Lucas stood in the training yard, his sword in hand. Sweat slicked his red-orange hair to his forehead as he practiced strikes against a wooden dummy. The dull thuds of blade meeting wood echoed through the air, but his mind was far from the task at hand. His strikes lacked the sharp precision he usually worked to maintain, each swing more distracted than the last.
"Focus, Lucas," Finn's voice cut through his thoughts. His friend stood a few feet away, holding a spear as he practiced thrusts. Finn's movements were precise, deliberate, a reflection of his growing confidence. The spear in his hands moved in fluid arcs, each thrust and sweep imbued with purpose.
Lucas blinked and nodded, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. "Yeah, I'm trying," he muttered, more to himself than Finn. He took a deep breath and resumed his swings, this time focusing on the imaginary opponent in front of him. Strike, step, pivot. Strike, step, pivot. Yet, no matter how much he tried to immerse himself in the routine, the unease gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
The memory of the scout he'd killed two nights prior surfaced unbidden. He could still feel the slick warmth of blood on his skin, still see the lifeless eyes staring up at him. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. No matter how many times he told himself it had been necessary, the weight of it lingered, heavy and unrelenting.
"Lucas!" Finn called, snapping him out of his trance. "You're overthinking again. Relax your grip; your sword's not an axe."
Lucas exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing. "Sorry, Finn. Just... got a lot on my mind."
"You're not alone in that," Finn replied, though his smile remained steady. "Come on, let's finish strong."
By midday, their training was done, and they were dismissed with a nod of approval from their temporary instructor, one of Astrid's subordinates. Astrid herself had been absent for two days, having left to warn and aid a neighboring camp under threat. Finn stretched his arms over his head, his spear slung across his back. "Not bad for a morning's work," he said, grinning.
Lucas offered a faint smile. "Yeah, not bad."
The two headed toward the mess area for lunch, their conversation easy and familiar. Finn spoke animatedly about refining his techniques, about how he wanted to be as precise as Astrid someday. Lucas listened, nodding at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.
After their meal, Lucas wandered toward the edge of the camp. There, under the shade of a large oak tree, sat the little girl he'd met not long ago. Lila, the baker's daughter, was clutching her stuffed toy tightly, her bright eyes lighting up when she saw Lucas approach.
"Lucas! Big brother!" she called out, waving.
A genuine smile broke through Lucas's troubled expression. "Hey, Lila," he said, crouching down to her level. "How's your day been?"
"Good! But it's better now that you're here!" she said brightly.
Lucas chuckled softly. The girl's innocence was a balm to his frayed nerves. They spent the next hour playing a simple game of tag, Lila giggling as she darted around him. Her small feet kicked up puffs of dirt as she moved, her laughter ringing through the air like music. For a brief moment, Lucas felt the weight on his shoulders lighten.
"Big brother Lucas," Lila said, clutching her stuffed toy tightly as they rested. "When I grow up, I want to be strong like you. Then I'll help protect everyone, too."
Lucas looked at her, the warmth in her words tugging at his heart. "You already are strong, Lila," he said gently. "And one day, you'll be even stronger than me."
Her laughter rang out, pure and carefree. Lucas's smile faltered for a moment, the weight of his own doubts returning. He wished he could share her optimism, but the shadows of his past loomed too large.
As the afternoon sun began its descent, Lucas walked back toward the barracks. Finn was already there, cleaning his gear. Lucas sat beside him, pulling out his own sword for maintenance. The two worked in companionable silence, the rhythmic sound of sharpening stones filling the air, but Lucas's thoughts were far from quiet.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The scroll he'd brought to Astrid had warned of an attack on a neighboring camp, and though Astrid had ridden out to handle it, the sense of impending doom had not left him. What if the Bloodlord's forces had other plans? What if the scout had been a decoy? The possibilities churned in his mind like a storm, each thought darker than the last.
"You're quiet today," Finn said, breaking the silence.
Lucas looked up, startled. "Sorry. Just… thinking."
Finn's brow furrowed. "Still about the scout?"
Lucas hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I can't get it out of my head. The way he attacked me, the way I…" He trailed off, his hands tightening on the cloth he was using to clean his blade.
Finn placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did what you had to, Lucas. It's not supposed to be easy. If it were, we wouldn't be human."
Lucas sighed. "It's not just that. It's… I can't shake this feeling that something else is coming. Like we're standing on the edge of a cliff, and the ground's about to give way."
Finn was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe. But whatever happens, we'll face it together, right?"
Lucas looked at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Together."
That night, as the camp settled into its usual rhythms, Lucas lay awake in his cot. The shadows of the tent seemed to stretch and shift, his mind playing tricks on him. The weight of his sword rested by his side, a constant companion and reminder of his new reality.
His thoughts wandered back to Brighthaven, to his mother. Her laughter, her warmth, her courage. He wondered if she'd be proud of him or horrified by what he'd become. The image of her lifeless body flashed through his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory away.
"You have to be strong," he whispered to himself, the words a mantra. "For her. For everyone."
But the mantra didn't ease the knot in his chest. He turned onto his side, staring at the flickering shadows cast by the campfire outside. He thought about the villagers they'd saved, the lives that still depended on them, and the sacrifices that lay ahead. Exhaustion eventually claimed him, though his dreams offered little respite from the torment within.