Forging An Army

The sun had barely risen when Kael stepped into the training grounds. The scent of steel and sweat filled the air, the sharp ring of blades clashing echoing across the courtyard.

The soldiers of Vaelthane—young recruits and seasoned fighters alike—stood in disciplined rows, awaiting their commander's word.

Kael scanned them, his gaze sharp. They were strong, but strength alone wouldn't be enough. Vaelthane needed warriors—trained, disciplined, unbreakable.

A Kingdom Needs Defenders

Fenir leaned against a wooden post, watching the recruits with her usual unreadable expression. "You sure they'll survive your training?"

Kael smirked. "If they don't, they have no place in my army."

At his nod, the drills began.

Swordplay: Every strike had to be precise—no wasted movement, no hesitation.

Endurance training: Miles of running through the mountain trails—because a tired soldier was a dead one.

Tactics: Kael tested their instincts, forcing them to think, adapt, survive.

Rhia moved through the ranks, tending to injuries, ensuring the recruits weren't pushed beyond their limits—but not sparing them from hardship.

By midday, half of them were gasping for breath.

By sunset, only the strongest remained standing.

Kael walked among them, his voice carrying over the training field. "You want to defend this kingdom? Then fight like it."

Tomorrow, they would train harder.

And the day after, harder still.

Whispers of War

That evening, Fenir approached as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "You're building an army."

Kael didn't look at her. "I'm building a kingdom. That means protecting it."

Fenir's gaze was unreadable. "And if war comes sooner than you expect?"

Kael met her eyes, unwavering. "Then we'll be ready."