Morning came too soon.

  Rohan’s muscles still ached, but he forced himself out of bed, wincing as he swung his legs over the side.

  Joren was waiting outside.

  “Thought you might try sneaking off again.”

  The chief said with his arms crossed.

  “Glad to see you’re smarter than you look.”

  Rohan scowled.

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Joren smirked but didn’t argue. He led Rohan through the village, where early risers were already at work. A group of men stacked firewood near the forge. Women hauled buckets of water from the well. Children darted between houses, chasing each other with sticks.

  Then Joren stopped.

  “You’ll start here.”

  Rohan looked up.

  A wagon sat at the edge of the field, its wheels buried in the mud. The ox pulling it huffed, flicking its tail impatiently. A handful of villagers stood nearby, eyeing the wagon like it was a beast ready to strike.

  “You want me to move that?”

  Rohan asked.

  Joren raised a brow.

  “You said you wanted to get this over with.”

  Stepping forward, he pressed his hands against the wooden frame and pushed. His legs trembled, his ribs burned but the wagon didn’t budge. The mud held it in place like a clenched fist.

  One of the villagers scoffed.

  “Thought you were supposed to be a fighter.”

  Rohan shot him a glare but said nothing.

  Joren sighed.

  “You’re not going to do it alone. Use your head, boy.”

  Gritting his teeth, Rohan glanced at the villagers. He hated asking for help, but he hated wasting time even more.

  “…Well?”

  He muttered.

  “Are you going to stand there or help?”

  A few men exchanged looks before stepping forward. Together, they heaved against the wagon, muscles straining, feet sinking into the mud.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then, with a loud squelch, the wheels tore free. The ox let out a grunt as the wagon finally rolled forward onto solid ground.

  The tension broke with a few claps and muttered approvals.

  Joren clapped a hand on Rohan’s shoulder.

  “Not bad.”

  Rohan shrugged him off. His arms ached, his ribs screamed but he didn’t let it show.

  “One job down.”

  Joren said.

  “Plenty more to go.”

  Rohan exhaled sharply. This was going to be a long day.

  The first few days were miserable.

  Rohan’s body ached, his stomach twisted with hunger, and the weight of his injuries slowed him down. But he forced himself to push through. He had no choice.

  *The Hunter’s Lessons*

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Darin, the village’s best hunter, took him into the woods. At first, Rohan failed at everything.

  He stepped too loudly, scared away prey, and fumbled his bow. The first time he actually shot at something, a deer, his hands shook so badly he missed entirely.

  But he learned.

  Within a week, he moved quieter. Within two, he could track small animals. By the end of the month, his arrows found their mark more often than not.

  Darin gave a rare nod of approval.

  “You’re not useless anymore.”

  It was the closest thing to a compliment Rohan would get.

  *The Healer’s Teachings*

  Elara made him memorize every plant in the surrounding forest. Some healed. Others poisoned.

  She tested him constantly.

  "What’s this one?"

  She would ask, shoving a bundle of leaves in his face.

  “The root can stop bleeding but the berries will kill you.”

  A small smile played on her lips.

  “Good.”

  His hands grew steady as he crushed herbs, and stitched wounds. He still felt more comfortable with a blade than a bandage but at least now he knew how to stop himself from dying.

  *The Forge and The Blade*

  The blacksmith, Hale, had no patience for weakness.

  Rohan’s arms burned as he lifted the hammer again and again, shaping iron into usable tools. He learned to sharpen a blade, mend armor, and respect the power of a well crafted weapon.

  And then there was the sword.

  The village guards were no elite warriors, but they knew how to fight. They taught Rohan how to hold his stance, when to strike, and when to wait.

  The first time he sparred, he got knocked flat on his back.

  The second time, he managed to stay standing.

  By the end of the month, he still wasn’t a match for them but he could hold his own.

  One night, after another exhausting day, Rohan sat outside, staring into the flames.

  Joren sat beside him.

  “You’ve changed.”

  Rohan didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t thought about it much, but it was true.

