The air in the training yard was clean and still. A faint breeze tugged at the worn banners strung from the crooked watchtowers. The dirt had been leveled, the lines freshly marked. A rough semicircle of Juniors stood in formation—some bruised, some cocky, some silent and still, but all of them marked by change.

  From the shaded edge of the stone wall, Alyssa leaned her shoulder against a pillar. Beside her, Sophie stood with a slight limp, her arm bandaged and her face pale, though her smile was strong.

  “Think Ethan’s going to trip again?” Sophie murmured.

  “Only if Liam doesn’t knock him into the mud first,” Alyssa said with a faint grin.

  Their eyes stayed fixed on the group.

  Noah, tall and square-jawed with a jagged scar across his temple, fidgeted with the strap on his blade. Olivia, sharp-eyed and elegant with her streak of white in dark hair, stood calm and composed. Ethan, stocky and jittery, rubbed his hands together while Liam, broader than most, kept elbowing him just to annoy him. Others stood behind, quiet, their names still half-forgotten by the veterans watching them.

  Then silence spread.

  Zaric Vailor, the Junior Commander, stood atop the broad dais steps. His hair was tied back, his coat pressed, the long blade at his hip gleaming in the light. He did not need to shout. His voice carried like thunder.

  “Three years ago, I watched most of you stumble into the mud just trying to lift a blade. I remember every fall, every mistake, every time you looked ready to give up. But you didn’t. You got up. And again. And again. Until you didn’t fall anymore.”

  He paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You’ve lost friends. You’ve seen things that should have broken you. But you’re still standing. And today, you choose what you become next. Some of you will scout beyond the perimeter. Others will hold the line with the Ashguard. And some—some of you believe you’re ready for Bluehawk.”

  A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the formation. Zaric did not smile.

  “I hope you are. Because it’s not a name. It’s not glory. It’s a promise. Bluehawk is the last wing of fire before the sky breaks. You fly with them, you bleed for others. You take on what no one else can.”

  He stopped, letting his eyes rest on each of them in turn.

  “Your choices start now. Step forward when called.”

  One by one, names rang out and assignments followed.

  Noah Kestrel was chosen for the Ashguard, his strength and stoic nature making him a natural fit. Olivia Maren joined the Scouts, precise and silent. Ethan Brask stepped forward as a Bluehawk hopeful, nerves visible but loyalty fierce. Liam Draevis was called to the Ashguard, his stubborn strength too obvious to place elsewhere. Ysera Vane, wiry and sharp, went to the Scouts. Miklen Sarro, a laughing bruiser with a heavy axe, followed Liam into the Ashguard. Kara Ellian and Tane Rowell both claimed places among the Bluehawk hopefuls. Ren Tyvak was named Scout, his speed unmatched.

  More followed, some stepping forward to accept the blue bands stitched with a hawk’s curved beak over a shield.

  Sophie let out a whistle. “Bluehawk’s about to be a full flock.”

  Alyssa crossed her arms. “Let’s see how many survive tryouts.”

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  “Cheerful,” Sophie muttered, but her smile remained.

  They watched together as a new generation stepped forward. Fresh strength. New hope.

  By late afternoon, the hopefuls stood lined in the Bluehawk training yard. The old stone court beneath their boots was cracked and scarred from years of drills and blood. Above the archway loomed the carved hawk with its wings outstretched, chipped but watching. The cliffs around the barracks caught the sunlight in streaks of gold and grey.

  Six recruits stood in a line, sweat drying on their collars, nerves hidden under armor. Facing them was Commander Alyssa Veyr, arms folded behind her back. The shadows under her eyes had not left since the last mission. Behind her waited the veterans: Harlen, watchful and calculating; Ketta, arms crossed, sharp-eyed; Bran, a wall of muscle and silence; Sira, hood low, unreadable; and Sophie, pale but steady, leaning lightly on her side.

  Alyssa stepped forward. “You chose to stand here. That’s on you. You chose Bluehawk. That’s on me.”

