Dorothy's eyes fluttered open, the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above her. Her body felt heavy, and her mind was still clouded, the remnants of the dream clinging to her thoughts—the old man's voice, the strange man in the forest, the queen, and the ethereal voices of the trees. The images felt vivid and strangely real, yet disconnected, like fragments of something forgotten.
She blinked, trying to ground herself in the present. Her head throbbed lightly, and her breath was slow, each inhalation drawing her back to reality. It took a moment for her to fully realize where she was: the quiet forest clearing, the sounds of birds and distant rustling leaves, the cool earth beneath her fingertips. It wasn't just the dream lingering; something was off.
As her senses sharpened, she caught sight of Arden standing a few feet away, sharpening his blade against a rough stone. His presence was steady, as it always was, but his actions felt oddly distant, almost like she had been away for far longer than she could remember.
"Finally awake," he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. He didn't look at her immediately, focused instead on his task. "You fainted. Not exactly the strongest start for someone trying to survive the trial."
Dorothy pushed herself up slowly, her muscles stiff, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I didn't mean to... she thought, but the words never left her mouth. She wasn't sure how to explain what she had felt, what she had seen, or why the dream lingered so deeply in her mind.
Arden sheathed his blade and turned to face her, his sharp gaze meeting hers. "Before we even think about the trial," he continued, his voice harder now, "you're going to need to learn to push past weakness. You have power, Dorothy, but power without resilience is useless."
Her thoughts were still tangled in the remnants of the dream—the woman, the strange forest, the sense of being chosen—but she nodded in agreement. I can't let this hold me back, she reminded herself.
Arden gestured for her to follow him as he began walking toward the deeper part of the forest. Dorothy's legs felt stiff, the remnants of the strange visions fading slowly as her focus returned to the present. The reality of the trials, the journey ahead, began to solidify once more. She had no time to dwell on dreams, no matter how vivid they felt.
As they walked deeper into the woods, the terrain became more treacherous—roots tangled beneath her feet, and sharp thorns snagged her sleeves. Dorothy stumbled several times, frustration building. Get it together, she thought, but her mind drifted once again. The dream... was it real? The sensation of that other world, the golden-eyed woman, the sense of purpose—it tugged at her thoughts, clouding her focus.
"Move with purpose," Arden barked from ahead, his voice cutting through her disoriented haze. "The forest doesn't care if you're tired or afraid. Neither do your enemies."
Dorothy snapped back to reality. "I'm trying," she muttered under her breath, biting back tears. She couldn't afford to let the dream distract her, but she couldn't shake it. The more she walked, the more the forest seemed to whisper around her, as if it were connected to the dream.
"Try harder," Arden commanded, his voice firm but not cruel.
The path grew steeper, and as they reached a small clearing with a fallen log that served as a makeshift bench, Dorothy's frustration grew. She was ready to stop thinking about the dream, but it was persistent. The whispering trees, the queen's presence—how had it all felt so real? Was it all just a dream, or was there something more to it?
Arden handed her a wooden staff he had been carrying, its surface worn but sturdy. "Defend yourself," he suddenly said, breaking her thoughts with a swift movement.
Before she could react, he swung a branch at her without warning. Dorothy yelped and instinctively raised the wooden staff, blocking the strike, though the force of it sent her stumbling back.
"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, still rattled by the lingering thoughts of the dream.
Arden's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his expression. "I'm teaching you to survive. That dream won't help you. Your real challenge is here, now. Focus, Dorothy. The forest doesn't care about your visions. It only cares if you're strong enough to survive."
The words stung more than she expected. Survive. The dream, the visions, all of it seemed so distant now. She couldn't afford to keep drifting between worlds—she had to focus on the present. The trial. The forest. And Arden.
Dorothy barely managed to block his next strike. Her arms ached, and her grip faltered.
"Stop hesitating," Arden barked. "React!"
The next swing knocked the staff from her hands, and she fell to the ground, panting. Arden loomed over her, his expression unreadable.
"You're too hesitant," he said, offering her a hand to stand. "You're thinking about what's fair, what's right. The trial won't care about those things, Dorothy. It will come at you relentlessly, just like I did. And it won't stop until you're broken—or worse."
Dorothy clenched her fists, anger and determination boiling inside her. "Then I'll stop hesitating," she said through gritted teeth, picking up the staff again.
"Again," Arden said.
They continued for what felt like hours. With each strike, Dorothy's movements grew less hesitant. She learned to anticipate his attacks, to move her feet with purpose, and to adjust her grip to maximize her control. Arden didn't let up, and though Dorothy hated him for it in the moment, she could feel herself improving.
At one point, he swung low toward her legs, but instead of tripping, Dorothy jumped over the branch and brought her staff down toward his shoulder. Arden blocked it with ease, but his eyes flickered with approval.
"That's more like it," he said. "If you keep this up, you might survive the trial after all."
Dorothy wiped sweat from her brow, her muscles burning but her spirit unbroken. "I will survive it," she said firmly.
Arden nodded, his expression serious. "We'll see."
When Arden finally called an end to the training, the moon was rising, casting a pale light over the clearing. Dorothy's arms felt like lead, her fingers barely able to keep hold of the staff. She dropped it and sank onto a fallen log, gulping down water from a canteen Arden handed her without a word.
"You lasted longer than I thought you would," he said, his tone neutral but edged with faint approval.
Dorothy looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "That's... a compliment, right?"
Arden gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod as he sat across from her. "You didn't quit. Most people do. But don't mistake effort for readiness. You've got a long way to go."
Dorothy clenched her fists, exhaustion warring with determination. "I'm not giving up. I'll do better tomorrow."
Arden leaned back, sharpening his blade in the dim light, the metallic scrape filling the silence between them. After a moment, he glanced at her, his gaze piercing but calm. "The forest doesn't care about your intentions, Dorothy. Neither will the trial. All that matters is how much fight you have when everything is against you."
Dorothy nodded, her chest tightening as his words sank in. "I understand," she said quietly, though she wasn't sure if she truly did.
Arden's voice softened, though his expression remained serious. "We'll see. For now, rest. The forest will test you again tomorrow, whether you're ready or not."
Dorothy stared into the fire, her muscles aching and her thoughts swirling. The dream lingered faintly at the edges of her mind, but for now, it didn't matter. The forest, the trial, and her survival were all that mattered.
"I'll survive," she muttered under her breath, her eyes steady on the flickering flames.
Arden glanced at her but said nothing, his silence a challenge that spoke louder than words.