First training

*Isla*

"The Nightshade Company," the instructor says, her tone unreadable. She hands me the purple patch. The fabric is cool in my trembling hands. I look up and see Liora waiting for me, a wide, relieved grin spreading across her face. We're in the same company, so at least we have each other.

My relief is so potent it's almost dizzying. I scan the remaining crowd, my heart doing a nervous little tap dance against my ribs. Where is Ian? My gaze finds him across the dwindling space, a broad black and red patch already on the arm of a second-year who now stands with him. The Dire Wolf Company. Same as dad Was in, of course. He's with the elite. For a dizzying moment, I'm proud. Then I remember his words, and the pride sours. At least he's not here to watch my every failure. At least I'm free of him.

The last few names are called, and then there are only a dozen or so of us huddled under the Nightshade banner, a motley collection of anxious, hopeful faces. The a way to well known persons steps forward.

"I am Cedric Grayson," he says, his blue eyes sweeping over us. "I am one of your supervisors. Your training begins now." His gaze lands on me, and a flicker of something… pity, annoyance? crosses his face before being smoothed over.

Then another figure detaches from the shadows of the archway behind us, and the air itself seems to change. It grows still, heavy. It's Caelen Fennec. He stops a few feet from our group, his presence a silent command. He's not in uniform like the other supervisors. He wears simple, black training clothes that hug the formidable lines of his body, and the Nightshade insignia single is the only color on him… his has 3 stars on it… meaning he is our group leader.

A hush falls over our small group. This is the real thing, and he is intimidating in a way that has nothing to do with bulging muscles or a loud voice. It's the quiet confidence. The absolute stillness. His green eyes, unnaturally bright in the morning light, pass over each of us, lingering for a fraction of a second. When they land on me, my breath catches. There's no pity in his gaze. No annoyance. There is only a cool, assessing intensity, as if he's measuring my weight, my worth, and finding me… what? Light? wanting? I can't tell. The uncertainty is worse.

"My name is Caelen Fennec," he says. His voice is low and ilky but with a rough edge. "You are the Nightshade Company. You were not chosen for your strength or your connections. You were chosen for your grit. For what you proved you have yesterday. But yesterday was nothing. Yesterday was about showing up. Today is about enduring."

He lets the words sink in. "Your insignia represents the thorned vine. It grows in the darkest places. It is resilient, and it is sharp. It can draw blood, or it can be used to bind and heal. Your training will teach you which to be, and when."

His gaze sweeps over us again, a silent, unnerving appraisal. "First lesson. Follow me."

He turns and walks away, not waiting to see if we follow, not bothering to see if we can keep up. The supervisors, all three, Cedric included, fall into step behind him. We hurry to form a ragged line behind them, our new purple patches looking dull against the grey morning. Liora is beside me, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on Caelen's broad back.

"Well," she mutters under her breath, her words meant only for me. "At least we know the bar is set somewhere in the deepest pits of hell.”

“And Cedric gets to watch me trip over it. Fan-fucking-tastic." I can't help the small, huff of a laugh that escapes me. "But at least better than being in the Dire Wolf Company with my brother.”

We're led away from the main courtyard, down a winding dirt path that slopes into the dense, ancient forest. The air grows cooler, damp with the scent of moss and rich earth. The canopy of leaves overhead blots out the sun, plunging us into a green-tinted twilight. This is our training ground. There are no neat sparring circles, no polished wooden dummies. There are only trees, rocks, and a deep, unnerving silence.

Caelen stops in a small clearing, where the ground is uneven and strewn with fallen logs. He turns to face us. "Warriors do not fight on level ground," he states, his voice devoid of emotion. "Your enemies will not offer you a fair field. Your environment is your first weapon, and your first obstacle. Learn to use it. Learn to endure it."

Cedric steps forward, a picture of clean-cut perfection in this wild place. "Today's focus is basic endurance and awareness. This part of the forest is three miles in circumference. You will run the perimeter. Once. You will do it in silence. You will not shift, if you have gotten your wolf. You will run as you are, in your human skin. Any cadet who falls behind will be left behind."

A collective, uneasy rustle goes through our group. Three miles. For me, that's like a marathon. My leg already aches with a dull, persistent fire that promises to become an inferno. I risk a glance at Liora. Her face is a mask of grim determination. She meets my eyes, and I know we're both thinking the same thing. We don't have a choice. Falling behind isn't an option.

"If you fall," Caelen adds, his quiet voice carrying an eerie weight, "you will get up. If you are injured, you will finish. The only acceptable reason to stop is death. Are there any questions?"

No one speaks. The silence is its own answer.

"Begin," Caelen says.

That's it. No further instructions. No marking of a path. Just a single word. He doesn't move. He simply watches as we stumble forward, a herd of nervous novices trying to figure out which direction constitutes the perimeter. Liora and I fall in near the back, letting the more confident, able-bodied cadets forge a path.

The ground is a nightmare of tangled roots, slick moss, and hidden dips. With every step, my bad leg sends a shock of pain up through my hip. My shoulder throbs in a dull, angry rhythm. I need to keep my focus and my eyes on the ground.

The silence Cedric demanded is absolute. But I doubt many have the air to speak. The only sounds are the heavy breathing of my fellow cadets, the thud of boots on damp earth, and the distant, rhythmic beat of our supervisors' feet behind us. They are not running. They are pacing us, their movements unnervingly silent and efficient.

The first half-mile is pure hell. My lungs burn, and my good leg is screaming in protest from bearing most of my weight. I grit my teeth, focusing on the rhythmic slap of Liora's boots in front of me. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about the distance. Just one more step. Then one more.

A boy in front of me, a lanky kid from the Sunstone Pack, stumbles over a root, sprawling forward with a yelp of pain and surprise. Before I can even process it, Caelen is there. He doesn't help him up. He simply looms over the fallen cadet, a shadow given form.

"Get up," he says, the words low and detatched. They aren't loud, but they carry the force of a shout.

The boy scrambles to his feet, his face pale with fear and embarrassment, and dives back into the run without a word. Caelen resumes his silent pacing. The message is received by all of us. There is no room for error. There is no sympathy if you fail.

We round a bend, and the path unexpectedly slopes sharply downward. I lose my footing, my bad leg giving way completely. I cry out as I pitch forward, my hands slapping into the mud to break my fall. A sharp, electric agony shoots up my arm from my injured shoulder. For a terrifying second, I can't breathe. The world dissolves into a blur of green and brown and searing, white-hot pain.