Mud.
That was Aris's entire world.
The sticky, freezing, gray sludge of the Silver Bastion's training grounds sucked at his boots, turning every single step into a unique form of torture.
Just one step. Just one more.
His lungs were burning. The wheezing sound dragging out of his throat didn't even sound like him anymore; it sounded like a dying bellows.
The burden on his back was unbearable. Double the rations a standard soldier was required to carry, spare armor plates, and the polished weapons the noble members of the unit didn't want to "soil"... All of it was piled onto Aris, a boy who looked like little more than skin and bones.
He wasn't a Knight-Apprentice. He was the pack mule of the Silver Talons.
"Hey, Runt! Pick up the pace!"
The voice from behind cracked like a whip. Aris tried to lift his head, but the mountain of gear on his neck forced him down. All he could see was the mud swallowing his boots.
Ahead of him, he could see the others—the "real" apprentices—in their gleaming armor. Their steps were light, their posture upright. For them, this march was just a warm-up. For Aris, it was a fight for survival.
Don't fall. Whatever you do, don't fall. If you go down, you won't get back up.
Aris gritted his teeth. The old scar on his right shoulder throbbed as the leather strap dug into it. It was a lesson he'd learned on the streets as a child: Pain is just proof that you're still alive.
But willpower couldn't beat physics. Not yet.
His left foot caught on a hidden root.
The world tipped over in slow motion.
Aris scrambled for balance, but the massive weight on his back dragged him down without mercy. He slammed face-first into the sludge. The helmets and swords he was carrying scattered with a chaotic, metallic clatter.
The cold, metallic taste of mud filled his mouth.
"Ah, damn it. Again?"
The footsteps stopped. The column halted. Aris gasped, trying to push himself up on his elbows, fighting to fill his lungs with air. His vision was blurred.
A pair of polished, pristine steel boots stepped into his line of sight. It was impossible to understand how they remained so clean in the middle of this filth.
Aris strained to look up.
Kaelen Valerius.
The Golden Child of the Silver Talons. Tall, broad-shouldered, looking down like a statue of a god disgusted by a mortal. The sun practically danced on his armor.
"I told you," Kaelen said, his voice ice-cold. He turned to the other noble apprentices flanking him. "This is what happens when you let sewer rats into the Bastion. No nobility in the blood. Only weakness."
Aris wanted to say something. He wanted to scream, I'm trying. I'm working just as hard as you. But all that came out of his throat was a choked gurgle.
Kaelen glanced at one of the expensive swords Aris had dropped. A smear of mud marred the hilt. Kaelen's face twisted in revulsion, as if Aris had just spat on a holy altar.
"Get up," Kaelen said. It wasn't an order; it was the way one scolds a dog.
Aris tried to push himself up, his arms shaking violently. His legs screamed in protest.
Kaelen sighed impatiently.
"We are heading to the Silent Root forest, Aris," Kaelen said, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft tone. "The creatures there... they love slow things like you. They can smell the weak."
Kaelen leaned down, his face inches from Aris's mud-caked cheek. There was no commander's concern in his eyes—only the cruel glint of a hunter.
"I hope you move a little faster in those woods, Runt. Because when you fall there, we won't wait for you to get up. On the contrary..."
Kaelen straightened up and drove the toe of his steel boot into Aris's ribs. It wasn't a killing blow, but it was humiliating. Gentle, yet firm.
"...we'll be glad you lightened our load."
Kaelen turned his back and started walking.
"Gather that trash! We move in five minutes!"
The other apprentices laughed, following Kaelen like loyal hounds. Not a single one offered a hand.
Aris was left alone in the mud.
With trembling hands, he began to gather the scattered swords. Every piece of cold metal added weight to the dark, freezing rage settling in his heart.
Weakness... Aris thought, spitting out a mouthful of grit.
The only sin in this world.
He forced himself to stand. His legs were shaking, but he straightened his spine. He stared at Kaelen's shining back.
One day...
Aris shouldered the burden again. The weight crushed his bones, but it couldn't snuff out the strange, deep light flickering in his eyes.
One day, you will be the one crushed under the weight, Kaelen Valerius. And I will be the one looking down.
But today was not that day.
Today was just about surviving.
Aris took a deep breath and began to limp after the Silver Talons, towards the dark, ominous treeline on the horizon.
Towards the Silent Root.