Sabine knew she was in trouble the moment the she stepped foot into the yard where the current recruits were gathering the following morning. The others were acquainted already, judging by the loosely clustered groups they formed as they laughed and joked amongst themselves. From her quick scan of the yard, they also appeared to be mainly Imperials, with maybe a Breton or an occasional Nord in the mix. And worst of all, she was the only girl.

Her bright red curls were braided tightly beneath her practice helm, but she still felt as obvious as a torch on a moonless night as she grimly fell in line with the others. As their instructor screamed for attention, she drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to stand straight and tall. She'd been prepared for this, but she still found herself fighting the instinct to cower away.

"All right, listen up!" he roared. "These next weeks will test your abilities and your mettle, and determine whether you are worthy to call yourself part of the Imperial Legion. You will be tested beyond anything you've ever experienced. If you think you're prepared, you've already lost. I've seen countless seasoned warriors stand where you stand now, only to fail. What makes you think you're any different?"

Although she knew the speech was intentionally intimidating to keep them on their toes, she could still feel the doubt beginning to seep back in. To spectacularly fail and be sent home in disgrace was the worst possible fate she could imagine, and she swallowed hard as the instructor's piercing eyes swept over her, forcing the fear back down where it belonged. For better or for worse, she was in the Legion now, and all she could do was fight tooth and nail to make the best of it.

"Davide!" the instructor was now shouting, and Sabine recognized the soldier from yesterday as he stepped up to the instructor's side. "Take them for their warmup."

"Yes, sir!" Davide replied with a salute before turning to the group. "Recruits, follow me!" he called, and they all shuffled off behind him toward the front gates.

"You call that marching?" the instructor called behind them. "Pathetic!" She heard several huffs of dissatisfaction around her, but no one dare actually speak out loud.

Outside the gates, the stone bridge led off to the main hub of the city, but Davide led them off to the side onto the grass. "This footpath leads around the wall," he called. "Go." And with a shuffling clink of metal, they were off.

A few instantly stumbled, whether from the altered balance or the weight of the armor itself, and Sabine winced in sympathy as she jogged past. She silently thanked Joric for his insistence upon her wearing weights when she trained back at home-it was certainly paying off now. Out here, with her feet pounding on the soft grass and the birds chirping overhead, she could feel her earlier nerves beginning to dissipate. She was ready for this, and it'd been silly to worry.

She was in good shape, but even she was sweating and panting as they regrouped and filed back through the gates to the training yard. They were now moving on to sword training, and she instantly felt at ease once the weapon was in her hand, even though it was only a blunted practice blade. Swordplay was one thing she knew she was good at, and a tiny part of her was eager to show off her skills.

Her confidence rose as she stepped up to the training dummy, only to immediately be squashed back down as the instructor tore her to pieces. "You call that a strike?" he roared. "Where's the force? Get that shield up! Keep those feet apart!"

But once the initial shock faded and the involuntary blur of tears dried from her eyes, all she felt was annoyance. She'd been watching the others, and she knew she was leaps and bounds above them-at least of those she'd witnessed. It's how it is, she sternly reminded herself as she returned to the back of the line to await her next turn. They're always going to push for more. You have to push for more.

And so when her next turn came, she set her teeth and attacked the dummy with every ounce of ferocity she could muster. "Pathetic!" screeched the instructor, and she drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore him as she set up her next blow. If she wasn't being given specific feedback, she couldn't take it to heart. Or at least not burst into tears over it.

The lunch break, when it arrived, was a momentary relief for her crashing spirits, but then her next challenge arrived full-force. Breakfast had been an apple scarfed down in between equipping pieces of her armor and dinner the night before had been with her father-this would be her first time eating in the dining hall. To make matters worse, it was packed full, the overwhelming din of noise and movement making her want to run for the door. Under normal circumstances she likely would have, but her half-hearted breakfast had not been enough to fuel her earlier training, and her stomach was rumbling fiercely. And so she reluctantly picked up a plate and joined the line.

The food was the expected fare-meat, boiled vegetables, a hunk of bread. Nothing like her family's cooking back home, but the bland meal before her was the least of her concerns. The benches lining the tables were crowded with soldiers, and she desperately scanned for an opening.

But as luck would have it, she noticed a mostly-empty table in a far corner and a lone member of her training class-and among the tight-knit clans, a solitary individual stood out. Steeling her spine, she forced up her chin walked over. "Hi," she said, setting her plate down across from him. "May I sit here?"

The boy gave a vague scoff of acknowledgement, and her stomach turned over on itself as she settled onto the bench. Maybe this had been a mistake-he clearly had no interest in socializing. But it was only when she heard a raucous swell of voices and a collective of armored bodies swooped in and settled around her like vultures that she realized her grievous error.

"Mido's useless." The boy who plunked down on the opposite side of the table was already chewing, spitting the words out around a mouthful of bread. "My brothers served with him up north and said he had the weakest shield arm he'd ever seen. If we're stuck with him the whole time, we're as good as done already."

"I thought the assignment was permanent," one of his companions remarked, but the boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Maybe not. Uncle Tatius' on the Elder Council now. I can always talk to him. See what he can do. But if not..." He shrugged. "There's other ways to get rid of him."

The boys all snickered, and beneath the table, her hand curled into a fist. She needed to get away from this as quickly as possible, but she was blurting the words out before she could stop herself. "You can't say that."

They were still laughing as the ringleader finally looked at her for the first time. "Oh?" he chortled. "Why's that?" It was a perfectly innocuous question, but she could have sworn she detected a hint of a sneer behind it. He was almost certainly mocking her, and she felt the blood rushing to her face, but she pushed on regardless.

"Conspiring against a superior. Even if it's a joke. If the wrong person hears, you'll be discharged from the Legion. You could even go to prison."

The boy appeared undeterred, confidently staring her down from across the table. "Is that so?" He spoke nonchalantly, but a cold shiver ran down her spine. The others were murmuring among themselves, and she fought the urge to flee.

"I'm just letting you know," she said quickly. "Just be careful what you say in public. That's all."

The boy's eyes narrowed, and a wide, savage grin spread across his face as the others began to snicker. "Edwyn, who is this?," he asked the table's original occupant, and her stomach began to churn as his cold, dead-eyed stare turned to her.

"Don't know," he said flatly. "She just sat down and started talking to me."

Her face flamed as they burst into uproarious laughter. Vision blurring, she collected her plate and her helmet with shaking hands and scrambled up from the table. They only laughed harder as she jostled against them, but she ignored it, keeping her head down and striding determinedly toward the door.

Outside, she allowed a few tears to drip freely before angrily dashing them away. She'd spent years preparing, hacking away at training dummies and reading every book she could get her hands on about battle strategies. But this...this was another matter altogether, and entirely unexpected.

I want to go home.

The thought sprang from nowhere, unbidden, and she found herself glancing around guiltily as though passersby could sense her treachery. What would Joric think? Stop it! she ordered herself sternly, drawing in a breath as she clenched her jaw.

She was meant to be a Legionnaire. Even since childhood, she'd never wanted anything else. Unexpected challenges went with the territory-but the more she repeated it, the more hollow it rang. What if, after everything, she wasn't cut out for this after all?