The caravan crested the final hill just as the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow across the distant valley. There, nestled amid a tangle of wild, untamed trees and bordered by a meandering river, lay the summer palace. Or what remained of it.
At a glance, the structure seemed almost majestic, its sprawling outline hinting at a time when it had been a beacon of luxury and opulence. But as they drew closer, the illusion unraveled. The palace was a husk of its former self.
Walls that had once gleamed with intricate mosaics were cracked, their vibrant colors faded and muted by years of neglect. Ivy crept up the stone like veins of an ancient, dying beast, obscuring entire sections of the facade. The once-grand gates hung at odd angles, rust and rot conspiring to pull them to the ground.
Commander Ryker rode at the head of the group, his lips pressed into a grim line. "So this is what he give us," he muttered to no one in particular.
Behind him, the children filed forward, their expressions ranging from wary curiosity to open dismay. They had traveled for weeks, enduring harsh conditions, grueling training, and the constant, looming presence of Ryker's watchful gaze. To arrive here—to this—felt like a cruel jest.
A silent figure near the middle of the group caught Ryker's attention. Mukt, stared at the palace with an intensity that made her stand out from the others. Her gaze wasn't one of despair or defeat but of something else entirely—calculation.
"She doesn't see ruin," Ryker thought, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "She sees opportunity."
---
The group dismounted near what had once been the courtyard. Weeds sprouted from between the flagstones, and the fountain at the center—once a masterpiece of sculpted marble—was now a stagnant pool, its carvings worn smooth by time and weather.
"This is where we'll live?" one of the children finally blurted, his voice high with disbelief.
Ryker turned sharply, silencing the boy with a glare. "You'll live where I tell you to live," he snapped. "And you'll make it work."
His words carried the weight of a man who had seen far worse conditions. And indeed, Ryker's mind was already working through the logistics. The main structure seemed intact enough to serve as shelter. The surrounding grounds, though overgrown, could be cleared and repurposed for training.
He gestured to his lieutenants, who immediately began issuing orders. "Check the foundations. Secure the perimeter. We'll make camp outside tonight and move in tomorrow."
As the soldiers moved to obey, Ryker allowed himself a moment to take it all in. This place, decrepit as it was, would be their new home. It would also be the crucible in which these children would either become weapons or be destroyed by their own weakness.
---
The children murmured among themselves as they began unpacking supplies. Some complained in hushed tones, others simply stared at the crumbling walls, their expressions unreadable.
Mukt, however, moved with purpose. She retrieved her belongings quickly and efficiently, then began helping others, her movements sharp and deliberate. She never spoke—she hadn't uttered a sound since joining them—but her actions spoke volumes.
One of the other children, a wiry boy with a sharp tongue, approached her as she worked. "Why bother?" he asked, his tone half-mocking. "This place is falling apart. No point in trying to fix it."
The girl paused, meeting his gaze with a stare so cold it made the boy take an involuntary step back. Then, without a word, she turned and continued her task.
Ryker smirked. "She's already stronger than most of them," he thought.
---
As the soldiers and orphans settled in for the night, Ryker took two of his men to explore the deeper sections of the palace. The interior was worse than he'd expected. Dust coated every surface, and the air was thick with the smell of mildew and decay.
They passed through what had once been a grand hall, its vaulted ceiling now riddled with holes that let in slivers of moonlight. A tapestry hung lopsided on the far wall, its once-brilliant colors reduced to muted browns and grays.
"Careful," Ryker warned as one of his men stepped on a loose tile. "This place is as much a trap as it is a shelter."
Deeper still, they found signs of recent activity—footprints in the dust, a few scattered tools, and a pile of broken wood that suggested someone had been attempting repairs.
"Someone's been here recently," one of the soldiers muttered.
Ryker nodded. "The king may have actually sent people for the repairs, a terrible job but at least an effort was made".
---
By the following morning, the orphans had set to work clearing the grounds under the watchful eyes of Ryker and his soldiers. They cut away the overgrowth, repaired what they could, and began transforming the decrepit palace into something usable.
For the orphans, it was grueling labor. But for Ryker, it was a test. Every blistered hand, every aching back, was a reminder that survival demanded strength and resilience.
As he watched them work, his eyes kept returning to the silent girl. She worked harder than most, her movements efficient and unyielding. And though she never spoke, her presence seemed to command a quiet authority among the others.
"This place," Ryker thought as he surveyed the scene, "will become what we make of it. And so will they."
---