Blood of the Forgotten Gods

New Beginnings

The barracks stood at the edge of the lower district, a squat, weathered building made of stone and timber. The structure itself was nothing special, but to Dan and the other newly minted militants, it represented a new chapter in their lives. As they approached, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the fading light cast long shadows across the cobbled streets. A faint chill clung to the air, but the mood among the graduates was still high—there was a sense of camaraderie, of shared relief and excitement, as they took their first steps into their new roles.

Dan and Gareth pushed open the heavy wooden door, entering the barracks for the first time as official members of the Kingdom of Elyndor's military. Inside, the room was filled with the smell of burning wood from a large hearth at the far end, and the low murmur of voices echoed off the stone walls. Rows of simple wooden beds lined the barracks, each equipped with a coarse blanket and a small chest for personal belongings. It wasn't much, but for many, it was more than they had ever had.

Gareth let out a low whistle. "Well, it's not the King's Guard barracks, but at least it's warm."

Dan smiled, dropping his pack onto one of the beds. "Better than sleeping on the ground like we did during training."

A few other graduates were already milling about, tossing their belongings into chests or talking quietly. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, a shared excitement for what came next. But tonight wasn't about duty. Tonight was about celebration.

Word had spread quickly among the new militants that a gathering would be held later in the common room—a small party to mark their graduation. It wasn't an official event, but in the lower city, such formalities didn't matter. The people made their own traditions, and this was one of them. A chance to unwind, share stories, and for a brief moment, forget about the harsh realities that lay ahead.

As the evening deepened, the barracks began to fill with laughter and music. Someone had brought out a small lute, and the soft plucking of strings filled the air as a handful of militants gathered around the hearth. Dan sat with Gareth and a few others at one of the rough wooden tables in the common room, nursing a mug of ale that had been passed around. The warmth of the fire and the sound of conversation created a sense of ease, and for a while, Dan allowed himself to relax.

At the table sat Tomas, a short but solidly built young man with a quick wit and a sharper tongue. He was one of the few who could always make Dan laugh, even during the most grueling days of training.

"So," Tomas said, leaning forward with a grin, "what do you think? Are we going to spend our days chasing bandits, or do you reckon they'll send us to one of the noble estates to guard some stuck-up lord's wine cellar?"

Gareth laughed, shaking his head. "If I end up guarding wine, I'm drinking it all."

Dan smirked, but his mind was elsewhere. As much as he tried to focus on the lighthearted banter, he couldn't help but notice a familiar figure across the room—a hulking young man with a permanent scowl etched across his face.

Willem.

Dan had never liked Willem. The son of a blacksmith, Willem had spent the entire time at the militant school throwing his weight around, bullying those who couldn't stand up to him. He was a skilled fighter—one of the best, in fact—but his character was another matter entirely. Where Dan believed in using strength to protect others, Willem saw it as a way to dominate.

"Willem's here," Dan muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Gareth followed his gaze and sighed. "Just ignore him, Dan. You know what he's like. Don't let him ruin tonight."

Easier said than done. Willem was one of those people who got under Dan's skin, not just because of his arrogance, but because he represented everything Dan hated—selfishness, cruelty, and a lack of honor. He was the kind of person who would push others down to lift himself up, and for some reason, he had always taken particular pleasure in tormenting Dan during their training days.

"Hey, look," Tomas said, his voice dropping slightly. "Here he comes."

Willem, flanked by two of his usual cronies, swaggered across the room, his eyes scanning the tables until they landed on Dan. The corner of his mouth curled into a sneer as he approached, his footsteps heavy.

"Well, if it isn't the hero of the day," Willem said, his voice dripping with mockery as he stood over their table. "Still playing the part of the noble peasant, are you, Dantalian?"

Dan clenched his jaw, his hands resting on the table. He could feel the tension in the air shift as the conversation around them quieted. Gareth shot him a warning glance, but Dan kept his focus on Willem.

"What do you want, Willem?" Dan asked, his voice steady.

Willem chuckled, crossing his arms. "What I want? Nothing from you. Just here to remind you that no matter how many speeches you give about honor and duty, you're still just a lowborn like the rest of us. The only difference is, I'm not pretending to be something I'm not."

Dan felt a surge of anger rise within him, but he pushed it down. He wasn't going to give Willem the satisfaction of a fight, not here, not now. "We're all militants now, Willem. It's time to leave the past behind."

"Leave the past behind?" Willem barked a laugh. "You've always been too soft, Dan. You think you're better than everyone else because you play the hero. But in the real world? Honor doesn't mean anything. Strength is all that matters."

Dan stood, his gaze unwavering. He wasn't going to back down, but he wasn't going to throw the first punch either. The room was silent now, all eyes on the two of them.

"Strength is important," Dan said quietly, "but so is what you do with it. You use it to hurt people. That's what makes us different."

For a moment, Willem's sneer faltered, his eyes narrowing. Dan could see the challenge in them, the simmering rage behind the façade of indifference. He half-expected Willem to swing at him, but instead, Willem leaned in closer, his voice low and threatening.

"You're a fool if you think that's going to get you anywhere, Dan. The real world doesn't care about your ideals. People like you are the ones who get left behind."

Dan didn't flinch, even as Willem's words hit close to home. He knew Willem was wrong, but there was a part of him that feared the truth in what he said. Would his beliefs—his conviction—be enough to survive in a world as harsh as Elyndor?

Before Dan could respond, Tomas stood up, stepping between them. "Alright, enough of this," he said, his voice firm. "No one's getting left behind tonight. We're all on the same side now, whether you like it or not."

Willem sneered again, but this time he didn't press further. With a snort, he turned on his heel and stalked off, his cronies following behind him like shadows.

The tension in the room slowly eased as conversation picked up again. Gareth let out a long breath. "I thought for sure he was going to take a swing at you."

Dan sat back down, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. "So did I."

Tomas grinned, clapping Dan on the back. "You handled that well. Willem's all bark, anyway. Besides, one of these days, someone's going to knock him off his high horse."

Dan smiled, but his mind was still on Willem's words. He knew that people like Willem wouldn't disappear just because they were now on the same side. The world wasn't fair, and not everyone who wore a uniform had the same beliefs he did. But Dan also knew something else—he wouldn't compromise his honor, no matter what.

"Come on," Gareth said, raising his mug. "To surviving our first day as militants."

Dan laughed and lifted his mug as well. The others followed suit, and for the rest of the evening, the mood lightened once more. They shared stories of training, made jokes about their future assignments, and for a brief moment, the worries of the world seemed distant.

But even as they laughed, Dan couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The real challenges were yet to come.