My turn to patrol happened on the final night in the Forest of Mist.
I stood on top of the caravan, blade in hand, practicing the foundations Zenite drilled into me:
Stance.
Position.
Parry.
Strike.
Sense.
The mist felt thinner tonight.
Calmer.
Like the forest itself was exhaling, releasing us.
I cycled through the motions in steady rhythm.
The more I trained, the more I realized how much my body had changed.
I'd grown again—
almost 5'7 now, tall for a fourteen-year-old.
My frame was still lean, but muscle clung to my arms and back, hardened by constant drills and bodyweight exercises. I trained to make sure the sword never slipped from my hands again. That I never froze again. That I never failed again.
And somewhere along the way…
my breath stopped giving out.
My arms didn't shake as easily.
My muscles didn't scream as loudly.
Had I grown stronger?
Maybe a little.
But not enough to be a knight.
Not enough to be a squire.
Not even enough to be an apprentice.
I must never let progress blind me.
Keep training.
Keep going.
Before I knew it, the first rays of sunlight pierced the fog.
I blinked.
Had I really been training all night?
At least nothing attacked us.
A welcome change.
By morning, camp was already stirring. Everyone ate a quick breakfast, eager to leave the cursed forest behind.
We encountered a few wolves on the road, but normal ones—nothing like dire wolves or the horrors deeper within the mist.
Elise was surprisingly lively today.
The girl who once glared at me like I was filth now leaned out the caravan window, talking nonstop, asking about Ignis—not the slums, but the "nice part." I had no clue what that was like.
I wondered about Rua and Flin.
Wondered what they were doing back home.
Wondered if they were safe.
Thinking about them made me smile without meaning to.
Elise froze, cheeks tinting pink, before quickly looking away.
When our eyes met again, she tried to hide a flustered grin and kept talking as if nothing happened.
It felt… nice.
Talking to someone my age.
Someone who wasn't trying to kill me.
We walked until nightfall.
Mist crept in again, but thinner—less oppressive.
Everyone stayed alert, but nothing came.
And then—
Just as dawn rose…
We stepped out of the forest.
Silence fell.
The moment felt unreal.
Then, all at once—
"WE MADE IT!"
Cheers exploded from the group.
We had survived the Forest of Mist.
Not without loss—four guards gone—but we made it out alive.
We rested briefly, then continued down the road.
And ahead…
My breath caught.
Zenonva.
The kingdom rose in the distance—massive towers, marble walls glowing in morning light, banners flowing like waves. Larger than anything I'd ever seen. More magnificent than Ignis by far.
For a moment, I wondered if the nicer districts of Ignis looked anything like that.
Or if Lionhearth would be even grander.
We moved on, the gates growing larger with every step—
Until we came upon something unexpected.
Creatures.
At first I thought they were dire wolves.
Then I saw their warped forms:
Dire wolf bodies—
Goblin limbs—
Feathers—
And a hooked beak twisted into a grotesque snarl.
The Count's eyes widened.
"Wait… those are chimeras!"
Chimeras?
My stomach tightened.
Works of the cultists…
But which ones?
There were many factions—
and none were good.
I snapped back to reality just as the creatures noticed us.
Their eyes glowed with warped malice.
And then—
they charged.
They were too fast.
One lunged straight at me, claws tearing through the ground.
I barely had time to raise my sword.
CRASH—!
The impact sent me flying—
Fifteen feet.
Maybe more.
I slammed onto my back, the air punched out of my lungs, blood flooding my mouth.
I coughed violently, spitting crimson into the dirt.
The world spun.
The chimeras roared.
And everything paused—