"Aaaaah!"
Lucas jolted awake, heart racing, as the echoes of that bloody night clawed their way back into his mind. Shadows lingered in his vision, even as reality crept back into focus. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath, his body soaked in cold sweat and his cheeks wet with warm, silent tears.
Vin and Joany rushed to his bedside, their footsteps thudding softly on the floorboards.
"Lucas!" Joany's voice was filled with worry as she knelt beside him, her eyes wide and searching his face.
Lucas struggled to steady his breathing. His chest felt tight, and the weight of the nightmare lingered. Joany wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a comforting hug, her warmth cutting through the chill of his memory.
"It's okay," she murmured, her voice gentle. "It'll be all right now."
Vin stood close by, his gaze fixed on Lucas with a quiet intensity. He didn't speak, but his fists were clenched tight at his sides, a mix of concern and steely resolve in his eyes. The sight of Lucas's distress seemed to harden something within him—a silent promise to protect them from experiencing this pain again.
The door creaked open, and Marcus leaned casually against the frame, a smug grin spreading across his face. "If you're done with your little threesome, get out to the training grounds," he jeered, raising an eyebrow at the trio. Joany was perched on the bed, still holding Lucas, while Vin stood beside them, like a sentinel.
Vin glanced back at Marcus, his expression unreadable. "We'll be there soon. Just give us a few minutes for Lucas to calm down."
Marcus shrugged, clearly amused. "Tell that to Sergeant Aichael yourselves," he said with a smirk. "I'm just the messenger." With a dismissive chuckle, he turned and walked away, muttering, "Bunch of weirdos..."
As Marcus's footsteps faded, Lucas let out a heavy sigh and started to shift, preparing to move out of bed.
"Don't mind him, Lucas." Joany's tone was soft and reassuring. "The track isn't going anywhere, and neither am I. Just breathe, okay?"
Lucas managed a faint smile, brushing the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. "Thanks, Joany. I feel better now." He turned to Vin, giving him a nod. "You too, Vin. Thanks for being here."
Vin nodded, his lips pressing into a tight line. Words weren't necessary—his presence said enough.
"Guess we'd better get moving," Lucas said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "We've got training to survive, and I'd rather avoid any extra punishment."
The three exchanged determined looks, each carrying their own resolve as they prepared for the day ahead.
The three exchanged determined looks, each carrying their own resolve as they prepared for the day ahead.
The three of them quickly changed into their training uniforms—a faded white t-shirt, worn thin from years of hand-me-downs, and black shorts that had seen better days. Their black leather boots were scuffed and cracked, barely holding together at the seams. Fresh supplies were a rare luxury at camp, and the new gear always went to the senior trainees first.
As they stepped outside, the field stretched out before them in a sprawling green expanse. To their right, a series of obstacles loomed, set up to test their endurance and balance—towering walls, balancing beams, and rope climbs. On the left side stood the classrooms, three plain structures with enough space to hold about fifty people each. It was where they studied their enemies, learned the traits and patterns of the creatures that haunted their nightmares.
In the center of the field was a large, oval track, worn from countless laps over the years. This was where they would start their daily run, and, at the track's center, lay the fighting grounds—a rough, dirt-filled pit where they'd be taught the skills to stand their ground.
"Everyone! Huddle up!" Sergeant Aichael's booming voice cut through the early morning air. He stood towering over them, every bit as intimidating as his voice. Tall and built like a wall of muscle, he radiated authority, and his no-nonsense attitude left little room for slack.
"Today's another good day to train our bodies," he began, his tone booming and unyielding. "Let's start with the basics. We'll be running fifty laps around this oval." He grinned, eyes sweeping over their grim faces.
A murmur of discontent rippled through the group, but everyone turned to begin. Then, just as they took the first step, his voice stopped them.
"Where do you all think you're going?" he asked, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
Vin turned, brow furrowed. "You said... to do fifty laps, sir."
Aichael's grin widened as he pulled back the lid of a massive box beside him, revealing what lay inside.
Lucas's heart sank, and around him, he could see the others' shoulders sag. Inside the box was a collection of weight vests, each bulky and weighted down with thick metal plates.
"You can't outrun werewolves with those skinny legs," Aichael said, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "Running fast won't be enough. You need to learn to run as if your life depends on it. So strap on a vest—if you want to survive."
A quiet groan spread through the trainees, but no one dared protest. With reluctant hands, they each grabbed a vest and strapped in, the weight pressing down on their shoulders and chests, adding a new layer of dread to their morning run.
Lucas gritted his teeth as he powered through the last lap, the weight of the vest pressing down on his shoulders like lead, every step sending fresh waves of fire through his legs. The high noon sun beat down mercilessly, its glare blurring the edges of his vision, and each breath he took felt jagged and shallow, like he was swallowing broken glass. Around him, other trainees pushed forward, their faces tight with exhaustion, drenched in sweat that glistened under the unforgiving light.
Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
The mantra looped through his mind, but as he neared the last stretch, the world around him began to slip. His pulse thundered in his ears, its rhythm twisting and shifting, until it no longer matched his own heartbeat. It sounded like the pounding of feet—footsteps crashing through underbrush, scattering leaves, frantic and desperate. Shadows blurred at the edges of his sight, and suddenly, it wasn't the training ground around him anymore.
He was back on the hill, running for his life. The forest loomed dark and endless, each shadowed tree a potential threat, each sound around him one more echo of doom. The air was thick with the scent of blood and earth, and behind them, a dark figure lurked—a shadow with gleaming eyes that caught the moonlight, following their every move with deadly patience.
Lucas stumbled, his foot catching on a rock jutting out of the track. His ankle twisted slightly, sending a sharp, stabbing pain up his leg. He winced and tried to blink away the memory, but it clung to him, cold and relentless, slipping through his mind like the grip of fear that night. The weight of terror froze him, his movements sluggish, almost detached. He could feel his own fear in his bones, paralyzing him.
Low, guttural growls filled his ears, mingling with his labored breaths. The creatures had charged from the darkness like demons, their eyes alight with hunger, claws ripping into the earth as they chased them, relentless, merciless. The ground had trembled beneath their weight, the vibrations pounding up his legs and rattling in his chest.
His legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed to his knees, his breath catching as the memory threatened to swallow him whole. Just then, he saw Vin ahead of him, his friend's gaze locked on him, his face laced with worry and resolve.
"Keep going, Lucas," Vin called, his voice barely audible over the roar in Lucas's mind, yet steady, cutting through the haze.
The words hit him like a lightning bolt, snapping him back. The training ground came into view, sharp and unforgiving, as his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. The prickly rays of the sun stung his skin like needles. He could see Vin's face in front of him now, but the voice didn't belong to him—it belonged to her.
"Keep going, Lucas."
