Soren didn’t mention the incident from the night before.

  He doubted he ever would.

  Just as Colonel Larka had warned, their day began bright and early. The kind of early that made your joints ache.

  Rayzil had woken him just as the sun began to crest over the horizon, shoving her head through the large door at the back of his quarters and nudging him with her snout. Apparently, Kroz had already given the Ajaiyi a thorough speech on punctuality.

  If they were late the next day, their Veisha would be punished alongside them.

  And for any Ajaiyi worth their scales, fur, or feathers… there was no worse threat than harm coming to their Veisha.

  Now, all three stood in the middle of the training yard.

  Zephares and Wrena stood tall and composed. If either of them were tired, they didn’t show it.

  Soren, on the other hand, looked like he’d fought sleep and lost.

  Dark circles clung under his eyes, and a yawn slipped out before he could stop it.

  Behind them, boots struck the ground with measured purpose.

  Colonel Larka.

  She strode into the yard like she owned it—which, in a way, she did. Her presence was sharp and efficient. Just like her reputation.

  “Good morning, Cadets,” she said coolly. “Let’s get started.”

  Then, without missing a beat, her gaze locked onto Soren.

  “Wake up, Skymark.”

  Soren jolted upright, blinking rapidly as he shook his head, trying to free himself from the fog of exhaustion.

  He straightened his shoulders, took a breath, and tried to act like he’d been awake.

  Training was beginning.

  Colonel Larka moved with purpose, her boots hitting the ground in steady rhythm as she came to a stop in front of the three Cadets.

  Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the crisp morning air.

  “Today, we’re going to find out exactly what you’re made of.”

  The words echoed in their ears, as if the yard itself were holding its breath.

  “These will arguably be the most important weeks of your training. Your Ajaiyi will undergo a similar evaluation with Kroz in the Menway Woods. Today, we’ll determine if you belong here... or not.”

  Her eyes swept over them—hard, unreadable.

  Her face, already stern, seemed to grow sharper still.

  In perfect response, the three Cadets mirrored her energy. Their spines straightened. Their expressions hardened. Seriousness settled over them like armor.

  “Over these next few weeks, we will focus on hand-to-hand combat. This will allow me to evaluate your natural instincts and measure your current skill level.”

  She paced slowly in front of them, her tone as unwavering as her stride.

  “After that, we will move into weapons training. You’ll be tested with a range of weaponry to determine what suits you best.”

  She stopped. Turned. Met each of their eyes—one by one.

  “Then, the real training begins.”

  She turned sharply. “Zephares. Soren. You’re first.” Zeph nodded, stepping forward.

  Soren groaned. “Can we at least pretend I’m at a disadvantage here?”

  “You are,” Zeph said with a smirk.

  They squared off in the dirt. Zeph crouched slightly, steady and sharp. Soren adopted a lazy-looking stance, one hand up, the other scratching his neck.

  Larka’s voice rang out. “Begin.”

  Zeph surged forward first—quick and clean. Soren dodged sideways, sliding a bit on the loose dirt.

  “Whoa! Slippery,” he said, almost laughing.

  Zeph threw a fast jab to the ribs. Soren twisted, caught off guard, but rolled with it and backed away.

  “Oh you’re taking this seriously,” Soren admitted.

  “Why would I not?” Zeph said, throwing a low kick.

  Soren jumped it, tried to grab Zeph’s shoulder, but Zeph pivoted and slammed his foot into the back of Soren’s knee. Dust burst up as Soren dropped.

  “Ahhh! Knees! Very personal!”

  Zeph didn’t wait. He moved to pin—but Soren twisted, kicked up a spray of dirt into Zeph’s eyes, and scrambled to his feet.

  Zeph staggered, blinking. “You really just—”

  “It was a strategic maneuver,” Soren said proudly.

  The Colonel’'s voice cut through. “And a stupid one in a real fight. That can very easily be turned against you.”

  Soren winced and glared down at the ground.

  Colonel Larka turns towards the other member in this unit.

