The Training Continues

The days passed swiftly, swallowed by the relentless rhythm of training, yet shadows still clung to the edges of Sorken's thoughts, whispering doubts and anxieties that he struggled to suppress. Tamara's presence, her reassuring smile, her quiet strength, was a balm to his soul, a flickering candle in the encroaching darkness. Still, a sense of unease lingered, a knot of apprehension that tightened with each passing day. He couldn't help but feel that something was wrong, that the peace they had found was nothing more than an illusion.

Most of their days were consumed by training, leaving little time for conversation, for connection. Varakh, the blonde-haired apprentice, had taken over their training sessions, his presence a constant reminder of their lowly status. He was a harsh taskmaster, his methods brutal, his words laced with disdain. He seemed to take a special pleasure in pushing them to their limits, his eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction as he watched them struggle.

"The purpose of your training is to build enough strength so that you can carry the supplies, not to fight," Varakh had declared, his voice ringing with cold authority, his gaze sweeping over them like a hawk assessing its prey. His words were laced with a condescending tone as if he were addressing a group of unruly children. "You can't fight the enemies we are going to face without spells. You have already learned basic swordsmanship, and that is enough to defend one or two attacks if you are lucky, even if it is almost useless in the end. Now just repeat what you have learned for the rest of the time. Do some physical exercise, and you will accumulate more than enough strength needed for this expedition." He spoke with an air of absolute certainty, his words leaving no room for argument or dissent. He observed them with a piercing gaze, his eyes like chips of ice, as if he were appraising their worth, their usefulness for the task ahead, and finding them lacking.

Sorken, Jorah, and Kesta nodded in silent agreement, their faces grim, their bodies aching. They knew he was right. They were nothing but pawns in this game, tools to be used and discarded. 'He's right,' Sorken thought, his jaw clenched, his mind struggling to accept the harsh reality. 'We won't stand a chance against any creature that is not human, not without magic. This is all a farce, a cruel joke.' Slush, slush, slush, the sound of their staffs cutting through the air filled the silence, a monotonous rhythm that mirrored the emptiness in their hearts. 'The form Tamara taught me also focused more on protection rather than attack,' he realized, a sense of betrayal washing over him. 'She always knew, didn't she? She knew we were nothing but expendable, that we were never meant to be warriors.'

It was the first time Varakh had come to give them instructions personally, and it would also be the last. After that day, he would appear each day, his presence like a dark cloud on the horizon, to observe their training from afar. He would stand there, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, watching them with a cold detachment that was more unsettling than any harsh words. Then, he would simply turn and leave, leaving them alone with the guards, to the monotonous routine of their training. His absence was almost as oppressive as his presence, a constant reminder of their powerlessness.

Despite the oppressive atmosphere, Sorken managed to glean a few more facts about the magic system of this world, his mind hungry for knowledge, for understanding. He learned that while Onlookers had a specific class and discipline they could learn, the Inheritors were granted more freedom and more flexibility. They were not bound by the same restrictions, their potential seemingly limitless. The Sun God, Zartan, even had a subordinated Goddess of Life, a deity who granted the Inheritors of Zartan's domain the ability to cast spells related not only to light and heat but also to healing and nature. It was a fascinating concept, the idea of gods having subordinates, a hierarchy even between the Gods. The limitation, however, was for the followers of the Goddess of Life, as they could only learn spells within their own domain, along with some specific spells permitted by the Temple, based on their perceived contribution and loyalty. It was a system designed to maintain control, to ensure that power remained in the hands of the chosen few.

He also learned of the brutal consequences for those who dared to defy the Temple's rules. If someone tried to learn or steal a spell without the blessing of the temple, and they were discovered, they would be killed on the spot, their lives extinguished without a second thought. And if someone was found to have aided them, they would share the same fate, their lives forfeited for their transgression.

