The Light Beneath the Archives

Under Watchful Eyes

The training grounds stretched wide under the pale morning light, the sun barely peeking over the capital’s towering spires. The crisp air carried the earthy scent of dew-dampened grass and the faint metallic tang of the obstacles that loomed ahead. Serenya stood at the edge of the field, her heart hammering in her chest as her eyes swept over the course.

It was daunting. The first obstacle was a towering wooden wall, its smooth surface punctuated with shallow notches for footholds that looked more decorative than functional. Beyond that lay a tangled web of ropes stretched taut over a bed of jagged rocks, followed by a steep incline covered in loose gravel. The centerpiece of the course was a deep trench filled with foul, stagnant water.

The final challenge loomed ominously: a series of narrow logs suspended precariously over a pit so dark she couldn’t see the bottom.

Serenya tightened her fists at her sides, her fingers tingling with a mix of nerves and determination. Around her, the other trainees stretched and flexed, their confidence palpable. They were larger, stronger, and more experienced—every one of them seemed like they belonged here. Serenya, by comparison, felt like a shadow clinging to the edges of the light.

Commander Lysara paced before them, her sharp gaze slicing through the trainees. Her voice, firm and unyielding, echoed across the field. “Today’s exercise is simple. You will complete this course, no matter how long it takes. Quit, and you’re out. Show weakness, and I’ll make sure the council hears of it.”

The warning hung in the air like a blade. Serenya swallowed hard, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the murmurs of the other trainees. Her legs already ached from the previous day’s trials, but she refused to give in to the doubt creeping into her mind.

“Go!” Lysara barked, and the line of trainees surged forward like a wave.

Serenya sprinted toward the wall, her boots thudding against the ground. Up close, the obstacle loomed even larger. The first trainees reached it with practiced ease, leaping up and scaling it in seconds. Serenya hesitated for only a heartbeat before jumping, her fingers grasping for the rough wooden edge.

Her hands slipped on the dew-slick surface, her arms trembling as she tried to haul herself up. The notches, too shallow to grip properly, mocked her efforts. Gritting her teeth, she repositioned her foot and pushed with all her strength. This time, her hand found a hold, and with a guttural effort, she swung her leg over the top. The rough wood scraped against her skin as she tumbled down the other side, landing awkwardly but upright.

There was no time to pause. The rope crawl stretched out before her like a spider’s web, glinting in the sunlight. She dropped to her knees and began inching forward, the jagged rocks below threatening to shred her if she slipped. Her elbows and knees throbbed as they dug into the unyielding ground, but she pushed on.

“Move it, lowborn!” a voice jeered from behind. Rolvar. His laugh was as cutting as the rocks beneath her. “The dirt suits you.”

Serenya clenched her jaw, refusing to look back. Instead, she pressed forward, ignoring the sting of her skin and the burn in her arms. The ropes swayed slightly with every movement, adding to the challenge. By the time she reached the end, her breathing was ragged, but she hadn’t stopped.

The incline was next. The loose gravel shifted treacherously underfoot, sending small cascades tumbling downward with every step. The other trainees attacked it with brute force, their powerful strides carrying them up swiftly. Serenya, smaller and lighter, found herself slipping constantly, her boots struggling to find purchase.

“Lean forward!” someone called. The voice was low and gruff—Arden. She glanced up briefly and saw him near the top, his movements steady and deliberate. “Use your hands if you have to.”

Taking his advice, Serenya dropped her hands to the ground, clawing at the gravel as she climbed. It was humiliating but effective. By the time she reached the crest, her palms were scraped raw, and her knees ached, but she hadn’t fallen. She caught Arden’s brief nod before he turned and continued on.

The trench was worse than she’d imagined. Up close, the water stank of decay, its surface slick with an oily film that shimmered under the sun. A few trainees plunged in ahead of her, their groans of disgust loud enough to make her stomach churn.

Serenya hesitated, her toes curling inside her boots. The stench clawed at her throat, and the thought of what might be lurking below made her skin crawl. But there was no way around it.

“Move, or I’ll push you in!” Kylith’s sharp voice cut through her hesitation. The taller woman stood behind her, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

With a deep breath, Serenya jumped. The cold water slapped against her legs, soaking her to the bone. Mud sucked at her boots with every step, and she had to fight to keep her footing. The chill seeped into her muscles, making her limbs feel like lead, but she pushed forward, each step a battle against the muck.

When she finally emerged from the trench, dripping and shivering, her eyes caught movement at the edge of the training grounds. Two figures stood in the shadows, their elegant robes contrasting starkly with the chaos of the obstacle course. Serenya’s stomach tightened.

The names of the council members had been whispered in the barracks with equal parts awe and fear: Malrik and Kaelor.

Malrik, the council’s quiet leader, was known for his calm demeanor and strategic mind. His piercing eyes tracked the trainees’ progress, lingering briefly on Serenya before moving on. Beside him stood Kaelor, the enigmatic spymaster. His lean figure exuded an air of mystery, and his gaze was sharp, as though he could see through to the heart of a person with a single glance.

Commander Lysara approached the pair, her posture respectful but confident. The three engaged in low conversation, their words lost to the wind. Serenya forced herself to focus on the final challenge—the suspended logs.

The logs swayed precariously as Serenya stepped onto the first one, her arms outstretched for balance. The pit below yawned dark and deep, a reminder of how unforgiving this course could be. Each step sent the logs wobbling under her weight, her heart lurching with every shift.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rolvar crossing easily, his sneer apparent even at a distance. “Don’t fall, lowborn,” he called out, his voice dripping with derision.

Serenya inhaled sharply, forcing his words out of her mind. One step at a time. The end was in sight. With a final, desperate leap, she landed on solid ground, her knees buckling beneath her.

The course finished, she collapsed onto the grass, her chest heaving. Around her, the other trainees gathered in groups, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to her exhaustion. Jore dropped down beside her, his face streaked with mud but grinning nonetheless.

“Still alive, eh?” he teased, nudging her shoulder.

“Barely,” Serenya muttered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Before she could catch her breath, Lysara’s voice rang out. “Form up!”

Serenya forced herself to her feet, falling into line with the others. Her eyes darted back to the edge of the field. Malrik and Kaelor were still there, their presence a silent reminder of how closely she was being watched.

Whatever they saw in her today, Serenya knew one thing:

she couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not ever.