Five months had passed since Rorik gave me the ultimatum.
Five months of relentless training, grueling farm work, and fights in Akerholt's ring. The days blended together, each one a repetition of the last. At first, I welcomed the grind, convincing myself that the effort would pay off—that all the sweat, bruises, and sleepless nights would lead to something greater.
But as the months dragged on, doubt began to creep in.
---
The mornings were still dark when I woke, beating Rorik to the kitchen most days. The routine had become second nature: eat quickly, head to the barn or fields, and work until the sun hung high in the sky. Lunch with Emery and Inga offered a brief reprieve before more hours of labor and training.
At night, Rorik's sharp commands echoed in the barn as he corrected my form, pushed me harder, and reminded me that strength alone wouldn't be enough.
"You're getting better," he'd say, his tone gruff but approving. "But better isn't good enough."
---
I glanced down at my hands, calloused and rough from months of work. They didn't feel like mine anymore. My arms, once lean and soft, were now corded with muscle. My movements were sharper, quicker, more efficient. Yet for all the progress I'd made, the mark—the sign of the changing—remained absent.
---
Each night after training, I found myself lying awake, staring at the wooden ceiling of my small room.
"What if it doesn't happen?" I thought, the question gnawing at the edges of my mind.
Rorik had been blunt when he first brought it up: six months. If I didn't go through the changing by then, I needed to start thinking about other ways to survive in this world. He hadn't said it to crush my spirit—I knew that. Rorik was pragmatic, and in his own way, he was trying to prepare me for the worst.
But the thought of failure was unbearable.
---
My mind wandered to Emery.
She was adjusting well to life on the farm, her days spent with Inga in the kitchen or tending to small tasks around the house. She had grown more confident, more comfortable in this new world, but I could still see the worry in her eyes when she looked at me.
"What if I can't protect her?" I whispered to myself in the dark.
The idea burned at my core, a weight I couldn't shake. Emery relied on me, trusted me to keep her safe. Without the changing, I wouldn't stand a chance against the dangers of this world. The goblins, the wolves, the monsters lurking in the shadows—I was nothing compared to them.
---
The fights in Akerholt were my only solace.
Each week, I stepped into the ring and tested myself against the local boys. Most of them were still inexperienced, their wild swings and predictable movements easy to counter. But every now and then, I faced someone tougher—someone who forced me to dig deeper, to adapt.
The crowd's cheers and the adrenaline of the fight gave me a fleeting sense of purpose. In those moments, I felt strong, capable, almost invincible.
But when the fight was over, when the noise died down and the adrenaline faded, the doubt returned.
---
Rorik never said anything about my missing mark, but I knew he noticed.
He'd glance at my arms during training, his expression unreadable, before barking another command or offering some gruff piece of advice. He didn't need to say it aloud—I could see the unspoken question in his eyes: *What if it doesn't happen?*
---
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I stood outside the barn, staring at the twin moons rising in the darkening sky.
Five months. One month left.
I clenched my fists, the rough skin scraping against my palms. Failure wasn't an option. Not for me, not for Emery.
"I'll figure it out," I whispered to the night. "I have to."