**Lira Longears's Log, Supplemental**
**Republic Guardian Force Cadet – Class 1**
**Shire Valley Training Grounds recording**
**33 days after Rothgard's Fall**
Lights blaze. Water bites. The forge never sleeps.
The far bank offered exactly one ragged breath of relief. One hundred twenty recruits staggered out of the shallows, uniforms heavy with mud and river silt, chests heaving. Lira Longears dropped to her knees in the wet grass, mud-caked paws braced against the earth while her long rabbit ears twitched at the sudden, unnatural silence. The tracers had stopped. The explosions had stopped. For one disoriented heartbeat the night simply waited.
Kira crouched beside her, twin tails limp and plastered with filth. "What… just happened?" the foxkin whispered, voice raw. "One moment we're crawling through hell, the next… nothing."
Torin knelt on Lira's other side, single tail flicking uncertainly. "They herded us like blind cattle. I still don't know which way we came."
Borin Ironvein stood a little straighter, dwarf shoulders rolling as he tried to shake off the weight of the wire and the water. "Feels wrong," he rumbled. "Too quiet. Like the mountain's holding its breath."
Sylvana Starveil wiped mud from her eyes, elven features drawn tight. "The river remembers," she murmured, "but I no longer know where it led us."
Garrick Langford pushed wet hair from his face, hazel eyes scanning the tree line. "I thought we were being attacked for real. Now… nothing." Before anyone could answer, the night exploded into blinding white.
Floodlights mounted high in the trees snapped on all at once, turning the riverbank into midday. The sudden glare stabbed straight through still-recovering eyes. Lira hissed, ears flattening as the light burned. From the darkness behind them came the low, heavy tread of boots—measured, deliberate, and far too calm.
Delta Force soldiers emerged from the tree line in full matte-black armor, rifles held at low ready, visors raised to reveal grinning faces that looked far too pleased for the hour. Their expressions were those of schoolchildren who had just pulled off the perfect prank.
The Marine commander stepped forward, hands on hips, voice booming across the floodlit clearing. "Good morning, recruits! I must say I'm surprised to find you all up and eager so early. Most classes wait until dawn to start screaming." She paused, letting her gaze rake over the mud-drenched, shivering line of bodies. "But look at you—filthy as fresh graves and twice as pathetic. Did you think crawling through a little wire was training? That was just the wake-up call."
Kira's twin tails bristled. "Vixshred," she muttered under her breath, the foxkin curse sharp with embarrassment. Lira's own ears burned as she glanced at Torin; his single tail flicked once in silent agreement.
The commander snapped her fingers.
From behind the Delta operators, a squad of Marines appeared pushing heavy pump carts mounted with fire hoses. The nozzles gleamed coldly in the floodlights. Without warning the hoses opened, thick jets of ice-cold river water slamming into the recruits like physical blows. Lira gasped as the freezing spray hit her full in the chest, driving her back a step. The water pounded mud from her uniform, stung every barb cut and bruise, and left her teeth chattering in seconds.
"Scrub it off!" the commander bellowed over the roar of the hoses. "You will not stand in my formation looking like something the river coughed up!"
Borin took the blast square in the face and roared a deep dwarven curse that sounded like grinding stone. Sylvana turned her head aside, elven dignity cracking as the cold water drove her to her knees. Garrick shielded his eyes with one arm, muttering his own quiet oath. Kira spun, trying to protect her face, only to catch another jet across her back. "Taylzfyr!" she yelped.
Lira clamped her long ears flat against her skull and hunched forward, letting the water hammer the worst of the mud from her fur and uniform. The cold bit deep, stealing what little warmth the night had left in her bones. When the hoses finally cut off, the entire company stood dripping, shivering, and cleaner—yet somehow more miserable than before.
The commander surveyed them with a satisfied nod. "Since you're all up and eager, we might as well get some night-fire exercises in. Instructors—move them out!"
The drill instructors descended like wolves on fresh prey, voices rising again in a storm of commands and shoves. The recruits were herded violently away from the riverbank and deeper into the training grounds. Lira stumbled forward, legs numb from the cold, ears ringing with shouted orders. The obstacle course rose out of the darkness like a gauntlet of nightmares—ropes, walls, mud pits, cargo nets, and low crawls already slick with dew and residual river water.
"Over the wall! Under the wire! Move, move, move!" an instructor screamed, shoving Lira toward a towering wooden barrier. She leaped, claws scrabbling for purchase, muscles screaming from the earlier wire crawl. Behind her she heard Kira's sharp "Vixshred!" as the foxkin cleared the top and dropped. Torin vaulted up with cat-kin grace, only to be met with another barked command the moment his boots hit the ground. Borin powered over the obstacle like a battering ram. Sylvana flowed across it with exhausted elegance. Garrick hauled himself up beside Lira, offering a quick, mud-streaked grin that did little to hide the exhaustion in his eyes.
The course seemed endless. They low-crawled through fresh mud pits, scaled cargo nets until their arms shook, and sprinted between barriers while instructors ran alongside, shouting corrections and insults in equal measure. Every muscle burned. Every breath tasted of cold river water and pine. Yet the company kept moving—driven forward by the unrelenting pressure of voices and the knowledge that stopping was not an option.
When the last obstacle finally fell behind them, the instructors turned the gasping, dripping line toward the firing range. Floodlights still blazed overhead, turning the long concrete lanes into a sterile white corridor. Rifles waited in neat racks, magazines already loaded. The Marine commander stood at the head of the range, arms crossed, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"Night-fire exercises, recruits," she called, voice carrying easily across the open ground. "Let's see if you can hit anything when you're half-frozen and half-blind. Weapons up. Ear pro on. And remember—every round you waste is another round the Imperials won't have to fire at you later."
Lira gripped her Mk1 carbine with numb paws, the metal cold against her skin. She glanced sideways at Kira, whose twin tails still dripped river water, then at Torin, whose ears remained pinned flat with lingering disorientation. The rest of the company formed up beside them—Borin steady as stone, Sylvana quiet and focused, Garrick breathing hard but determined.
The night had only just begun.