  “Wrena. With me.” The Colonel says sharply

  The dirt yard was still, the dust hanging in the air from the last round. Soren and Zeph had walked off to the side—mud-splattered and sore from their own fight, the latter still rubbing dirt from his eyes.

  Wrena stepped forward without hesitation. Despite sparring with the Colonel, she showed no fear.

  Colonel Larka, standing across from her, didn’t wait for a ready stance.

  “Begin,” she said—and launched.

  She came in hard and fast, fists a blur, boots cutting arcs through the dust.

  Wrena moved—not with speed, but with intention. She ducked the first swing and sidestepped the second.

  Colonel Larka didn’t pause. A knee came up. A shoulder slammed forward. Her fighting was relentless—precise, powerful, aggressive.

  Wrena absorbed the shoulder, let it twist her, and rolled with the force instead of resisting it. She landed in the dirt but popped back up quickly, her breathing steady.

  “She’s insane,” Soren whispered, watching in disbelief.

  Colonel Larka’s expression didn’t change. She came again—testing now, mixing her strikes with feints and changes in rhythm.

  But Wrena adapted.

  She began to sway just before the Colonel would strike, reacting to the sound of a foot grinding the dirt or a breath drawn too sharply. She didn’t land a hit, but she didn’t go down either. She kept moving. Kept standing.

  “You’re not bad,” Colonel Larka said between strikes, her tone still cold, still sharp. “But not fast enough.”

  She swept Wrena’s leg.

  Wrena dropped hard, a grunt escaping her lips.

  Colonel Larka paused, just a moment.

  Wrena rolled onto her side and pushed herself up. Her lip was bleeding, her ribs probably bruised, but she was already adjusting her footing again.

  The Colonel stopped for a breath. Just one. Then she moved in again.

  Wrena didn’t dodge this time. She stepped in—closer than expected—and twisted her upper body, brushing past her arm. Her fingers tapped the Colonel’s side lightly. But the older woman used it to her advantage, grabbing the younger girls arm and twisting it behind her back, holding her in place.

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  They stood in the center of the yard, dust swirling around their legs, both breathing hard—one from effort, the other from focus. Colonel Larka eventually let her go, the young Cadet stretching her shoulder after being put in an awkward position.

  “I won’t lie, Cadet. You surprised me.”

  Wrena stayed silent, still facing her.

  “But I’m hardly impressed.” The Colonel’s tone cooled, but something had shifted behind her eyes. “You may survive this yet.” She turned to walk away, creating distance between her and the Cadets.

  Wrena stood alone in the dirt a moment longer, her head slightly tilted, her face unreadable.

  Then she brushed the blood from her lip, turned, and walked calmly back to the others.

  Colonel Larka turned back around, facing the three young Cadets. “Alright from the top. This time Soren you spar with Wrena. Zephares…” The young boy gave his full attention to the high ranking officer. “I will be your sparring partner.” A serious look crawled on his face as Soren nudged his arm.

  The four separated into different areas of the training yard, swapping off training partners for the rest of the evening.

  The Menway Woods were old—ancient, even. The kind of forest where light filtered down in shards, not beams, and every rustle held the memory of something older than time. Gnarled trees twisted skyward, roots crawling over stone like skeletal fingers. The air was damp, thick with moss and tension.

  Three sets of eyes scanned the trees.

  Rayzil paced in a wide arc near a clearing, wings half-folded, tail flicking restlessly. Her white-and-gold scales shimmered every time she passed a shaft of sunlight.

  Nercostes stood still, perfectly still, like a shadow carved from stone. His black scales absorbed the light, his red eyes watching.

  Falzok was somewhere between eager and anxious, his feathered tail twitching, claws kneading the soft earth as if itching to prove something.

  The ground rumbled.

  Kroz arrived.

  Larger than all three of them, the red-and-white Ngari burst through a thicket with the subtlety of a storm. His horns glinted like polished bone, and his voice—when it came—was thunder wrapped in gravel.

  “You are not here to play,” he rumbled, circling them slowly. “This is the Menway Woods. It is wild. It is old. And it is unforgiving.”

