Chapter 8: From Ashes to Steel

The sun rose over the forest, casting golden rays through the remnants of the storm clouds. Kellan sat beside the now-ash-filled pyre, the fire had burned down to a quiet ember. The remnants of his mother's farewell scattered in the breeze, a poignant reminder of the grief and loss he had endured.

The morning sun peeked through the trees as Kellan packed up his few belongings, ready to leave the forest behind. He took one last look at the Ashvathaa tree where he had said his final goodbye to his mother. With a deep breath, he turned and started his journey to the fort of Arkhaven.

Kellan walked through the forest, taking the shortest route possible. It took him the entire day to reach the fort. By the time he arrived at the walls of Arkhaven, the sun had begun to set. If he had been a little later, the gates would have closed, and he would have had to wait the night outside. Luckily, he reached before sunset, just as the curfew began. The guards inspected him and, after verifying his identity, let him through.

He found himself in the bustling town square, his eyes drawn to the recruitment station. Soldiers were busy processing new recruits, their stern faces a mix of exhaustion and determination. Kellan hesitated for a moment, then approached the table where an officer sat, reviewing papers.

"Excuse me, sir," Kellan began, his voice steady despite his nerves. "I want to join the army."

The officer, a grizzled veteran with a stern look, glanced up. "How old are you, boy?"

"Seventeen," Kellan replied, meeting the officer's gaze.

"Seventeen, huh?" The officer's eyes narrowed. "What's your name, and why do you want to join?"

"I'm Kellan," he said, taking a deep breath. "My village was destroyed by Galdor's forces. I've lost everything. I want revenge."

The officer studied him for a moment. "You got any experience with weapons?"

"I'm a blacksmith," Kellan explained. "I know how to work with metal, and I've made swords before."

"A blacksmith, eh?" The officer's expression softened slightly. "We could use someone with your skills. But joining the army isn't just about swinging a sword. Are you ready for the training?"

Kellan nodded firmly. "I'm ready."

...

The first week of training was grueling. Kellan found himself waking before dawn, his muscles aching from endless drills and physical conditioning. The recruits started to open up to each other, sharing their stories and finding solace in their shared hardships.

Among them was Eamon, a young man with a similar look of determination in his eyes.

"How are you holding up, Kellan?" Eamon asked, taking a sip of water during a break.

"It's tough," Kellan admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. "But I need to do this."

Eamon nodded. "I hear you, man. I barely escaped. Joining the army seemed like the only way to fight back."

Kellan looked at Eamon, "I'm not just fighting back. I want revenge. I want to make them pay for what they did."

Eamon's expression turned somber and he could only nod his head slightly.

Kellan clenched his fists, the pain of his loss fresh in his mind.

By the end of the second week, Kellan had settled into a routine. The training regimen was relentless: morning drills, weapons practice, strategy sessions, and endurance runs. Every day was a test of his physical and mental limits. The officers were unforgiving, their eyes always watching for the slightest mistake.

One afternoon, during sword training, the instructor, Sergeant Brant, approached Kellan.

"Show me what you've got, blacksmith," Brant challenged, tossing Kellan a practice sword.

Kellan took a deep breath, gripping the sword tightly. He squared off against the sergeant, who attacked with a flurry of quick strikes. Kellan blocked and parried, his movements growing more confident with each clash of steel.

"Not bad," Brant grunted, stepping back. "You've got potential. But remember, it's not just about strength. You need to be smart and quick."

Kellan nodded, sweat dripping down his face. "Yes, sir. I understand."

That evening, as they rested, Eamon spoke again. "I saw you out there today. You were impressive."

"Thanks," Kellan replied, looking at the fire. "I just keep thinking about my mother. It gives me the strength to keep going."

Eamon sighed. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, I can still hear my sister's laughter. It haunts me, but it also drives me. We have to stay strong, for them."

Kellan nodded, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "For them."

...

By the fourth week, Kellan had begun to feel the effects of the intense training. His body was leaner, his reflexes sharper. The constant grind had ingrained the basics of soldiering into him. He had learned to march in formation, follow orders without hesitation, and fight with discipline.

The last evening before the swearing-in, as they sat around the campfire, Eamon opened up about his past.

"My family had a small farm on the outskirts of Alanor," Eamon began, his voice heavy with emotion. "We were simple folk, just trying to make a living. My father worked the fields while my mother tended to the house. And then there was my little sister, Elara. She was the light of our lives, always smiling and full of energy."

All the recruits listened intently, sensing the pain behind Eamon's words.

"One night, Galdor's men came," Eamon continued, his hands clenched into fists. "They raided our farm, taking everything they could. My father tried to fight them off, but they cut him down. My mother... she tried to protect Elara, but they... they didn't spare anyone."

Tears welled up in Eamon's eyes as he spoke, the memory still raw and painful. "I managed to escape, but I lost everything. My family, my home... all gone."

The campfire crackled softly, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The recruits' faces reflected a mix of sorrow and understanding, each one feeling the weight of Eamon's story and the shared pain of their own losses.

Kellan placed a comforting hand on Eamon's shoulder.

Eamon looked at Kellan, seeing the same grief reflected in his eyes. "That's why I joined the army. I want revenge for my family. I want to make sure no one else suffers like we did."

All the recruits nodded, their expressions resolute, bonded by their shared resolve.

...

Finally, after 4 weeks of grueling training, the day came for their swearing-in. Kellan stood in line with the other recruits, his heart pounding. The officer who had first signed him up, Lieutenant Commander Greaves, stepped forward, holding a scroll.

"Repeat after me," Commander Greaves said, his voice strong and clear. "I swear to serve the Kingdom of Alanor with honor and bravery. I pledge to defend its people against all enemies, no matter the cost."

Kellan joined the chorus of voices, his words filled with resolve.

The sunset on their first day as soldiers cast long shadows over the training grounds. Kellan felt a mix of emotions, grief for his lost family, but also a burning desire for vengeance. He was no longer just a blacksmith. He was a soldier of Alanor, ready to fight for his kingdom and avenge his mother's death.