'What a vicious system,' Sorken thought, a chill running down his spine, his heart heavy with a sense of foreboding. 'Why would their "god" agree to become a subordinate instead of an alliance with fair advantage? Why would anyone agree to such terms?' He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. 'I guess even gods are not equal, even they have their own differences and agendas.' He sighed, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. 'I can think about this stuff later. Right now, I need to focus and make sure that nothing goes wrong in tomorrow's expedition. That is the only thing that matters. If I can just survive this, then I will finally be free!' He renewed his focus on his training, his staff a blur as he moved, his body responding to the familiar rhythm of the drills.

The ruin they were to explore was situated at the edge of a village called Sarakh, a small, insignificant settlement that was nearest to the Holy Temple. The Holy Temple itself was a city unto itself, a sprawling metropolis that housed not only the priests and their acolytes, but also a vast army of guards, workers, and slaves. It was a self-contained world, with all the resources a city could ever need and even more, a testament to the power and influence of the Sun God. It was a city within a city, a world within a world, completely different from anything Sorken had ever known.

Later that day, Soru summoned the overseer of the mines, the man whose presence always filled Sorken with a sense of dread. He ordered him to send two guards who were familiar with the three slaves. The overseer, eager to please his superior, quickly dispatched the two guards who had been responsible for them since their arrival. They were two of the most brutal guards, their faces scarred, their eyes cold and unforgiving.

"Take the three of them to the commoners market today," Soru commanded, his voice calm and measured, yet laced with an undercurrent of authority that could not be ignored. "Make sure that they eat and enjoy whatever they want. Don't worry about the money. I will give you 100 gold coins. Whatever is left is yours." He paused, his gaze hardening, his eyes like chips of ice. "Before you take them out, look for junior priest Varakh and tell him to meet me immediately."

"We will do that, holiness," the two guards replied in unison, bowing low, their voices filled with a mixture of reverence and greed. "We are grateful to Zartan and the temple for their generosity!" They practically groveled before him, their eagerness to carry out his orders palpable. They turned and left at once, their footsteps echoing in the silent chamber.

'I have to make sure that Varakh has told all the apprentices to not eat anything this time too,' Soru thought, his mind already moving on to the next step in his পরিকল্পনা. 'I am not yet sure how that slave got killed even after taking that precaution, but we cannot take any risks. We have taken every precaution, every measure to ensure success. This time, nothing will go wrong.'

"Priest, you called?" Varakh's voice, smooth and respectful, broke through his thoughts.

"Ah, brother, it was nothing," Soru said, his tone shifting to one of camaraderie, a hint of warmth entering his voice. "I just wanted to remind you that you should follow all the precautions like before. Even if that slave died after taking those precautions, it doesn't mean we are wrong. This time we will use the old method: lure the spirits and wraiths with our nurtured slaves and let you all do the work you need to do. I have already made all the arrangements." He spoke with a quiet confidence, his words carrying the weight of his authority.

"I feel the same, priest," Varakh replied, his voice mirroring Soru's calm assurance. "I already told them, and they have not eaten a single thing since this morning." He had followed Soru's instructions to the letter, ensuring that the apprentices were prepared for the expedition.

"I wish you success, Varakh," Soru said, his gaze intense, his words a mixture of a blessing and a command. "Make sure you don't disappoint me this time."

"I will not," Varakh responded, his voice firm, his resolve unwavering. He bowed deeply and left the chamber, leaving Soru alone with his thoughts.

The atmosphere in the temple was thick with a sense of anticipation, a palpable tension that hung in the air like a shroud. The flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an eerie, almost otherworldly ambiance. Every sound seemed amplified, every whisper a potential threat. Sorken could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that made it hard to breathe. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that they were walking into a trap, that their freedom was nothing but an illusion. He longed for Tamara, for her reassuring presence, her quiet strength. He needed her now more than ever, but she was out of reach, lost somewhere in the labyrinthine depths of the temple. He could only hope that she was safe, that she was prepared for whatever horrors awaited them in the ruins. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on the task ahead. He had to be strong, for her, for himself, for the hope of a future that seemed so distant, yet so desperately desired.