Forged By Falcrest

The rest of the night passed in a haze of exhaustion and quiet contemplation. They'd managed to eat small bites of the ration bars, washing them down with sips from the water skins. The healing cream Kara had found among their supplies had proven to be a blessing—its cool, soothing touch easing the aches in their muscles and speeding the healing of their wounds. Marcus, in particular, seemed to be in much better condition after applying it to his leg. The grimace of pain that had been plastered on his face all day was finally gone, replaced by his usual smirk.

After a while, Kara and Marcus had decided to catch up with some of the other groups. Marcus had offered to bring Atlas along, a gesture that surprised him. He could see the sincerity in the boy's eyes, a sign that they were starting to build some semblance of camaraderie after the events of the last few days.

But Atlas had politely declined. He wasn't ready for that yet. Marcus and Kara might be warming up to him, but the rest of the class? They still avoided him like he carried some kind of plague.

He didn't mind. At least, that's what he told himself. The truth was, the solitude gave him a chance to rest. So he stayed behind, laying on his cot with the lynx curled up on his chest.

The small creature was warm and surprisingly light, its soft fur tickling his chin every so often as it shifted in its sleep. It had a habit of letting out tiny purring sounds, a faint vibration that oddly helped him relax.

"You know I most likely killed your mother, right?" Atlas asked softly, his voice low to avoid disturbing the peaceful cabin.

The lynx stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, turning its head to look up at him with those wide, curious yellow eyes. There was no judgment there, no anger—just a kind of innocent curiosity that made his chest tighten.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Atlas didn't know why he'd said it. The lynx couldn't understand him. But something about the act of apologizing felt… right, even if it didn't ease the weight pressing down on his chest.

The last few days had been a whirlwind of survival, adrenaline, and chaos. Now that he finally had a moment to breathe, the reality of it all was catching up to him. He had killed now—not just once, but multiple times. Even if it had been mana beasts, it still didn't sit well with him. Every swing of his sword, every moment of violence—it all lingered in his mind like a stubborn shadow.

He glanced down at the baby lynx again, its small chest rising and falling steadily as it dozed on him. Its presence didn't make him feel better. If anything, it made the weight of what he'd done feel heavier.

"Great," he muttered under his breath. "I'm babysitting the child of the thing I killed. That's just—perfect."

The lynx let out a soft chirping sound, almost like it was responding to him. Atlas raised an eyebrow at it, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile despite himself.

He let out a long breath, willing himself to push those thoughts away. Dwelling on it wasn't going to help, and he needed to focus on something else. Something productive. His thoughts drifted to the spell he had finally managed to cast during the fight—the Wind Slash. The memory brought a small spark of pride to his chest, lifting the heaviness just slightly.

He had done it. After weeks of trying, of practicing and failing over and over again, he had finally used it. It hadn't been perfect—far from it—but it had worked. And for the first time in days, he felt a genuine smile pull at his lips.

Atlas had thought his higher wind affinity would make it easy, that he'd pick up the spell quickly and effortlessly. But apparently, he wasn't a natural genius like the other kids from the clans. They seemed to pick up new techniques and spells as easily as breathing, their progress smooth and steady. Meanwhile, Atlas had struggled every step of the way, stumbling through trial and error with nothing but sheer determination to keep him going.

But he had done it. And that mattered.

"You know," he said softly, glancing down at the lynx again, "I'm not as useless as everyone thinks. I figured it out. Eventually."

The lynx let out another soft chirp, its eyes closing as it burrowed further into his chest. Atlas chuckled lightly, the sound soft and tired.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he murmured, his eyelids growing heavier as the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic sound of the lynx's breathing lulled him into a state of calm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to relax, to let the weight of the last few days slip away, even if only for a little while. The world outside could wait. For now, it was just him, the fire, and the tiny lynx dozing peacefully on his chest. And that was enough.

***

The next day passed in a strange rhythm, a balance of rest and quiet training. No life-threatening missions, no prowling mana beasts, just a routine meant to let them recover without letting their muscles go soft. For Atlas, it was a welcome reprieve, though the dull ache in his body from the fight and the climb lingered like a reminder of how far he still had to go.

By midday, the sun's warmth managed to pierce the biting cold, creating an illusion of comfort that was quickly undone by the wind. Most groups spent the time practicing in pairs or talking amongst themselves, a few even laughing—trying to pretend, perhaps, that they weren't living on the edge of a knife. Atlas spent his morning focused on Wind Slash again, sitting cross-legged in the snow and trying to grasp the fleeting pattern of the spell. His success yesterday had been born of desperation, and though he could still feel the echo of it, recreating it was proving harder than he'd hoped.

