyk felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at the stones. The atmosphere was thick with a strange, almost supernatural energy, like a presence lingering just beyond perception.
"Careful where you tread," Keldan joked, though his tone carried a hint of caution. "You might just end up seeing things that aren't there."
As they explored the circle, Sylva shared more about her own experiences growing up under the Nyxes Church's influence.
"Where I'm from in Nivara, the Church governs almost everything. The teachings of Nyxes are about balance—between light and dark, knowledge and mystery. It's a path that requires discipline, and sometimes, sacrifices."
Roderyk listened carefully, realizing that each of his companions had a story shaped by the various religions and the conflicts that came with them.
The following day, the crew came across a vast open field surrounded by tall grasses that swayed in the breeze. Sylva decided it was time for a tactical exercise.
"Everyone," she called out, "we're going to train in a scenario where we're outnumbered and surrounded. The goal is to use the terrain to our advantage, to outmaneuver the enemy."
They split into two groups, with Sylva leading one and Orin the other. Roderyk found himself with Sylva, who instructed him to use his agility and sling to provide cover while the others moved into position.
The mock battle began with Volos slipping into the grasses like a ghost, ready to ambush. Roderyk used his sling to target the "enemy" team, his shots forcing them to duck or change direction, creating openings for Sylva and Keldan who was part of his team to strike.
The exercise pushed them all to think strategically, anticipate and counter-moves. Roderyk found himself quickly adjusting to Sylva's orders, coordinating with Keldan to outflank and outmaneuver their opponents.
After the exercise, Sylva nodded approvingly. "Good work, Roderyk. You're starting to understand the flow of combat and the importance of control and coordination."
Roderyk smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Thanks, Sylva. I'm learning from the best."
That evening, as they set up camp near a narrow gorge with a rushing stream, the crew felt a growing tension. There was an unease in the air, like they were being watched. The sun dipped below the horizon, and night fell swiftly, bringing with it a chilling wind.
Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by a distant whistle. Nara, ever vigilant, turned sharply, her hand reaching for her bow. "That's a signal," she whispered. "We're not alone."
Orin's face hardened. "Everyone, stay sharp. We've got company."
Within moments, figures began to emerge from the shadows—dozens of them, creeping through the underbrush with weapons drawn. "B-b-bandits!". Dr. Lorian exclaimed.
Their faces were rough and scarred, their eyes hungry with a predatory gleam. They surrounded the camp in a loose ring, slowly closing in.
Roderyk's heart began to pound, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. This was no training exercise—these men meant to kill.
Orin stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "We don't want any trouble. Take what you need and leave us be."
A bandit with a cruel grin and a notched sword sneered. "Sorry, old man, but you've got more than we need. And we ain't leavin' until we take it all."
With a sudden cry, the bandits charged. The clearing erupted into chaos.
Roderyk found himself face-to-face with a hulking brute wielding a spiked mace. The bandit swung wildly, and Roderyk barely managed to dodge, feeling the wind of the blow rush past his face. He countered with a quick slash to the bandit's arm, but his blade only grazed the man's leather armor.
Fear gripped him—this was different from sparring. The bandit's eyes were filled with a murderous intent, and Roderyk could feel his own hands trembling.
"Die, you bastard!" The bandit roared and swung again, and Roderyk ducked low, instinctively bringing up his sword to block. The impact rattled his bones, sending a jolt of pain through his arms. He stumbled back, panic starting to creep in. This wasn't a game; this was life or death.
Sylva, nearby, was fighting two bandits at once, her glaive spinning in deadly arcs. She shouted, "Roderyk, focus! You need to—argh"
But before she could finish, another bandit blindsided her with a heavy blow, knocking her off balance. She fell to one knee, and Roderyk saw the glint of a knife aimed at her throat.
Something snapped inside him. He lunged forward without thinking, driving his sword into the bandit's side.
"You—" The man's eyes went wide with shock, and he crumpled to the ground.
Before Roderyk could register what had happened another bandit was already on him. He hesitated, his mind screaming at him to finish it, to kill. But his body wouldn't move.
The hesitation cost him. The bandit swung a cudgel at his head, and he barely managed to raise his arm in time. The blow sent him sprawling, his vision blurring. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his face.
Sylva, recovering from her fall, saw Roderyk's predicament. She moved with a burst of speed, intercepting the bandit before he could deliver a killing blow. Her glaive struck but the effort left her exposed.
Another bandit, taking the opportunity, slashed at Sylva's side. She cried out, blood blooming through her tunic.
Roderyk, still dazed, saw Sylva stagger and fall. His heart sank. This was his fault—his fear had cost her.
Panic, guilt, and terror flooded him as the fight raged on around them. His companions were locked in deadly combat, and he realized for the first time just how unprepared he was. This wasn't about overcoming fear; it was about survival.
Orin's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Fall back to the gorge! We make our stand there!"
The crew began to retreat, covering each other as they moved toward the narrow passage by the stream. Roderyk stumbled to his feet, his head throbbing, and helped Sylva up, her face pale but determined.
"Don't lose yourself now," she whispered, her voice strained but steady. "There's more to learn out here than just how to fight."
He nodded, swallowing his fear, but the weight of his mistakes bore down on him heavily. The world was more dangerous than he had imagined, and he was far from ready to face it.
They managed to reach the gorge, where the narrow path forced the bandits to come at them one by one. It gave the crew a chance to regroup and fight back with more control. Keldan held the line with his greatsword with unmatched strength while Volos struck from his shadow, picking off bandits with silent, lethal precision.
But the damage had been done. Sylva's wound was deep, and Dr. Lorian worked frantically to stabilize her, shaking as he applied bandages.
Roderyk stood apart, his hands trembling. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt, shame, and a cold, hard realization: he wasn't ready.
✧✧✧✧✧
As dawn broke, the bandits finally retreated, their numbers dwindled and morale broken. Orin watched them go, his expression grim.
"Everyone all right?" he called out, his voice weary but strong.
Roderyk looked at Sylva, who managed a weak smile. "We're alive," she said softly.
Orin approached Roderyk, his face stern. "You froze back there. Nearly got Sylva killed."
Roderyk nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry… I just…"
Orin's expression softened. "This is part of learning too, Roderyk. Fear is natural. But out here, hesitation can get you or your friends killed. Learn from this, or next time, there might not be a second chance."
Roderyk took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words. The world was a harsher place than he had ever imagined, but he wasn't going to let it break him. He would face it, learn from his mistakes, and grow stronger.
As the sun climbed higher, casting a golden glow over the rugged landscape, the crew began to pick themselves up, ready for the next challenge ahead. For Roderyk, this was just the beginning of a journey not just through the world, but into his own courage and resolve.