The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and dew. Warrior Osiston, ever the silent taskmaster, led me through the training grounds with his long strides. I hurried to keep up, my thoughts swirling with a mix of nervous anticipation and frustration at his cryptic remarks.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me with a deadpan expression.

“In two weeks, Queen Luna Anne has requested your presence at the castle,” he said, his voice flat, like he was discussing the weather.

“Wait, what?” I stumbled, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Requested? You mean, I don’t get a choice?”

He almost smirked—almost. “You will spend the day and evening with her. I suggest you prepare accordingly. A wardrobe will be provided.”

“Wardrobe?” I echoed, incredulous. “What am I, her life-sized doll?”

Osiston raised a brow, unimpressed by my sass. “If you have questions, you can address them to Queen Luna Anne when you see her. Now, focus. This is our weight training center.”

He pointed to a massive expanse of open-air equipment and workout stations tucked behind a towering hedge. The space was a testament to precision and practicality.

“As I mentioned earlier, your training groups will rotate. This ensures adaptability and helps you work with various teams,” he explained as we passed rows of pristine weight racks. “Specializations—recon, extraction, tech, weaponry—come later. For now, your priority is becoming a well-rounded warrior.”

I nodded, absorbing every word like a sponge. The sheer scale of the training compound still boggled my mind. My wolf stirred in excitement, her energy buzzing at the thought of what lay ahead.

When we reached the edge of the weight center, my gaze locked onto the obstacle course stretching out before me. My jaw dropped.

“Oh hell yes!” The words escaped before I could stop them. I practically bounced on my toes, taking in the towering rope walls, suspended beams, and the thin, taunting line of the high rope bridge.

Osiston’s lip twitched, almost like he found my enthusiasm amusing. “You’ll have plenty of time to admire it later, Little One. For now, you run.”

My excitement wavered. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He motioned toward the course with a lazy flick of his hand. “This is your first test. Consider it a baseline assessment. Over there.” He pointed to a series of inclined logs near the start line.

I frowned. “Is there an objective? A time limit?”

“For now, just finish. We’ll discuss objectives later.”

I bit back a groan, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. With a resigned sigh, I made my way to the logs. I crouched into position, the dirt beneath my shoes firm but forgiving.

“You ready?” Osiston called.

I glanced over my shoulder and nodded.

“Go.”

The air was sharp and crisp as I sprinted toward the first obstacle, my legs pumping harder than they had in weeks. The log ramp loomed ahead, its incline daring me to falter. I pushed off the ground with everything I had, taking strides as long as my legs would allow. Each step propelled me closer to the top, my muscles burning in protest but refusing to give in.

At the peak, I didn’t hesitate. I launched myself forward, clearing the murky ditch below. The water was dark and menacing, a reminder of why failure wasn’t an option. My boots hit the dirt on the other side, sending a shock through my legs, but I kept moving. The rope climb was next, its frayed surface biting into my hands as I slid down toward solid ground.

No time to breathe, my wolf urged, her voice a sharp encouragement in the back of my mind. Keep going.

The cargo net loomed like a giant spider’s web, and I groaned inwardly at its loose, sagging lines. Every step and grip was a battle to stay balanced, the wide gaps between the knots making it easy to misstep. My legs slipped through the holes more than once, but I refused to look back. One misstep could cost me time, or worse—my pride.

By the time I hauled myself onto the platform, my arms were trembling. I paused for half a second, just long enough to take in the next challenge.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered, staring at the single rope bridge stretched out ahead.

It wasn’t just a balance test. Wooden poles hung vertically every five feet, creating obstacles that disrupted the parallel ropes’ symmetry. My wolf snorted with amusement.

This’ll be fun.

“Sure,” I whispered back. “For you.”

The bridge wobbled ominously as I grabbed hold of the bottom rope, shimmying under it like a sloth. The texture bit into my palms and the backs of my knees, but I didn’t let go. When I reached the first pole, I had to adjust my grip carefully, shifting my legs around the barrier without losing momentum. My rhythm broke each time, but I found a pattern and stuck to it.

The second pole was harder. My muscles screamed, and the strain of holding my weight made every move a calculated effort. The finish felt like it would never come, but when my boots finally hit the far platform, relief washed over me.

“Don’t stop now,” I muttered to myself, eyeing the next obstacle.

A massive ladder of logs waited, each rung more like a telephone pole than something meant to climb. The first few rungs were manageable, but as I ascended, the gaps between them widened. The platform I was aiming for was another eight to ten feet down from where I stood, with a cargo net stretched beneath it like a poorly made safety net.

Trust the net, my wolf said. You’ve got this.

“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled, wrapping my arms around the closest upright pillar. Slowly, carefully, I slid down, koala-style. Splinters scraped at my skin, but it was a small price to pay for avoiding a two-story drop.

When I finally reached the net, I leapt onto it, landing in a crouched ball. The ropes swayed beneath me, forcing me to crawl on my hands and knees to the next platform. The net swung dangerously with every move, but I refused to look down.

The platform ahead was narrow, barely wide enough to call stable, and it was ten feet below me. I took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my legs.

“Just jump,” I whispered, and launched myself.

I hit the platform in a tuck-and-roll, nearly toppling over the edge. One arm and leg dangled briefly before I scrambled back to the center. My heart thundered in my chest, but I didn’t stop. Another platform waited below, slightly larger this time. My confidence surged as I jumped again, landing more smoothly.

The ropes hanging below were familiar—just like the ones at Blue Crescent’s training course. I grabbed hold, sliding down with ease until my boots hit the ground.

The final stretch wasn’t forgiving. A gauntlet of horizontal logs, each at varying heights, stretched out before me. I alternated between climbing over, crawling under, and slipping through them. My movements were less precise now, exhaustion dulling my reflexes.

Then came the wall.

The ten-foot monstrosity stood between me and the finish line, its smooth surface mocking my fatigue. I took a running start, leaping high enough to grab the top edge. My arms screamed in protest as I pulled myself up, muscles trembling with the effort. When I swung a leg over and dropped to the other side, my legs nearly gave out.

The final set of logs was a blur. Over, under, through—I couldn’t even think anymore. My body moved on autopilot, driven by sheer determination and stubborn pride.

When I finally crossed the finish line, I collapsed onto my knees, gasping for air. My arms dangled uselessly at my sides, and my legs felt like they’d been replaced with lead. Sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes, but I didn’t care. I had finished.