  Her gaze passed over them one at a time. “Training doesn’t begin tomorrow. It begins now. If that surprises you, leave. I don’t train the unprepared. I bury them.”

  None moved.

  She pointed. “Name and reason.”

  Tane Rowell smirked faintly, his orange hair wild, lean as a drawn blade. “Tane Rowell. You want killers? I’ve been killing since I was eleven. This is where I do it for the right reason.”

  Alyssa’s brow twitched but she moved on.

  Kara Ellian, her braids tied tight, her frame lean, her eyes harder than her blade, said, “Kara Ellian. I don’t want a symbol. I want something carved into the dirt when I die that meant something. This squad means something.”

  Alyssa nodded once.

  Ethan Brask, stocky and quiet, spoke next. “Ethan Brask. I saw what happened to Sophie. I watched her bleed out. If Bluehawk’s how I stop that from happening again, I’m all in.”

  Sophie flinched faintly but pride softened her expression.

  Daelen Virell stood stiff and pale, lanky and reserved. “Daelen. I don’t talk unless it’s needed. This squad doesn’t waste time. That’s why I’m here.”

  Then came Nira Voss, shorter, wiry, sharp-eyed, covered in rope burns and old scars. “Nira. I keep up. Always have. I don’t want to just watch anymore.”

  Alyssa’s eyes flicked to Harlen. He gave no sign of reaction.

  The last was Calen Dresk, scarred, broad-chested, a heavy blade strapped to his back. “Ashguard called me too violent. Said I lose control. Maybe you’ll let me do what I’m good at. And show me how not to die doing it.”

  Alyssa looked at them all. “Behind me are your examples. They will not go easy on you. If you trip, Harlen will put you down. If you show weakness, Ketta will break it. If you lie, Bran will know. If you hesitate—” Her eyes rested on Sophie. “You’ll end up like her. If you’re lucky.”

  Sophie gave a cold smile.

  “Welcome to Bluehawk,” Alyssa said.

  Bran dragged forward a crate and pulled out dark armbands stiff with old sweat and blood. One by one, Alyssa handed them out.

  “You’re not Bluehawk yet. You wear these so we know who to bury.”

  When they tied them tight, Alyssa turned to the obstacle course.

  “Double-weight gear. Combat blades. You have ten minutes. The sun’s not down yet, and we don’t sleep until I see someone break.”

  The veterans followed her without a word. The recruits, too proud to admit fear, ran after them, their hearts beating like war drums.

  The sun was sinking when the first trial began. The obstacle course was harsh and unforgiving: jagged walls, hanging ropes, angled spikes, rusted barricades, all built to break bodies. Weighted gear dragged at the recruits’ limbs like iron chains. Every movement cost them pain.

  Daelen stumbled almost immediately, smashing his shoulder against a crawl pipe but forcing himself forward. Kara vaulted the wall, slipped, fell, spat dirt, and climbed again. Calen tore through the barricades with brute strength, only to wind himself when his sword rebounded into his gut. Ethan moved carefully, cautious but steady. Nira slipped on her gear, caught in a net, thrashing furiously until she freed herself. Tane sprinted too confidently, nearly crushed by a swinging log.

  Alyssa stalked the sidelines in silence, her eyes cold. Sophie stood back with a faint grimace, her hand against her ribs, watching closely.

  The veterans barked at them without mercy. Bran ordered Calen up again, Ketta kicked Daelen forward, Harlen called out corrections. Alyssa punished hesitation with repetition. By the end, the recruits were shaking, bruised, bleeding.

  “This wasn’t your trial,” Alyssa said when they staggered to the line.

  Confused silence answered her.

  “This was your warm-up.”

  Groans rose from the recruits, curses muttered under ragged breath. But no one quit.

  “Second round begins at moonrise,” Alyssa said. “Hydrate. Tape your joints. No sleep.”

  She paused, her eyes hard. “For the record, I’m proud you didn’t quit. But don’t make me regret saying that.”

  She left them standing in silence, the night pressing down, the call of a distant hawk echoing faint across the cliffs.