For the past few weeks, Marta had noticed a shift in Soren's hunting hours. Instead of late afternoon hunts, he now left early in the morning and came back before lunch.
As always, he carried his bow and the pine-shafted arrows he'd prepared the night before, just as Seppo, Oskar and Leevi before him used to. But now, whenever he left, Marta sometimes caught a fleeting glimpse of something new: a smile tugging at his lips, a lightness in his step that hadn't been there for a long time.
She hadn't asked why. It felt good seeing Soren looking alive again after weeks of quiet brooding since Seppo's departure. But one day, when he returned from his hunt, much later than he usually did, the smile he'd left with was gone. His face had darkened again, his footsteps thudding heavy against the wooden floor. That shadow stayed for months afterward.
Earlier that same day, twelve-year-old Soren had gone once more into the woods.
It was summer—or what people called summer in Viremont. The snow had melted into sodden earth, soft beneath his boots, with thin blades of green grass breaking through the thaw. Above him stretched a pale blue sky, bright and rare in that part of Nivara. But even that color couldn't compare to the eyes he had come to know so well by then—the eyes he had first seen only weeks ago, and hadn't been able to forget since.
When he reached the ravine where a small, quiet spring flowed, Soren found his usual hiding spot and sat down beside a large tree root to wait.
The water trickled softly, its rhythm blending with the faint murmurs of wind threading through the pines above, marking each slow second that passed. This was where animals often stopped for a quick drink before bedding down for the morning, making it a reliable place to hunt.
For days now, Rosina had chosen this spring as their meeting point, a brief hunt together before she returned to her grueling training with the silver-haired man with emerald eyes who had come with her to Avendria.
Minutes bled into hours. Deer and elk came and went, but there was no sign of her—no flash of platinum hair among the trees, no faint footstep or voice carried by the wind. Soren nearly rose to begin the hunt alone, but he stayed. Maybe she had overslept after another long night of training, he thought.
Only when the sun stood high overhead did he finally accept that Rosina wasn't coming.
The same thing happened the next morning. And the next. Every day that week. Every week after. No tracks. No markings left behind. Not even a rumor of her in town, nor of the man she called Marshal.
After six months of returning to the same spot, at the same hour, sitting beneath the same tree, young Soren finally understood.
Rosina had left Avendria.
Now, Soren was making his way toward the mess hall after yet another draining morning session. Walking beside him were familiar faces—Aren, Enari, and his brother, Seppo.
The Captain had dismissed them early that day. Not out of mercy; Vellien Tressine was hardly capable of that. It was because the afternoon session would be an important one.
"Each of you will take a live shot this afternoon," the Captain had announced.
The trainees' reactions were a jumble of excitement and unease. Before sending them off, Tressine had fixed them with his usual icy stare and added a final warning—not to be late to the Firing Grounds.
"What can we possibly learn from firing a single Ignis round?" Aren muttered as he walked, his voice low but edged with complaint. "I didn't learn archery by loosing one arrow a day."
"You think the Captain would waste that many rounds on us?" Enari replied dryly. "Ten rounds mean ten wagons. Double that and the supply chief would have our heads. This afternoon's probably just to get a feel for it. We're most likely all going to miss."
"Still," Aren grumbled, "if it's just one shot, we'll be done in no time. Then it's back to climbing ropes and crawling through mud."
Behind them, the Bach brothers' pace slowed. The farther they fell back, the fainter Aren's whining became.
As they rounded a bend, Seppo noticed his brother halt. He turned back just as Aren and Enari did, finding Soren standing still, his gaze fixed on something off to the right. From where they were, the others couldn't see what held his attention—they had already passed the corner.
"You three go ahead," Soren said at last. "I'll join you soon."
Seppo frowned. "What's wrong, brother?"
"I've somewhere to be," Soren answered simply, already turning away.
"Come early," Seppo called after him, still skeptical. "Or there won't be anything left to eat."
"Of course."
Soren disappeared around the bend without another word. Seppo hesitated, took a few steps after him, and looked around the corner—only to see his brother's figure growing smaller in the distance. He exhaled quietly, then turned back to rejoin Aren and Enari, his doubts and questions left unspoken.
---
When Sina reached the Ignis Compound, the sun was climbing toward its height. Around this time, streams of Ignisants, officers, and master smiths poured from every direction, all heading for the mess hall.
From the gate, the usual route would take her through the administrative offices, past the mess hall, and onward to the Armory. But if she detoured through the Yard instead, she could avoid the crowd—and any unwelcome acquaintances who might be among them.
The Yard was no longer empty as it had been before. From one end to the other, terrain obstacles stood like a battlefield—walls, ropes, trenches and climbing frames arranged in grueling sequence. A single glance was enough for her to imagine the kind of torment Vellien Tressine had been putting the trainees through, Soren included.
A sorry thought crossed her mind.
Partly because Soren was being drilled into the ground by that insufferable Captain, but also partly because she knew she would soon leave again without a word of farewell. It was here, on this very Yard, that she had met him again after all these years. And she still remembered how she had left Avendria eight years ago—without so much as a goodbye.
Rosette Liane's revelations had changed things for her, too. She now knew more about Soren than she ever had before—how much he had kept from her, including the truth about his voluntary enlistment. He had lied to her once, even if for reasons she might never fully understand. Because of that, she wasn't sure how to face him the next time they crossed paths. The next time they met, she'd better observe him more closely, and listen to his every word more carefully.
As her thoughts turned over one another, she heard hurried footsteps behind her—familiar ones.
Soren's.
Her pace slowed. She turned around, and there he was—those luminous golden eyes catching the sunlight as they met her pale blue gaze.
