The morning sun filtered through the wooden shutters of Jorrvaskr, the Companions' longhouse, spilling golden light across the training yard. The clang of steel against steel echoed in the distance. Kael rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stepped outside, the scent of pine and burning forge-coal mixing in the crisp Skyrim air.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he got enough rest. Today, he was among warriors—though whether he belonged was still uncertain.
He tugged at the leather tunic gifted to him the night before, the fit snug around his shoulders.
"Up and about already?" A voice called.
Kael turned to see Torvar, one of the Companions, standing with his sword slung over his shoulder. The man had a cocky grin plastered across his face, the kind only someone who thought they were already the best in the yard could wear.
"Figured I'd see what all the noise is about," Kael replied, his voice even.
Torvar chuckled. "Noise? This is the heartbeat of Jorrvaskr. Every Companion sharpens their edge here. You'll get used to it."
Before Aiden could answer, a heavy hand clapped his back. Vilkas loomed beside him, eyes sharp as ever.
"You'll do more than watch today," Vilkas said. "Skjor wants to see what you're made of."
Kael's stomach tightened. So soon? He'd barely even explored the system that had awoken within him last night. He only had one usable skill—Feral Sprint—and even that was majorly untested.
Still, he nodded, Skjor had hammered that weakness was frowned upon here. Either you were strong or you looked like it.
"Fine. Who am I up against?"
Vilkas's lips curled into something that was half smirk, half warning. "You'll see."
The training circle was drawn in the dirt, warriors ringed around its edge. Steel gleamed under the sun, and anticipation buzzed in the air. New recruits always drew eyes, especially one as strange as Kael—brought in under mysterious circumstances and vouched for by Skjor himself.
Skjor stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed, his scarred face unreadable. "Kael," he barked. "Step in. Let's see if you've got more than just a sharp tongue."
Kael strode into the circle, rolling his shoulders. His heart thudded, though outwardly he kept calm.
His first opponent was Torvar. Of course.
The cocky Companion twirled his practice sword with a flourish. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you."
Kael smirked faintly. "I'd prefer you didn't."
Torvar raised a brow. "Your funeral."
The bout began with no ceremony. Torvar lunged, blade whistling through the air. Kael sidestepped, feet quick, instincts sharper than they had any right to be. Torvar pressed forward with a flurry of strikes, testing, taunting.
Kael parried with the wooden training blade he'd been handed. The impact jolted his arms, but his footing held.
"Not bad," Torvar said, circling. "But not good enough."
Another rush—Torvar's blade came down in an overhead arc. Kael's eyes flashed.
[Skill Activated: Feral Sprint – Lv. 1]
The world blurred. In an instant, Aiden dashed sideways, faster than Torvar could track. The Companion's strike bit into empty air. Gasps rippled through the watching crowd as he reappeared at Torvar's flank, swinging his practice blade in a clean strike that smacked against Torvar's ribs. He has had some good experience from those VR games he decided to have fun with back then.
The other man staggered, eyes wide. "What in Oblivion—?"
Kael stepped back, trying to mask his haggard breathing. The skill had drained a noticeable chunk of his stamina, but it had worked—beautifully.
Torvar's face reddened. With a growl, he charged again, this time more reckless. Kael ducked under the swing, pivoted, and struck Torvar's leg. Another clean hit.
"Enough." Vilkas's voice cut through the air.
Torvar froze, breathing hard, frustration etched across his face. He glared at Kael, then spat to the side. "Beginner's luck."
The circle of Companions muttered, impressed despite themselves. Kael met their eyes briefly, reading skepticism, curiosity, even grudging respect.
"Next," Skjor called, voice flat.
Kael's second opponent stepped into the circle—Ria, one of the younger, newer members. Her eyes were sharp, her stance balanced. Unlike Torvar, she didn't underestimate him.
They circled each other, wooden blades at the ready.
Ria struck first—quick, precise jabs aimed at testing his defense. Kael blocked, countered, and immediately felt the difference. She was measured, calm, not easily baited.
He tried to press her with sheer force, but she absorbed each strike, her defense fluid. His skill wouldn't catch her off guard the way it had Torvar.
[Skill: Feral Sprint – Cooldown: 10 seconds]
Kael waited, counting his breaths, measuring her rhythm. She feinted left, then darted right, her blade nicking his arm.
The sting jolted him. He grinned despite himself. She was good.
Then the cooldown ended.
[Skill Activated: Feral Sprint – Lv. 1]
In a burst of speed, Kael dashed behind her. But Ria wasn't caught flat-footed—she twisted, blade snapping up in defense. Their weapons clashed, the shock reverberating through both.
Excited gasps rose from the crowd again.
Kael pressed the moment, swinging hard, but his stamina drained faster than hers. After several exchanges, Ria forced him back with a sharp strike to his shoulder.
"Enough." Skjor's voice rang again.
Both fighters stepped back, panting. Ria gave him a small nod of respect. "Not bad. For a newcomer."
Kael inclined his head. "Same to you."
The training continued, but Skjor soon called it off before fatigue dulled their blades.
"You've got speed," Skjor said, stepping into the circle. "Unnatural speed. But your stamina is weak. You burn too much, too fast." His eyes narrowed slightly, as if probing deeper or hinting at something. "That kind of power doesn't come without a price. Remember that."
Kael met his gaze evenly, but inside, his heart hammered. Had Skjor seen through him already? No… he couldn't have. At least, not yet.
The other Companions drifted back to their routines, though many cast lingering glances his way. Whispers followed—some impressed, some doubtful.
Later, as the sun dipped lower, Kael sat at the edge of the training yard, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles ached, his core and lower body especially, was still humming from the strain of abusing Feral Sprint.
He called the system to mind.
[System Status]
Name: Kael
Rank: The Turned
Level: 1
XP: 20/100
SP: 0
HP: 82/100
Energy: 2/50
STR: 31
DEF: 22
AGI: 27
Skills:
.....
A faint smile tugged at his lips. He was stronger already—but only a little. If he wanted to keep up with the Companions, to survive Skyrim's brutal world, he'd need more. Much more.
"Not bad, pup."
Kael looked up to see Skjor standing over him, arms folded.
"You've got the spark," Skjor continued. "But sparks die quick without discipline. Train hard, or you'll burn out."
Kael gave a short nod. "I won't waste the chance."
Skjor studied him a moment longer, then walked away.