Trial Begins

The morning air was crisp as Elara stood before the towering gates of the kingdom's training grounds. She had spent the night cutting her hair, binding her chest, and wrapping herself in the rough tunic and trousers her father had given her. She looked at her reflection in the basin before she left—gone was the girl who once dreamed of knighthood. In her place stood Eli, a determined young recruit.

Her father had given her one final piece of advice before she left: "Strength alone won't get you through this, Elara. Use your mind. Observe. Adapt."

She clutched his words tightly as she stepped forward.

The training yard was already filled with recruits—dozens of boys, some strong and confident, others nervous and jittery. A few noble sons stood arrogantly, their polished swords gleaming, while the commoners clutched wooden weapons.

Elara took a steadying breath. No one knew her here. No one would look at her and see a girl. She just had to prove she belonged.

The Arrival of the Knight Commander

The murmurs around her suddenly fell silent. A group of knights strode into the yard, their armor glinting under the morning sun. At their head was a man whose presence made the air feel heavier.

Damien Voss.

The kingdom's strongest knight. The youngest commander in history.

Elara had heard the rumors—his unmatched skill in battle, his ruthless discipline, and his cold, unreadable expression. But seeing him in person was something else entirely.

He was tall, clad in black and silver armor, his dark hair slightly tousled. His face was sharp, his eyes an intense shade of steel. He barely looked at the recruits as he came to a stop before them, arms crossed over his chest.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and commanding.

"You are here because you believe you have what it takes to become knights," Damien said, his gaze sweeping over them. "Most of you are wrong."

A few boys shifted nervously.

"This is not a place for the weak," he continued. "It is not a place for the lazy. If you think your noble birth will save you, leave now. If you think sheer strength will be enough, you are mistaken. By the end of this trial, more than half of you will be gone."

Elara's pulse quickened. She wouldn't be one of them.

"Your first test begins now," Damien announced. "You will fight. If you cannot hold your own, you will be dismissed immediately."

The First Fight

A line was drawn in the dirt. Pairs of recruits were called forward to spar. Wooden swords clashed, grunts and yells filled the air. Some fights ended quickly, others dragged on as boys desperately tried to prove themselves.

Elara watched carefully. Some fighters relied on brute strength. Others had technique but lacked endurance.

Then—

"Elijah Vale," the knight overseeing the trials called.

Elara's breath caught. That was her new name.

She stepped forward, gripping the wooden sword. Her opponent was a broad-shouldered boy who smirked at her.

"A twig like you won't last a second," he sneered.

She didn't answer.

The moment the fight began, he swung hard. Too hard. He was relying on strength alone.

Elara ducked, moving fast. Observe. Adapt.

He swung again—she sidestepped. His strikes were wild, undisciplined. He had power, but no control.

She waited for the right moment—then, when he raised his sword too high, she lunged, knocking the blade from his hands. With a final step, she pressed her sword to his chest.

Silence.

The watching recruits murmured. The overseer nodded. "Winner."

Elara stepped back, her chest heaving. She had won. She belonged here.

But as she turned, her heart nearly stopped.

Damien was watching her.

His gaze was unreadable, but there was something in his expression—mild interest, perhaps? Or irritation?

Then he looked away.

Elara exhaled, steadying herself.

This was only the beginning.