The knock came just as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. I groaned, rolling over and blinking against the dim light filtering into the room. Rorik stood in the doorway, his usual no-nonsense expression in place.
"Up," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Time to work."
I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and swinging my legs out of bed. My body still ached from the previous day's training, but there was no room for excuses. Rorik had made it clear: if I wanted to stay here, I had to pull my weight.
I dressed quickly, glancing at Emery as she stirred under the quilt. "See you at lunch," I said softly. She mumbled something incoherent and burrowed deeper into the blanket.
---
The morning passed in a familiar rhythm. The barn smelled of hay and earth as I worked, the repetitive tasks giving my mind room to wander. I thought about the fight with Rorik the night before—the way he'd pointed out my flaws, his critiques as sharp as his blows.
The words echoed in my mind as I worked, a constant reminder that I had a long way to go.
By the time midday rolled around, my arms were burning, and my shirt was damp with sweat. Rorik called for a break, and I followed him back to the house, my stomach growling at the thought of food.
---
Lunch was a welcome reprieve. The kitchen was warm, the scent of fresh bread and stew filling the air. Emery sat beside me, her cheeks pink from helping Inga in the kitchen.
"How's it going out there?" she asked, handing me a cup of water.
"Grueling," I admitted, taking a long sip. "But I'm getting stronger."
"You look stronger," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Really?"
She nodded. "Your arms are definitely bigger. Not that I'm complaining."
I laughed, the sound lightening the tension in my chest. "Glad to know my suffering isn't for nothing."
Across the table, Rorik raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "If you're done flirting, we've got work to do."
Emery rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "Good luck," she said as I stood.
I followed Rorik outside, the sun high in the sky and the air heavy with the promise of more hard labor.
---
"We're running," Rorik said as we stepped onto the dirt path leading away from the farm.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Running?"
He nodded. "Time to see how much you've got in the tank. Try to keep up."
With that, he took off, his pace relentless from the start.
I sprinted to catch up, my legs already protesting as I fell into step behind him. The path wound through the fields, the ground uneven beneath my feet. The sun beat down on us, and sweat quickly began to drip down my face.
Rorik didn't slow.
Every time I thought we might stop, he picked up the pace, his strides long and powerful. My lungs burned, my legs screaming with each step, but I refused to quit.
"You're falling behind," Rorik called over his shoulder, his voice carrying easily despite the effort.
I gritted my teeth, pushing harder. "Not for long."
The run seemed endless, the path stretching out before us like a cruel joke. When Rorik finally came to a stop, I nearly collapsed, my chest heaving as I bent over to catch my breath.
"Not bad," he said, his voice annoyingly even. "But you're slow."
I glared at him, too exhausted to respond.
---
The strength training that followed was brutal.
Rorik handed me a large sack filled with rocks, its weight pressing down on my shoulders as I hoisted it onto my back. "Carry it across the field," he said, nodding toward the far end.
I nodded, adjusting my grip and starting forward. The weight was crushing, each step a battle against my burning muscles.
"Faster," Rorik barked from behind me. "If you're going to carry someone out of danger, you can't take your time."
The thought spurred me on, and I forced my legs to keep moving, the sack digging into my shoulders.
When I reached the end, he handed me a heavy wooden pole. "Press it over your head. Twenty times."
I obeyed, my arms trembling as I pushed the weight upward, sweat dripping into my eyes.
The drills went on for what felt like hours, each exercise designed to push me to my limits. By the time we returned to the house for dinner, my entire body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.
---
Dinner was quiet, the exhaustion of the day leaving little room for conversation. Emery sat beside me, her presence a comforting contrast to the grueling pace Rorik had set.
"You survived," she said softly, her smile gentle.
"Barely," I muttered, shoveling stew into my mouth.
Rorik didn't say much, his sharp eyes studying me over the rim of his cup.
---
After dinner, we headed to the barn.
The air was cool, the lantern casting flickering light on the wooden walls. Rorik stood across from me, his arms crossed, his expression stern.
"Let's see if you learned anything last night," he said, motioning for me to step forward.
I nodded, slipping into my stance. My legs were heavy, my arms sore, but I wasn't about to back down.
The fight was different this time. Rorik didn't just overpower me—he dissected me. Each movement, each strike was met with sharp critiques.
"You're telegraphing your kicks," he said, deflecting a low roundhouse with ease. "They'll see it coming a mile away."
"Your guard is too low," he added, slipping through my punches to land a solid tap on my ribs. "Fix it."
Every mistake was an opportunity for him to exploit, and by the end of the session, I was on the ground, panting and covered in sweat.
"Better," Rorik said, his voice low. "But you've got a long way to go."
I nodded, too tired to speak.
As I lay there, staring up at the wooden beams of the barn, a faint smile tugged at my lips. It was brutal, exhausting, and painful—but I was learning. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was getting closer to the person I needed to become.