  He stopped in front of Rayzil, who was still circling like she hadn’t heard him. “Eyes forward.”

  Rayzil huffed. “I can multitask.”

  Kroz’s snarl cracked through the trees. “Speak again out of turn, and I will show you multitasking.”

  Rayzil blinked. “Understood.”

  “You will be given three trials,” Kroz said. “Each one built for your failure. You will not pass them unless you learn from each other. You are not meant for solitude. You are Ajaiyi. You fight for others, beside others. Or you die.”

  He stomped a foot. Dust and leaves exploded outward.

  “First trial. There are things in this forest that the Guard is testing. Either avoid them, or defeat them to pass. Rayzil. You’re grounded. Nercostes. You lead. Falzok, between the Dragons.”

  Rayzil scowled. “Grounded?”

  “You rely on your wings,” Kroz growled. “They are a crutch.”

  “A stylish crutch—”

  “Now.”

  They followed a narrow game trail through the dense woods, vines tugging at Rayzil’s legs, branches brushing against Nercostes’s horns.

  “Too loud,” he muttered, glancing back at Falzok, who was stumbling over roots.

  “I’m trying,” Falzok whispered. “Trees don’t like me.”

  “They don’t like any of us,” Rayzil grumbled, hopping over a fallen log. Nercostes raised his head quickly.

  Everyone froze.

  Then they heard it—subtle crunches of dry leaves ahead, not animal steps—calculated. Moving with the wind.

  Nercostes growled low. “Ambush.”

  Rayzil’s eyes sharpened. “Can I fly now?”

  “Not unless you want to snap every branch above us,” he snapped back.

  Falzok sniffed. “They smell... weird. Metal. Grease. Not natural.”

  Mechanical beasts. This was a test not only for the Ajaiyi, but these new machines.

  Nercostes crept forward. “Three of them.”

  Rayzil shifted. “Behind us?”

  Nercostes nodded once.

  Rayzil moved left, Falzok right. Nercostes charged straight in.

  In a blur, one of the constructs leapt—but Rayzil slammed into it from the side, claws digging in. Falzok knocked another into a tree trunk with a flaming shoulder tackle, while Nercostes tackled the third and crushed it under his weight. All three machines break easily.

  Silence returned.

  Kroz stepped into view.

  “You responded like individuals,” he said. “But you survived because you chose each other. I’ll have to let Larka know these machines are…disappointing”

  Kroz led them deeper into the woods until they reached a narrow ravine close to the mountain range. Vines covered the slope. The wind howled through the stones.

  “Second trial,” Kroz said. “One of you will be taken. The others must find them. Use what you know. No signals. No shortcuts.”

  Before anyone could ask what that meant, the ground beneath Falzok gave.

  A trap—clearly Kroz had some help with his lessons.

  Falzok’s startled cry echoed as he disappeared into the dark.

  “Go,” Kroz said.

  Nercostes crouched, sniffed the dirt. “He was dragged into the ravine.”

  They moved fast. They made their way down, clinging onto the rocks while they searched for their comrade. Eventually, Rayzil landed hard, cutting across Nercostes’s path. “He’s this way. I can hear him.”

  They sprinted. Within minutes, they found Falzok suspended—trapped in a net of woven vines. He wasn’t panicked. Just annoyed.

  “About time.” He said with a huff.

  Nercostes sliced the net with a precision swipe. “We got to you didn’t we?” Falzok flops to the ground, he comes to a stand and sends a small glare at the black Dragon.

  Kroz’s roar came from the trees: “Second trial complete.”

  They returned to a clearing now set with stone pillars, some natural, some clearly placed for battle.

  Kroz stomped into the center of the moss-laced clearing. Branches cracked beneath his feet, and birds scattered from the canopy.

  “Final trial,” he growled. “You face me.”

  Rayzil arched a brow ridge, her white-and-gold scales gleaming with sweat and forest dust. “All of us?”

  Kroz’s lips curled back, revealing teeth like jagged stone. “Yes.”

