The clearing echoed with the sounds of training—a mix of grunts, heavy breathing, and the solid thud of feet striking the earth. Grain's muscles tensed and released rhythmically as he struck the wooden post before him, its surface carved with intricate symbols representing the spirit animals of the tribe. His family’s totem, the Black Steeled Bear, stood prominently at its center—a powerful reminder of his lineage.

  To his left, a boy wearing a necklace adorned with eagle feathers practiced swift, darting movements, invoking the agility of his family’s spirit animal, the Sun Eagle. To his right, a girl with a carved wooden charm of a coiled serpent performed fluid strikes, each motion mirroring the grace of the Shadow Viper. She darted forward suddenly, her wooden staff slicing through the air in a serpentine motion that ended with a sharp, precise jab at her post.

  “See that, Grain?” Kiro muttered from his station. “She’s been working on that all week. Looks like it’s paying off.”

  Their instructor, a broad-shouldered man with deep scars criss-crossing his arms, walked among them. The leather band around his wrist bore the image of a Thunder Elk, his family's revered spirit. "Focus your mind!" he barked, his voice carrying the weight of years spent training the next generation of the Kusanti. "Your spirit animals grant you strength, but it's up to you to wield it."

  Grain adjusted his stance, drawing on the image of the Black Steeled Bear. Its resilience and raw power resonated within him, a wellspring of energy he could almost feel coursing through his veins. He slammed his fists into the post, each strike more deliberate than the last.

  A short while later, it was time for Grain’s spar with Kiro, a boy named who was quick on his feet but lacked precision.

  Grain crouched low, his muscles coiled like a predator waiting to strike. Sweat dripped from his brow as he focused on the instructor’s voice.

  “Ready yourselves!” the instructor barked, his tone as sharp as a hunting spear.

  Grain’s eyes darted to Kiro. Kiro shifted nervously, his wooden staff twitching in his hands.

  “Begin!”

  Grain noticed Kiro’s dilated eyes, characteristic of his family’s spirit animal, the Arcane Swift, a very fast flight bird.

  Kiro lunged, aiming high. Grain sidestepped with fluid ease, his movements instinctive.

  “That’s new,” Grain thought. “My body is keeping up.”

  He twirled his own staff, the polished wood humming through the air, and swept low. Kiro stumbled, barely managing to block the strike, but the force of it sent him staggering back.

  “Again,” the instructor commanded, his keen gaze never leaving them.

  This time, Grain advanced. His strikes were scattered, but fierce and powerful—a flurry of movement that overwhelmed Kiro. A sudden thrust knocked the staff from Kiro’s hands, and it clattered to the ground.

  “Yield!” Kiro said, panting heavily.

  Grain stepped back, lowering his staff as the instructor approached. The older man nodded approvingly, though his stern expression remained unchanged.

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  “Good control, Grain,” he said. “But remember—power means nothing without restraint. Your opponent’s weakness is your strength, but that strength can also become your very downfall.”

  Grain nodded, the instructor’s words sinking in. He glanced at Kiro, offering a smile and a hand. Kiro grimaced but nodded back, grabbing Grain’s hand after retrieving his staff.

  “All of you!” the instructor called, his voice carrying over the clearing. The other children, who had been sparring or practicing stances, stopped and gathered around.

  “Today’s session is just the beginning,” the instructor began, his tone grave. “You’ve all felt it—the air is heavier, the jungle quieter. Something stirs beyond our borders. Mother Estriel has yet to return with the warriors, but until we know what we’re up against, we must prepare for the worst.”

  A murmur ran through the group. Grain exchanged a glance with Kiro, whose earlier nervousness had returned.

  “Training will intensify,” the instructor continued. “Your bodies, minds, and magic must be sharper than ever. Survival is not a gift; it is earned. Dismissed!”

  The children dispersed, some eager to leave, others lingering to practice. Grain stayed behind, gripping his staff tightly. His heart beat steadily, but a flicker of unease rippled through him. The instructor’s words had struck a chord—something was indeed changing.

  As he turned toward the jungle’s edge, the wind shifted, carrying with it an unfamiliar scent. It was faint, but Grain’s heightened senses caught it—a mix of damp earth and something metallic.

  “Grain!” Kiro’s voice called, snapping him back to the moment.

  “Coming,” Grain replied, but his gaze lingered on the shadowed treeline.

  Grain rejoined Kiro and the others as they began to pack up their practice gear. The usual chatter that accompanied the end of training sessions was subdued today, their instructor’s words hanging heavily in the air. Even Kiro, normally one to fill silences with jokes or wild stories, was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Do you think the elder’s group will have answers when they return?” Kiro asked, his voice low enough that only Grain could hear.

  Grain adjusted the strap on his satchel, his expression unreadable. “They’ll bring back something. Whether it’s the answers we want is another story.”

  Kiro frowned, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sun hung low, casting long shadows through the jungle. “I don’t like this. The elders rarely call for such meetings, and now we’re training harder than ever. Do you think it has to do with the Wall?”

  Grain’s grip tightened around the strap of his satchel. The Wall. Even speaking its name sent a shiver through the tribe. None of them had seen it, of course—it was too far from their secluded home—but the stories were vivid enough to haunt their dreams. Stories of an explosion that shook the heavens, of lands torn asunder and waters poisoned.

  “I don’t know,” Grain admitted. “But if it does, then we’ll be ready.”

  Kiro gave him a skeptical look. “You’re always so sure of yourself. Doesn’t anything scare you?”

  Grain paused, his gaze falling to the black steel bands etched faintly into his forearms. The marks were a physical manifestation of his bond with the Black Steeled Bear, a creature of unparalleled strength and resilience. Through their connection, he had gained enhanced abilities—sharper senses, faster reflexes, and raw power. But with that power came responsibility, and the weight of it sometimes felt like a second skin.

  “Fear’s not the problem,” Grain said finally. “What matters is what you do with it.”

  Kiro scoffed but didn’t press further. Instead, he adjusted his own gear and nudged Grain with his elbow. “Come on. If I’m late for supper again, my mother will tan my hide.”

  Grain allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips as they made their way back to the village. The path was well-trodden but still teeming with life—vines coiled around ancient trees, flowers of every color bloomed in bursts, and the occasional rustle hinted at creatures hiding in the underbrush.

  As they approached the village, the familiar sounds of daily life grew louder—children laughing, fires crackling, the rhythmic clink of tools against stone. But there was an edge to the air, a tension that hadn’t been there before. The villagers spoke in hushed tones, their eyes flickering toward the eastern horizon where the elder’s group had disappeared days ago.

  Grain and Kiro parted ways near the communal fire pit, where families were beginning to gather for the evening meal. Grain lingered at the edge of the clearing, his gaze drawn once again to the horizon.

  Two days. That was the time remaining the elder had said they would be gone. But in the pit of Grain’s stomach, an unease was growing. Two days felt like an eternity when the unknown loomed so heavily over them.