"Soren," she murmured, her tone softened by surprise. "How are you?"
He stopped the instant she turned. The slight rise and fall of his shoulders told her he'd been hurrying to catch up.
"I'm good," he said quietly, unshaken by her noticing him. "You've come back."
"I got a little busy," she replied.
His gaze gentled, the faintest trace of sadness in it. "I heard the memorial was held yesterday at the palace."
Her eyes flickered in surprise. "Yes, that's what kept me," she admitted. "But it was the most boring thing I've ever had to sit through."
The dry remark tugged a small smile from Soren, though he fell silent afterward, as if uncertain what words would suit the moment.
She felt she should pick the conversation back up. Her gaze drifted over the Yard—its ropes, walls, and trenches baking under the noon sun—before returning to him.
"How's the training going?"
"It's been good," Soren replied. "We're having our first live shot this afternoon at the Firing Grounds. Just one each."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. His tone was as even as ever—just like last time, when she'd asked if Vellien Tressine was giving him a hard time. And did he just say one shot? For their first live drill? That was about the most asinine things she'd ever heard. Now she was genuinely curious what sort of nonsense the curriculum was built on.
"I see," Sina said at last. "Don't push yourself too much. Once your aim's steady, just press—don't yank. You'll be fine."
Soren gave no sign of taking in her advice. His eyes softened instead. "You're leaving again?"
Her breath hitched. "Yes," she admitted, her gaze dropping away from his. "I need to go back to—"
The words stopped in her throat. Her eyes widened.
Soren's hands were covered in blisters and raw red marks, the skin cracked and unhealed.
"Soren," she said quietly, eyes snapping back to his. "Your hands. What caused these?"
He glanced down at them, almost absently. "Dry practice," he said. "I'm still not used to the edges and the bolt knob. These came from that."
"What kind of dry practice?" she asked, stepping closer. "I'm curious."
Soren's gaze drifted toward the Yard. "We do firing stances a hundred times. Then disassembly and reassembly drills—working the bolt and feed box over and over. Then we carry the ignisers through the Yard terrain another hundred times. Every day."
The more Soren spoke, the darker Sina's expression grew. She'd known the program would be harsh—but not this disgustingly, pointlessly, inhumanly grinding.
"Soren," she said, her tone cutting through the air like a drawn blade, "I have an offer for you."
He blinked, startled by the sudden change in her voice. "What is it?"
"Would you like to be trained by me instead?"
The words dropped, and silence followed. Soren stared at her, disbelief flashing across his face—then something else, something like joy. Her eyes told him she wasn't joking.
"Trained… by you?" he managed.
"Yes," she said simply. "For the rest of this mad training course. Starting now."
Soren hesitated. "But is that even possible?"
"Everything's possible in my hands," Sina declared with a bright smile. "If I can make it happen, what do you say?"
A soft smile crept across Soren's face. "I'd love to be trained by you."
That drew a small smile from Sina as well. "Good. Isn't it your lunch break? Go eat. I'll handle the rest. Meet me at the Armory when you're done."
Soren's smile faded as he studied her. "What do you have to handle?"
"The paperwork." She gave an easy shrug. "I'll need to inform Marshal Denelle."
Soren nodded slowly, then frowned. "But this afternoon, Captain Tressine will expect me at the Firing Grounds for the live session."
Sina caught on immediately. "Didn't you just agree to be trained by me?" she said, her tone dry. "That means you're released from anything involving Captain Tressine. No need to show up there anymore. Just meet me at the Armory—I'll take care of the rest."
Her words didn't seem to calm him; if anything, the crease in his brow deepened. "Can I help you with any of that? It sounds like a lot to deal with."
She blinked, unsure what he was getting at. "Help with what?"
"Let me deal with the Captain, at least."
Sina's face darkened at once. There was no way she'd let Soren face Vellien Tressine again—not after hearing what he'd endured, and likely still hadn't told her.
"No, Soren, you can't," she said firmly, then paused, considering. "But maybe you can help me inform Marshal Denelle."
Soren didn't seem pleased with that. "I could also talk to the Captain," he insisted.
"Soren," she said, lifting a finger between them. "That's my one condition if you want me to train you—I'll deal with Vellien Tressine."
Soren exhaled softly and looked aside, still unhappy. "Where do I find Marshal Denelle?" he asked quietly.
"The Command Tower." She pointed toward the road opposite them. "Ask the first officer you see for an audience and wait until you're called. When you meet him, tell Marshal Denelle that Ignisant Clemens will oversee your training and report when it's finished. Nothing more."
"Understood," he said with a slow nod. "Aren't you coming for lunch?"
She lowered her hand, a sly smile curving her lips. "I've already eaten, Soren. Go ahead."
For some reason, that sly smile made him suspicious, but he chose not to press her. "I'll see you at the Armory," he said, then turned toward the mess hall.
Sina watched Soren go, her gaze lingering until he disappeared from sight.
For all her earlier boldness, Sina already dreaded what came next—facing Vellien again, having to tell him. She could almost see it now: his scowl, the growl in his voice, those icy, deep-blue eyes pinning her like a target on his iron sights.
A long breath escaped her. The day was only just beginning, and with a week-long journey to Kessarine still ahead, it already felt as though her list of troubles would only keep growing.
At least she could mark one thing off her list. Though she'd brushed the thought aside countless times before, she now saw the advantage clearly—training Soren herself would keep him near, giving her the chance to watch him closely. If there was any inconsistency in his words, she'd catch it. And later, she'd have the opportunity to ask why he had lied to her in the first place.
With that thought in mind, she turned on her heels toward the Firing Grounds. When Vellien arrived, she would be there waiting.