  She flicked her tail. “You do know you’re outnumbered, right?”

  “Then you should win,” he said, and lowered his head getting ready to charge.

  Rayzil launched into the air immediately, wings catching the low sun. Falzok darted into the trees, low to the ground, slipping beneath ferns and weaving between mossy roots. Flames licked at the corners of his beak, ready but controlled. Nercostes didn’t speak. Facing Kroz, ready for when he makes his first move.

  Kroz had waited long enough. He charged at Nercostes. His massive feet churned up the ground, and the black Dragon attempted to meet him head on, only to be thrown back into the trees. Rayzil took the opportunity to dive directly on top of Kroz, a mixture of their roars filling the air.

  Falzok was next. With a shriek, he leapt from behind a stump, fire bursting from his claws as he aimed for Kroz’s legs. The flames struck and sizzled against the Ngari’s thick hide, enough to get his attention—enough to sting.

  Nercostes eventually recovered, and saw his moment to strike.

  He leapt from the shadows with terrifying speed, his black form a blur against the trees. He hit Kroz's side like a living spear, forcing the larger creature to twist and stumble.

  Kroz roared—earth-shaking, primal. He lashed out with his tail, a wide, sweeping arc of power that caught Falzok mid-jump. The Vata yelped and tumbled into a patch of ferns, singeing the edges.

  Rayzil clung to Kroz’s back, desperately trying to grab ahold of his horns to get control of his head. The large reptilian beast kept twisting around trying to bite at the Dragon to throw her off him.

  Falzok surged from beneath a bush and fired a stream of hot flame at their opponent. The Ngari growled, turning to charge at Falzok, but Nercostes was ready. He threw his whole body into him, an attempt to knock him on his feet. But Kroz was no fool, he was an experienced fighter

  Kroz spun, slamming Nercostes with his tail. The black Dragon hit the ground with a grunt, rolling back onto all fours.

  Finally Kroz is able to grab onto Rayzil’s arm with his teeth, throwing her at her brother. The two collided and rolled in the dirt. Falzok began to distract the Ngari from the downed Dragons, shooting streams of fire.

  The two Dragons composed themselves. Rayzil turns to her brother, her wings twitching with anticipation. “Ideas?”

  “We need to put pressure on him,” Nercostes said. “We push until he backs off.”

  “I’m all pressure,” Falzok shouted from across the clearing. “I’ll use my fire!”

  Rayzil laughed—sharp and wild—and took to the sky once more.

  Kroz turned, watching them. For the first time, his stance shifted. Not from fatigue—readiness.

  Then they moved.

  Rayzil circled high, drawing his eyes. Nercostes came low from the left. Falzok from the right.

  Together, they struck.

  Nercostes rammed his shoulder into Kroz’s chest. Falzok leapt up and clamped onto the base of one horn with a snarl, flames curling from his claws. Rayzil dropped from above once more, her wings tucking as she slammed into Kroz’s back like a falling star.

  The Ngari roared and reared back.

  He shook quickly, throwing all three Ajaiyi away from him.

  He backed away, chest heaving, steam rising in long, hissing ribbons from between his horns.

  “Enough.”

  They collapsed into the clearing, breathless. Rayzil rolled onto her side, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Okay… That was... intense.” Falzok flopped beside her. Nercostes remained upright, battered but proud. He was silent.

  But he allowed himself a moment of pride.

  Kroz stood over them, breathing heavier than usual.

  “It’s a good start,” he said. His deep voice rumbled like thunder through the roots of the forest. “You adapted. But you need to act better as a team.”

  The wind moved through the trees, whispering across their exhausted bodies.

  “Tomorrow,” he added, turning and vanishing back into the woods like a moving boulder, “you learn to protect your Veisha.”

  The leaves settled slowly.

  Rayzil huffed. “I miss being unimportant.”

  “Me too,” Falzok mumbled. “Back when danger was hypothetical.”

  Nercostes closed his eyes for a moment. “Back when failure didn’t mean someone else paid the price.”

  They said nothing after that.

  Because they all understood what came next.