The Ashen Rebellion

09 | A harsh training ground

THE NEXT MORNING, LYRA knocked on Nyssa's door and entered with a tray of breakfast. "Good morning, Nyssa," She said, placing the tray on the small table by the window. The portions were as inconsistent as ever, but Nyssa had grown accustomed to the variety.

"Morning," Nyssa replied, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Lyra hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you planning to leave your room today?"

Nyssa looked up, surprised by the question but feeling resolute. "Yes, I am. I can't stay cooped up in here forever."

A smile of relief spread across Lyra's face. "That's good to hear. I was hoping you'd join me at the training grounds after breakfast. You don't have to participate if you don't want to. Just watching might be good for you."

Nyssa nodded, feeling a mixture of apprehension and determination. "Alright, I'll come with you."

After finishing her meal, Nyssa dressed and followed Lyra through the camp. As they walked, Lyra chatted about the daily life in the camp, the people they passed, and the importance of training. Nyssa listened, absorbing the information, and feeling a growing sense of curiosity about the rebels.

The training ground was a large, open area surrounded by trees. Several rebels were already there, awkwardly holding swords or their weapons of choice. Nyssa stood at the back, observing everything with keen interest. The rebels, a mix of ages and skill levels, were dressed in makeshift armor, their determination clear despite their lack of experience.

Kael, now wearing a bandana instead of his usual mask, was leading the class. His movements were fluid and confident, a stark contrast to the nervous energy of the trainees. Nyssa couldn't help but notice how easily he commanded the group, his presence authoritative and unwavering.

Kael's voice carried across the training ground. "Today, we'll focus on stealth and precision. The ability to move silently and strike without warning is crucial. I'll turn my back, and you will attempt to attack me as quietly as possible."

The rebels exchanged nervous glances before positioning themselves around Kael. Nyssa watched intently as one by one, they attempted to attack him.

The first student, a young woman with a short sword, moved too quickly, her footsteps heavy on the ground. Kael sidestepped her attack effortlessly, and she stumbled forward.

"Too heavy-footed," Kael said, his tone instructional but not unkind. "You need to glide, not stomp."

The next student held his sword too high, the sunlight reflecting off the blade and giving away his position. Kael ducked under the swing and spun away.

"Keep your weapon low. The sun is your enemy as much as I am," Kael instructed.

Another student breathed too hard, the sound loud in the otherwise silent clearing. Kael caught the attack by the wrist, redirecting the student's momentum and sending him sprawling.

"Breathe quietly. Your breath is as loud as a shout in the silence."

Nyssa observed each interaction, impressed by Kael's skill and the precise way he identified and corrected each mistake. Despite being unarmed, he dodged every attack with ease, moving gracefully as if performing a well-rehearsed dance.

When the last student fell to the ground, panting and exhausted, Kael addressed the group. "You need to become shadows, unseen and unheard. Pay attention to your surroundings, control your movements, and silence your breath. We'll take a break now. Get some water and think about what you've learned."

As the rebels dispersed, Kael's eyes met Nyssa's. They held each other's gaze for a moment too long, a silent exchange that neither could fully interpret. Kael broke the contact first, putting the weapons back in their rightful places before walking away in the opposite direction from everyone else.

Nyssa pondered everything she had witnessed, feeling a mix of admiration and curiosity. Kael's skill was undeniable, and his teaching methods were effective, if a bit intimidating. She wondered what his story was, what had brought him to the rebellion, and what drove him to fight with such intensity.

The day drew to a close, and as the sky darkened, Nyssa found herself reflecting on her own journey. Later that night, Nyssa sat by a campfire, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows around her. She felt a sense of purpose growing within her, driven by the need to save Jaxon and fulfill the mysterious prophecy hinted at in her dreams.

Lyra joined her by the fire, settling down beside her with a sigh. "Long day," She said, stretching her legs out. "How are you feeling?"

Nyssa glanced at her, appreciating the company. "Better, I think. Watching the training was... enlightening." To say the least

Lyra nodded. "Kael's a tough teacher, but he's good at what he does. We need everyone to be ready for whatever comes next."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the fire. Eventually, Lyra spoke again, her voice softer. "I joined the rebellion because of my lover, you know. He was killed protecting me during a raid. Ever since then, I've been fighting for him, for us."

Nyssa looked at her, seeing the pain and determination in Lyra's eyes. "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "That must have been hard."

"It was," Lyra admitted. "But it also gave me a reason to fight. We all have our reasons."

Nyssa nodded, feeling a connection forming between them. "I've been having these dreams," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "They've been bothering me, making it hard to sleep."

Lyra frowned, concerned. "Dreams? What kind of dreams?"

Nyssa shook her head. "I don't want to go into details. But they're... unsettling."

Lyra reached out, placing a comforting hand on Nyssa's shoulder. "I'll have Tarry give you a sleeping draft. It should help. And if you ever want to talk about the dreams, I'm here."

"Thank you," Nyssa said, grateful for the support. As they sat together by the fire, she felt a sense of belonging starting to take root. She wasn't alone in this fight. She had allies, friends even, and together they might just stand a chance.