Kara spent the day honing her dagger techniques, her movements sharp and deliberate, while Marcus tested his limits, after his injury as he sparred with another student. The baby lynx was a near-constant shadow at Kara's side, watching her with an almost uncanny intelligence, its silver fur gleaming in the faint sunlight.

As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the camp, the call came. Striker Thane's voice echoed through the air, sharp and uncompromising. "Everyone to the peak. Now."

Atlas exchanged a glance with Marcus, who grimaced but got to his feet, brushing snow from his legs. Kara didn't say anything, just tucked the lynx into their cabin, giving it one last pat before following the others.

The climb to the peak felt slower this time, the cold air slicing through their thin jackets and biting at their faces. By the time they reached the top, the sun was dipping lower, its golden rays painting the snow-covered mountains in hues of amber and crimson. The vast expanse of Draegar stretched out below them.

The students gathered in silence, forming a loose semicircle at the edge of the peak. The Nightblade stood at the center, his dark cloak billowing slightly in the wind. But unlike yesterday, he didn't speak. He didn't offer any words of guidance or instruction. Instead, he simply pointed to the horizon, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group as if daring anyone to ask for clarification.

Atlas sat down heavily, his body still aching from the trials of the previous days. Marcus dropped beside him with a grunt, while Kara settled cross-legged on his other side. Around them, the other students sat too, their breath visible in the frigid air, their expressions ranging from curiosity to quiet frustration.

The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. Atlas shifted slightly, adjusting his scarf and tucking his hands into his sleeves to keep them warm. He glanced at Marcus, who raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Kara's gaze was fixed on the horizon, her face unreadable.

The view was breathtaking. The mountains rolled endlessly into the distance, their jagged peaks glowing in the fading sunlight. Beyond them, the plains stretched out like a sea of gold, the faint outlines of rivers and forests threading through the vast expanse. It was the kind of beauty that demanded attention, that refused to be ignored.

Atlas felt small sitting there, dwarfed by the sheer scale of it all. The land seemed endless, each mountain and valley a reminder of how much lay beyond their tiny camp on this isolated peak. And somewhere out there, people were living their lives, completely unaware of the students sitting here, being shaped into the blades meant to protect them.

He tried to distract himself by counting the ridges in the mountains, tracing the path of the rivers with his eyes, but his thoughts kept circling back to the weight of it all. They were just kids, really. How were they supposed to be enough to protect something this vast, this infinite?

"I don't get it," Marcus muttered beside him, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost hesitant. "Why make us sit here? What's the point?"

Kara didn't look away from the horizon. "To make us think," she said simply. "About what we're doing here. About what we're fighting for."

Marcus snorted softly, his breath visible in the cold. "Yeah, well, I'm thinking, and all I'm coming up with is that this land is too damn big."

Atlas glanced at him, then back at the view. "Maybe that's the point," he said quietly. "To make us realize how much bigger this is than us. And how much we have to grow to even stand a chance."

Marcus was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as he stared out at the plains. "That's a pretty grim way of looking at it."

"It is," Kara said, her voice calm but firm. "If we can't handle sitting here and looking at it, how are we supposed to handle protecting it?"

Atlas leaned back slightly, letting the cold seep into his spine as he tilted his head to look up at the sky. The stars were beginning to appear, faint pinpricks of light against the deepening blue. "It's a lot," he admitted. "But maybe that's the point too. To make us understand what we're fighting for."

Kara nodded, her gaze unwavering. "And what's that?"

The silence returned, but it felt different this time—less heavy, more contemplative. The students sat together, their breath mingling in the cold air as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world into twilight. The plains below faded into shadow, their vastness still palpable even in the growing darkness.

Atlas closed his eyes for a moment, the chill biting at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He thought of Midtown, of Granny Lucy and Ren, of the bustling streets and the quiet moments of warmth that had kept him going. He thought of the people living out there, in the valleys and forests and towns, and wondered how they felt, what it was like to grow up in a normal town away from the cold and poverty. Or was it just the same.

When he opened his eyes, the stars had come out in full force, their light scattering across the sky like shards of glass. The vastness of it all—the sky, the land, the silence—pressed down on him, but it didn't feel suffocating. It felt… grounding.

For the first time, he thought he understood why the Nightblade had brought them here. Not to lecture them, not to fill their heads with words, but to let the land speak for itself. To let them feel its weight and its beauty and decide for themselves what it meant.

