The first thing you learn in war isn't how to kill.
It's how to march.
Foot after foot through unfamiliar dirt. Breath drawn slow so it doesn't cloud your helm. Eyes wide enough to see everything, but never wide enough to stop it. The rhythm of movement becomes your heartbeat—and silence, your companion.
That's what I remember most about entering Esmire.
Not blood.
Not the clash of steel.
Silence.
It crawled along the edges of the forest as we crossed the border—watchful and waiting.
⸻
The land was foreign. Not just in shape, but in feel. Mana was everywhere, humming in the roots beneath our boots. The trees leaned unnaturally straight, their branches veined with strands of soft light—some sort of earth-mage modification. Runes shimmered faintly on boundary stones, flickering with old defensive enchantments.
Even the ruins had elegance.
Blóðfjöll was raw. Jagged. Built by blood and fire.
Esmire was designed.
And that made it dangerous.
⸻
My squad was called Vardengrip. Forward scouts. Skirmishers. Six warriors trained to go in first and make it out last. I was the youngest—thirteen, just barely third realm. Still unscarred. Still soft around the edges.
The others weren't.
Brynn was our leader. Sixth realm. Wore his Æther like armor, and his voice like a warhorn. He had the kind of presence that made lesser men flinch just by walking past.
Elka was the scout. She never spoke unless it was vital. Her hands were always near her knives, and her eyes had a stillness I didn't trust.
Tor and Jorgen, the twins, were loud, crude, and devastating in a fight. They hit hard and laughed harder. Neither of them liked me.
Einar was the closest to my age—fifteen, maybe—but already fourth realm and a killer by necessity. He didn't speak often, but he watched everything. I caught him glancing my way more than once—not with contempt, but caution.
⸻
Our first days were uneventful. Recon. Ruins. Shadows. No contact.
It was enough to set me on edge.
Every night we camped in burned-out homes, half-collapsed barns, or under mana-dead trees that still whispered with old power.
I could barely sleep.
The others did. They'd done this before.
⸻
"You smell too clean," Jorgen said as we sharpened weapons near the remains of a collapsed mill.
Tor snorted. "He's got that royal shine still on him."
"I'm not a prince," I muttered, testing the balance on my throwing knives.
"Right," Jorgen grinned. "You just train with the best, eat with the best, and get to kill your first man next to us mutts."
Elka didn't look up from her whetstone. "You're both louder than the mages we burned in Vala's Hollow."
That shut them up.
⸻
That night, as frost crept up the edge of our firelight, Brynn pulled out a crumpled scouting map marked in deep red ink.
"There's a holdout post two miles ahead. Small village. We'll sweep it. Light resistance. If we're lucky, we find a supply cache."
"If we're not lucky?" Elka asked.
He glanced at me.
"We find a knight."
My stomach twisted.
⸻
We arrived at dawn.
The village was too quiet.
No smoke. No livestock. No sound.
Except for the runes.
They were still glowing—softly lit along the doorframes and chimneys. Wind and fire enchantments, mostly. Defensive, but subtle. Designed to push back—not kill.
"Elka," Brynn said.
She vanished into the snow.
We waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then—
Three quick whistles.
Two on the left. One up high.
Targets spotted.
Brynn gestured. "Tor. Jorgen. Take the right. Einar, with me. Kid—stay behind cover and be ready. We're sweeping fast. Don't hesitate."
⸻
I moved through the alley between two homes. My daggers were drawn—held reverse grip, low and tight, just like the trainers taught me. One blade angled for deflection, the other for kill strikes.
My heart was thundering. My vision sharp. Every window felt like a trap.
Then I saw him.
A man—no older than twenty—half-armored, crouched behind a broken cart. Sword at the ready. Light flickering around his fingers.
A Knight.
Earth-based, by the way the stones around his boots trembled.
He hadn't seen me yet.
I dropped low, crawling into a collapsed root cellar beneath one of the houses. From there, I could see everything—his breath steaming, his posture shifting, the way he whispered something under his breath, reinforcing his blade with mana.
Tor barreled around the corner. Jorgen behind him.
The Knight moved fast.
His blade carved a ripple through the ground—earth-burst technique. A wave of stone exploded forward. Jorgen took it full in the chest, thrown backward into the snow.
Tor dodged left, swinging wide with his axe.
Too slow.
The Knight pivoted, parried, and sent him sprawling.
Brynn roared from behind and charged.
I froze.
Three grown warriors. All better than me. All stronger. And they were losing.
This wasn't a duel.
This was slaughter.
Brynn's hammer came down, and the Knight caught it—partially—with both arms glowing.
They locked.
Then Elka came in from behind, leaping from a rooftop, knives aimed for the neck.
The Knight turned at the last second.
Caught her in the ribs with an elbow reinforced by stone.
She fell hard.
⸻
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
Until Einar's voice hissed through the dark beside me.
"Now."
I blinked.
He was beside me in the cellar—when had he—
"We flank him. You go left. Low. Aim for the inside thigh. Fast. Cut tendon. Don't think—just move."
I moved.
Up through the broken floorboards. Across the frozen porch. My body was light, silent, precise.
He was distracted by Brynn again.
I slid in low, dagger-first.
He turned.
Too late.
I stabbed.
The blade struck between armor plates—right behind the knee. Not fatal, but it staggered him.
Einar was already in motion.
He swept low, slashing the back of the knight's calf with surgical precision.
The Knight roared in pain, tried to turn—
But Brynn's hammer crashed down.
Once.
Twice.
Steel cracked. Bone broke.
The Knight fell.
⸻
And I just stood there.
Heart racing.
Face numb from cold and adrenaline.
The fight wasn't mine—but I'd made it count.
I'd drawn blood.
Real blood.
And in that moment, I didn't feel stronger.
I felt… quieter.
Like a door had opened, and something inside me had stepped through.