The morning drumbeat came before dawn, low and steady like a heart waking the camp. A cold mist still clung to the earth, wrapping the barracks in damp silver. Recruits spilled out into the open field, rubbing sleep from their eyes, tugging on boots and tunics. The ground, wet with dew, stuck to ankles with every step.
"On your feet, dogs!" Hamza barked, her voice slicing through the fog. "A warrior's lungs are forged in the morning. Run!"
The line broke into motion. Feet pounded against the dirt, a chorus of ragged breaths filling the silence of dawn. I ran with the group, my sides still aching from the soreness of yesterday's training. Yet I forced myself forward, refusing to falter. I matched Nala's stride, our shoulders brushing
every so often as the group pushed toward the ridge that marked the turn.
Hamza's whip cracked the air. "Faster! A slow body dies first!"
By the time we returned to camp, sweat soaked through tunics, and legs trembled from the stretch of miles. Recruits collapsed onto the grass, gasping. I bent over, hands on my knees, chest heaving, but my mind
was still restless. I had survived another run, yes, but my body screamed for more. Rest meant weakness. Weakness meant failure
When the others trudged back toward the food line, I slipped away. The area near the pit. The place was half-forgotten, shadowed by tall stones and thick weeds. Few bothered with it; it reeked of old wood and damp soil. But to me, it was a corner of freedom—where my body could move without the eyes of the camp pressing down.
Except today, I wasn't alone.
voices reached me first.
Musa—the wiry boy from the night before, the one who had spun gossip about the Madawaki—was already there. He carried a long branch, slashing it through the air with sharp, practiced arcs. His shirt clung to his
thin chest, muscles straining as though he was cutting invisible enemies.
Nala circled Danladi, their wooden practice swords clacking sharply, laughter and curses breaking the rhythm.
I froze. For a breath I considered leaving. But Danladi spotted me and grinned wide, raising his stick in salute.
"You thought you were the only hungry wolf in this camp?" he said. "Even in the pit, we are never alone."
Nala straightened, panting, her braids stuck to her face. "Come join. Unless you're still nursing yesterday's bruises."
I stepped forward, fire kindling in my veins. "My bruises teach me. They do not chain me."
So it began—sparring rounds, harsh and messy, bodies slamming into the dirt, laughter rising despite the sweat.
First Nala against Danladi—her strikes neat and efficient, his wide and flashy. Dust rose as they clashed, their laughter breaking the
harshness of each blow. Musa stepped in next, his movements quiet, deliberate,
his strikes angled like someone who had practiced when no one was looking. I studied him—this wiry boy had seemed like nothing more than a gossip-monger by the
fire. Yet here, he carried a weight in his motions.
When it came to my turn, I pushed myself harder than I should have. Sweat streaked my face, my arms ached, but I kept moving, dodging,striking, learning.
We corrected one another with barked advice—"Raise your elbow!"—"Don't plant your foot there!"—until our bodies felt less like strangers and more like comrades forged by shared strain.
Hours passed. The morning sun had climbed higher and its heat bore down on our skins. At last, we collapsed into a rough circle, backs against stone, passing around a dented jar of water. Silence lingered, filled with only the sound of our breaths and the
faint murmur of the camp beyond.
Then Danladi spoke, his usual grin gone. "Why are we here?" he asked, staring at the dirt between his feet. "What is it we hope to gain?"
The question sank into the pit like a stone thrown into water.
No one answered at first. Then Musa set the branch aside and lowered his head. His voice was quiet, but steady.
"I was meant to fight in the last war. My age was enough. The call came. But I…" He swallowed hard, fists clenched on his knees. "I was afraid. I stayed behind. My father took my place. He said he would shield me." His jaw trembled, but his eyes were hard. "He never returned. And every night since, I think: it should have been me."
The air tightened. I felt my chest ache, he also lost his father, just like me.
Musa's eyes glimmered with something raw, but he didn't look at us.
Danladi, for once, dropped his grin, staring at the jar in his hands. His voice, for once, lacked its usual boast.
"You call yourself a coward, Musa. But I was worse. I was in that battle. I ran. I thought I was ready to kill, but when blood spilled, my legs betrayed me. I would have died
if the Madawaki had not cut down the man who cornered me. Since that day, my
mouth has been loud, but my heart… it has hidden behind noise. I came here to prove I can face death without running like a dog. I came here to kill the coward in me before it kills me."
He laughed then, but it was hollow. "Maybe this camp will break me. Or maybe it will forge me."
Our breaths mingled with the rustle of grass.
Nala shifted closer, her gaze fixed on the sky, when she spoke, her voice was soft. "I came here for My friend. She needed a place to
heal, a way to rise from the ashes of what was done to her. I swore to protect her, even if it meant walking into fire. And maybe… maybe I needed the fire too."
My heart tightened, a strange warmth crawled through my chest. Nala's loyalty felt like a shield I had not earned but one I was deeply grateful for.
Then. They turned to me at last. Waiting.
I lowered my gaze to the earth. "I, too, carry guilt. My naivety… my weakness… it caused the death of someone I loved. A scar I will
never heal from." I lifted my head, my
voice wrapped in sorrow. " I lost everything. So I train. Not because I crave war, but because I cannot allow weakness to claim what is mine, to claim another life through me."
Silence stretched. Musa's eyes softened. Danladi let out a long sigh. Nala's hand brushed mine, a quiet tether in the shadows.
For a while, we sat together, bound by shared pain. In that circle, we were not just recruits but souls stripped raw, our chains of guilt linking us like unseen iron.
The camp's horn broke the stillness. We dragged ourselves up, the moment carried in our bones.
By the time we joined the rest of the recruits in the yard, the sun had begun to dip. Fires were lit, and Hamza stood on a raised platform, whip curled at her side. The Madawaki himself was absent, but his shadow felt near.
"As you all know. Your days of rest have come to and end and your test will begin tomorrow"
Murmurs swept through the recruits.
"Is it possible for us to know what test we would be facing tomorrow?" A tall boy asked
"It's obvious we will be sparring" Zainabu hissed as she scanned the gathering. She was looking for me.
Hamza's smile was sharp. "Whether it be a test of strength, knowledge or skill. As a warrior, you should always be prepared for war"
"Rest well tonight, tomorrow will be a long day. Dismissed."
As the recruits dispersed, shadows stretched long across the yard. The fear of what kind of test awaited us—it spread like fire through the recruits.
I lingered at the edge, my fists clenched.
Whatever it was, I know it would be no simple test—it was our first test of Iron. But I will not let it break my spirit.
That night, I lay on my cot, staring at the roof of the barracks. My muscles ached, but it was not the pain that kept me awake nor the
thought of the test.
It was Musa's voice. Danladi's hollow laughter. Nala's loyalty. My own confession, raw and selfless.
Chains of guilt, we are all bound by them. But only some of us can ever break free.