Blood of the Forgotten Gods

The Dawn of Graduation

Dantalian woke to the soft amber light of dawn spilling through the cracked shutters of his family's modest home. The faint sound of livestock stirring in the distance blended with the rustle of wind against the crooked rooftops of Ithos. His eyes fluttered open, lingering on the familiar sight of the low ceiling beams-worn, but sturdy. It was the same view he'd had every morning for as long as he could remember. Yet today, something felt different.

Today was Graduation Day.

He lay there a moment longer, listening to the faint sounds of his parents already awake, moving about the small cottage. His father's gruff voice carried from the kitchen, and the unmistakable clang of pots meant breakfast was already on its way. As the aroma of simple stew filled the air, Dan stretched, his muscles sore from yesterday's drills. After years of training in the Peasants' Militant School, it all came down to this day. A chance to break away from the life of a lowborn nobody and step into the ranks of the kingdom's military.

Though, calling it an "honor" was something of a stretch. Graduating from the school meant becoming a militant, the lowest rank in the army, the expendable grunts. The only advantage was that militants had a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. But for Dan and others like him, it also represented the only hope of escaping a life of backbreaking labor and poverty.

He sat up, his rough woolen blanket sliding to the floor, and glanced at the corner of the room where his graduation uniform hung. It wasn't much-just a simple brown tunic with the kingdom's crest barely stitched onto the chest. Still, it marked something. An end, and hopefully a beginning.

Dan's gaze shifted to the small table where his mother had laid out his breakfast. A loaf of coarse bread and a small bowl of stew, steam curling into the air. Tara, his mother, was already busy at the hearth, her face lined with the same weariness she carried every day. Her dark hair was tied back, revealing the soft brown eyes Dan had inherited.

"Up early, are you?" she asked, not turning from her task. Her voice was gentle, but there was a hint of worry behind it.

Dan grunted in response, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His father, Thorne, a thick-set man with broad shoulders, appeared from behind the curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the cottage. His rough hands were already stained from the day's work, even at this early hour. Thorne's stern face softened only slightly as he saw his son.

"Big day," Thorne said, crossing his arms over his chest. "The kingdom doesn't hand out second chances, boy. You'll do us proud today."

Dan nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. His father's approval was a rare thing, but Dan knew that underneath the gruffness was a man who cared-just too proud to show it. There were no grand speeches, no emotional send-off, but that was how things were in Ithos. Life was hard, and you learned to take pride in the little things. This, today, was one of those little things.

He ate quickly, his thoughts wandering to the city beyond their small home. Ithos was no gleaming capital, but it was their world. Built on the bones of an ancient civilization, its crumbling walls told the tale of a kingdom long past its prime. The wealth of Ithos lay in its noble districts, where the rich families who governed the kingdom all the gold and power, leaving the lower city-Dan's world-filled with common folk scraping by, doing what they could to survive.

Dan had grown up in the shadow of those crumbling towers, watching as nobles passed by in their gilded carriages while peasants toiled in the dust. The only real hope for someone like him was the militant school-a harsh, unrelenting place where lowborn boys were shaped into soldiers. Or, at least, those who survived the training were. Many didn't.

As he pulled on his tunic, the rough fabric catching on his calloused fingers, Dan allowed himself a small moment of pride. He had made it. Despite the odds, despite the grueling drills, the beatings, the endless days under the scorching sun and the biting cold, he had made it to graduation. Today, he would walk out of the school gates not as a nameless peasant, but as a militant of the Kingdom of Elyndor.

A knock at the door broke his thoughts. His mother wiped her hands on her apron and moved to answer it. When she opened the door, a familiar voice rang out.

"Dan! You ready yet, you lazy bastard?"

It was Gareth, his best friend and fellow student at the school. Gareth was grinning ear to ear, his unruly blond hair sticking out in every direction as usual. The boy had an easygoing charm, always laughing even in the face of trouble. But underneath that carefree exterior, Gareth was as tough as they came.

"Don't keep me waiting, or I'll graduate without you," Gareth said, giving Dan a playful shove as he stepped inside.

Dan chuckled, feeling a little of the tension ease from his chest. If there was one person who made the years at the militant school bearable, it was Gareth. Together, they had survived the worst of it-the endless drills, the punishments, the brutal fights that broke out between the boys looking to prove themselves. And now, they stood on the edge of something new.

"Let's go, then," Dan said, fastening his belt. "Before they change their minds."

As he stepped out of his family's home, the morning sun bathed the streets of Ithos in golden light. The stone pathways were already bustling with activity-vendors setting up their stalls, children running through the alleys, and soldiers patrolling the streets. Ithos was waking, just as Dan was about to step into a new life.

They walked through the lower city, past rows of modest homes like Dan's, the sounds of life swirling around them. The air was thick with the scent of cooking fires and the distant brine of the harbor. As they made their way to the school, Gareth kept up a steady stream of chatter, though Dan's mind wandered.

In a few hours, they would stand in front of the Captain of the Guard, receive their official marks, and become militants-nothing more than foot soldiers in a kingdom ruled by those far above their station. But for Dan, it wasn't the rank or the uniform that mattered. It was the chance to be something more.

He just didn't know how much more would be asked of him yet.