Once the caravan had passed through the gates, the divide became impossible to ignore. By midday, when they stopped to rest, the forward wagons were already laden with white bread as soft as clouds, steaming roast fowl, and bottles of spiced wine. The mingled scents of meat and herbs drifted on the air, rich and warm.
In the last wagon, Eleres was given nothing more than a hunk of black garlic bread—dense, unyielding, its bite sharp and acrid on the tongue. The farm boy beside him had the same, breaking his loaf in half and chewing in silence. From up ahead came bursts of laughter and the delicate chime of glasses striking together, sounds that carried back through the wagons and rang all the harsher in the stillness of the cargo cart. The rich scent of meat and herbs seemed to ride every stray breeze, clinging to the air like a taunt, mocking the bitter, unyielding chew in Eleres's mouth.
Eleres ate without hurry, his gaze steady on the road stretching far into the horizon. The gates had closed behind them. The road to the Academy had only just begun.
Night had fully settled by the time the caravan made camp along the roadside. The air was cool, and above stretched a sky stitched with countless stars. At the front, the wagons had already been made ready—clean groundcloths spread over the earth, blankets folded in neat stacks, and small campfires casting a warm glow against the night.
From that direction came the laughter of the well-born, mingled with the rich scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. They sat around the fire with plates of buttered fowl, fresh fruit, and thick slices of soft white bread. Goblets clinked lightly together, the firelight dancing over faces full of ease and indulgence.
At the very end of the line, beside the cargo wagon, there was none of that comfort. Eleres lay on the bare ground, drawing his coat tighter against the chill. His supper was the same as it had been at noon—a hunk of black garlic bread, dense and unyielding, its sharp bite stinging the tongue. A short distance away, Taron Hale chewed the same fare in silence, his broad frame hunched against the wind. Every so often, his eyes strayed toward the fires ahead, the flicker of longing quickly hidden as he tore off another piece of bread. In that brief flicker was more than hunger—it was the quiet ache of someone who had lived his whole life on the edges of such warmth, close enough to see it, never close enough to touch.
For a while, neither spoke. Then Taron let out a long breath, a sound between a sigh and a wry laugh. "My family saved for this day all their lives," he said softly, gazing up at the stars. "Every coin we could spare went into this. I don't even know if I'll pass the tests… and if I don't…" His voice faltered, weighted with worry. "But if I do—maybe I'll be sent somewhere better. Maybe they'll have a chance to be proud of me before they're too old to see it."
He rolled onto his side, his gaze drawn to the glow of the campfires ahead. "What about you? Why are you here?"
Eleres's eyes stayed on the darkness beyond the camp. His voice was calm, steady. "I survived the frontier," he said. "Now there's only me left. Nowhere to go. No one waiting. The Academy… seemed as good a direction as any."
A faint rustle came from the dry grass. Both men turned to see a young man approaching from the direction of the forward wagons. He was tall and well-built, his hair combed immaculately, his steps steady yet unhurried. Every movement carried the natural poise of someone accustomed to command. In one hand he held a loaf of bread; in the other, a cloth-wrapped food box.
"Good evening." His voice was clear, measured with just the right touch of courtesy. Stopping before them, he lowered himself into a slight crouch, unwrapping the bundle to reveal neatly sliced roast meat, the aroma rich in the cool night air. He offered a portion to Taron first, his gaze appraising but not overbearing, more as if confirming what he already believed. "You've got the build for it. I'm certain you'll pass the tests—especially this year."
Then his eyes shifted to Eleres, lingering for a heartbeat, an unreadable note in his expression. "You as well. We've only just met, but I can tell—you're not someone who will be turned away."
Taron murmured his thanks as he accepted the food, though a frown lingered. "Especially this year? Why?"
Cedric braced one hand against the ground and turned slightly, his gaze flicking—seemingly by chance—toward the well-dressed youths gathered around the campfire. They were watching, their laughter subdued, something more complicated in their eyes. Cedric's tone remained even. "The front is strained. Too many casualties. They need replacements. In the past, the standards were far stricter. Now… if you have the strength and the will, your chances are far better than before."
There was no boast in his voice, yet the way the other young men looked at him told its own story—respect, deference, even a subtle reliance. It was the kind of weight that needed no introduction.
Eleres lifted his gaze toward the campfire. The same group that had worn mocking smiles earlier in the day now cast glances toward them, again and again.
The arrogance and disdain from before were gone, replaced by something quieter—faint respect, perhaps even concern. Their laughter faltered whenever their eyes met his, smiles dimming into something more cautious, as if unsure whether to speak or simply wait. It was as if they were checking to be sure Cedric was well, waiting for the smallest sign from him. A few whispered among themselves, but their eyes inevitably returned to this spot, as though his presence alone anchored them.
A faint thought stirred in Eleres's mind. From these small details alone, he no longer needed anyone to explain Cedric's place among them.