And as he sat there, the cold seeping into his bones and the stars watching silently above, Atlas felt a flicker of something deep inside him. Not hope, exactly, but something close. A quiet resolve. A determination to keep going, no matter how small or unprepared he felt.

"I'm fighting for freedom, I want the strength to stand on my own… no matter what anyone thinks."

Marcus nodded. "That must be nice. I don't have a choice, I fight for my family. My clan."

Kara looked pensive. "Everyone has a choice."

Maybe… but it didn't feel like I had much of a choice about anything when I grew up in the orphanage.

***

The class murmured softly among themselves, the tension of the past few days ebbing slightly as they rested. Atlas's gaze drifted across the other students, noting the different dynamics. Aaron and Rea were locked in what looked like a heated argument, Rea's expression sharp while Aaron gestured animatedly. Seth stood a little to the side, scratching the back of his head with an awkward smile, clearly trying to mediate but not quite succeeding.

Atlas couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity. Despite their squabbles, the three of them seemed comfortable with one another, a kind of camaraderie that came from years of shared experiences. He glanced at Marcus and Kara, wondering if his own group would ever reach that level of familiarity. Maybe.

As his eyes scanned the gathered students, a strange unease settled in his chest. The group was smaller. He frowned, counting the faces he recognized. There were gaps—missing people.

He nudged Marcus, keeping his voice low. "Hey… where's the rest of the class? Some groups are gone."

Marcus glanced around, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the absence. After a moment, he shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Probably failed somewhere. If they couldn't handle the tasks, they're probably sent back to the academy."

Atlas nodded slowly. That made sense. They'd been told from the beginning that not everyone would make it through the training. Still, the idea of failing—not just the task, but the whole program—left a bitter taste in his mouth. What would happen to those students now?

Before he could dwell on it, a boy approached them. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell into his eyes and an easy grin that gave him an air of confidence. Atlas recognized him instantly—Rian, one of the more reserved students in their class. Despite his quieter nature, Rian was skilled, often sparring with Marcus during training sessions. He wasn't as strong as Marcus, but his speed and precision had earned him respect.

"Mind if I join you?" Rian asked, his voice friendly as he gestured to the spot beside Marcus.

"Sure," Marcus said, sitting up straighter and gesturing for him to sit. "What's up?"

Rian dropped down, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. "Not much. Just figured I'd say hi since we've got some downtime. Good spar earlier, by the way," he added, glancing at Marcus. "You almost had me a couple of times."

Marcus smirked, leaning back on his hands. "Almost? Come on, I wiped the floor with you."

Rian laughed, shaking his head. "Sure you did. Let me have my pride, alright?"

Atlas couldn't help but chuckle at their exchange. It was strange seeing Marcus so at ease. The boy was usually so focused and intense, but around Rian, he seemed… relaxed.

The three of them talked for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Rian asked Atlas about his experience with Wind Slash, sharing a story about his own struggles with mastering a spell.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of boots crunching on snow. Striker Thane had returned, his dark cloak billowing in the cold wind as he strode into the clearing. The students fell silent, their attention snapping to him as he stopped in the center of the group.

"You've had your rest," Thane began, his voice sharp and commanding. "But rest is a luxury you won't always have. Starting tomorrow, you'll be back in the field."

A faint murmur rippled through the students, but Thane's piercing gaze silenced it immediately.

"This will not be a race," he continued. "Your mission is to reach a small town at the base of the mountain. There, you will meet with a Lightblade who will give you your next task."

Atlas perked up at the mention of a Lightblade. He remembered the last time he'd encountered one, the healer who had tended to his injuries after his core awakened. The memory was hazy, overshadowed by the chaos, but he hadn't forgotten the warmth of the mana, the way it had soothed his pain and mended his wounds. It would be good to see one again. There bright mana was always nice to see. Especially after witnessing the Lynx's darker colour.

"You have three days to get there," Thane said, his voice cutting through Atlas's thoughts. "No more, no less. How you make the journey is up to you and your group. Work together, plan carefully, and keep your wits about you. The wilds are unforgiving, and so am I."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Dismissed."

The students began to disperse, their conversations picking up again as they headed toward their cabins. Atlas lingered for a moment, his mind already racing with possibilities. There was no race, no pressure to outpace the others, but that didn't make it any less daunting. The wilds were unpredictable, and three days was a long time to survive without guidance.

"You ready for this?" Marcus asked, clapping a hand on Atlas's shoulder as they made their way back to their cabin.

Atlas nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "As ready as I'll ever be."