  The boy who had stumbled into this village, half-dead, barely able to lift a blade, wasn't that boy anymore.

  Joren’s voice was quieter when he spoke again.

  “What happened to you before we found you?”

  Rohan hesitated.

  “Bandits attacked my village. I don’t know why. They killed everyone, my parents too.”

  He glanced at the dagger resting on his lap.

  “I ran. I survived. I don’t even know how.”

  Joren watched him carefully.

  “You weren’t just running when we found you.”

  Rohan’s grip tightened.

  “…No.”

  Joren waited.

  Rohan closed his eyes for a moment, the memories still raw.

  “A month later I ran into another group of them. They had a girl with them. Talia. I killed them.”

  Joren’s expression didn’t change.

  “Four men.”

  Rohan muttered.

  “You must’ve fought like a madman.”

  “I fought like a fool, I barely survived.”

  Joren smirked.

  “And yet, you did.”

  A few more weeks had passed and Rohan’s progress didn’t go unnoticed.

  At first, the villagers saw him as just another outsider, a boy who would either leave or die within weeks. But as time passed, their eyes changed.

  The hunters respected his persistence.

  The blacksmith trusted him with his tools.

  The guards let him train without holding back.

  Even the village chief, who had been the most skeptical, began to acknowledge him.

  But the one who never doubted him was Talia.

  She watched him work, listened to his stories, and reminded him to eat when he pushed himself too hard. She never said much about her past, but she never left his side.

  As the weeks passed, Rohan no longer saw the village as just a resting place it had become something more.

  The people, once distant, now greeted him by name. The hunters trusted him with a bow, the blacksmith let him help at the forge, and the guards trained him like one of their own.

  But more than anything, the chief had become someone he looked up to.

  The old man was harsh but fair, wise yet blunt. He pushed Rohan to work harder, to think before acting, to understand the weight of every decision. For the first time in a long time, Rohan wasn’t just surviving, he was living.

  One evening, as the sun dipped below the treetops, Rohan sat beside the chief outside his home.

  Rohan hesitated, then spoke.

  “I used to think all I wanted was revenge. But… Now I see there’s more to learn. More to be.”

  The chief rested a hand on Rohan’s shoulder.

  “Then stay. Learn all you can. And when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

  Rohan met his gaze and nodded.

  He wasn’t just passing through anymore. This village had become part of him.

  The warmth of the fire crackled between them, its glow casting long shadows against the chief’s home. Rohan sat in silence, the old man’s words settling deep within him.

  But before he could respond, hurried footsteps approached.

  One of the village guards, a stocky man named Edrin, stepped into the light, his expression tense.

  "Chief, we have trouble."

  The chief’s relaxed posture stiffened.

  "Speak."

  Edrin exhaled sharply.

  "Tracks near the western road. Fresh ones. Moving carefully, watching the village."

  Rohan’s hand instinctively found his dagger. His heartbeat quickened. Bandits.

  The chief rose to his feet, his expression unreadable, but his voice carried quiet authority.

  "How many?”

  "Hard to say."

  Edrin admitted.

  "Eight, maybe more. They're not attacking yet. Just watching."

  Rohan clenched his jaw.

  "They could be scouts, waiting for the right moment."

  The chief nodded.

  "Or testing our defenses."

  He turned to Edrin.

  "Double the night watch. No one leaves or enters without my say."

  Edrin gave a sharp nod and hurried off into the night.

  Rohan stood as well, his body tense.

  "Let me help. I know how they think."

  The chief studied him, eyes sharp.

  "I know you do. But this is my village. My people. I won't risk a reckless fight.”

  "I'm not reckless."

  Rohan countered.

  "Not anymore."

  The chief held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

  "Then listen, and learn."

  The old man turned toward the darkness beyond the firelight, his expression grim.

  "If these men are truly watching us, we’ll make sure they see exactly what we want them to."

  Rohan followed, gripping his dagger. He couldn't let what happened in the past happen again, he had to protect the village.