Memories of a Recruit I

The mornings at the camp always started the same way—a blaring bugle call that sliced through the predawn stillness like a blade. For Elias, it was both a wake-up call and a reminder of the uphill battle he faced every single day.

"Another day, another chance to get yelled at," Elias muttered under his breath, dragging himself out of bed. His voice was laced with equal parts sarcasm and resignation, though no one was awake enough to respond—or care.

The camp itself was a sprawling place, rough and utilitarian. Wooden barracks stood in neat rows, surrounded by open training grounds dotted with obstacle courses, sparring rings, and archery targets. Beyond that lay the wilderness, an endless stretch of trees and hills that loomed like a silent warning.