Spoils of Victory

Chapter 1

Drelanor

“We’re here.”

The time has come. I climb out of the carriage, clutching my belongings with a sweaty hand. Indeed I am here, both at my destination and at the next stop on the path to meet my destiny.

“The Astoria Military Academy,” I say aloud. The whole facility stands before me in all of its illustrious glory. It is where only the best of the best come to train, to further prepare themselves for serving their nation. 

That is, of course, why I’m here. I worked hard for this, and my reward is coming to me in the form of sweat, blood, and tears. I look between the two magnificent miou statues, each wielding a sword and shield.

I see in them my father and myself. It is here where I will take the next step forward in my destiny, where I will honor my family.

Drawing a deep breath, I approach the gates, pulling out my papers and handing them to the guards. They each cast a wary, studious eye between my documents and myself.

“So, you’re the son of the famed General Drevarin, is that right, Drelanor?”

I brace myself, knowing an insult or aggravating comparison is coming my way.

“Yes, sir,” I say, holding my head high, my eye contact unwavering.

“Hmm.” The guard snickers. “You don’t look like much to me.” He hands me the papers and opens the gate.

I proceed, my confidence as stable as it’s always been. They can say what they want. Their words are mere fuel to me. There is nothing that can intimidate someone who already has everything to lose.

One day, I will enter these grounds, and those very same guards will scramble over one another to see who can open the gates first.

It is early in the day, but training has commenced. From the looks of it, the cadets are already hours deep into their routine. Some are bleeding, others are vomiting from exertion, and a few are even limping, their faces working every muscle to valiantly hold back the tears.

I spot a group nearby leaving what I assume to be their quarters. All are nervous and uneasy. Some look back, perhaps seeking a way out of here. It’s obvious to me who will survive this grueling instruction and who won’t.

And I’ll be the one rising above them all in the end.

Alongside the outdoor training grounds are the old stone buildings once described to me by my father. There’s the infirmary, the armory, and, of course, the quarters, both for us dark elves and the human workers.

My pace slows as I take it all in, circling as I walk. A gasp of shock and awe escapes me, knowing all of my forebears were forged into great, commanding dark elves on these hallowed grounds.

It is here that I will be put through the very same trials and tribulations. I fully expect to get my ass handed to me, but not as much as I anticipate clearing my challenges. I know what matters, and that means getting up when I fall.

“I won’t give up.” It’s what I’ve repeated to myself for the past week. “My family is looking to me now. If I fail here, then I’ve failed them. I will not dare tarnish my family legacy.”

A group of beat cadets walks past me as I utter those words, casting a sidelong glance my way. I don’t expect them to understand, and quite frankly, I couldn’t possibly care any less about what they think.

When I enter the main building, the first thing I see is the long line of esteemed cadets, their pictures and achievements lining the wall. I stop in front of my father’s profile, his name jumping out in bold letters on his golden frame.

“I’ll make you proud.”

After I register and complete the onboarding process, I’m escorted to my room. It’s far from an elite hotel suite, consisting of a single bed with plain sheets, a desk, and plenty of reading material on the history of the academy.

I spend a few minutes hastily unpacking, throwing my belongings onto the bed and my clothes into the closet. I glance out the window, where I have a clear view of the outdoor training grounds.

Peering closer, I spot who I presume to be medical personnel on standby. I figure a lot of cadets sustain injuries, most of them avoidable and the result of losing focus. I remind myself of the importance of attentiveness but that's really never been a problem for me.

Still, I take a moment to tie my platinum hair back into a high ponytail. The last thing I need is for it to get in the way and blind me in the middle of exercises.

I prop a picture of my parents on the desk, seeing myself as a child standing between them.

“I’m here now,” I say to them as if they’re standing before me. “I’ve come to do my part in our family’s legacy.”

“Oy! You there!”

I spin around, meeting the pitch-black eyes of a dark elf. He’s around my father’s age, and every bit as hard-looking as I imagined the instructors here to be. A faded scar sets neatly on his left cheek.

“You’re Drevarin’s son, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Drelanor’s the name.”
“Drelanor,” the dark elf mumbles, a malicious smile spreading across his lips. “Stand to attention.”

I puff my chest and raise my chin high, watching as the dark elf invades the threshold and crosses into my room. I can’t help but feel as though he already has a problem with me.

“I am Commander Zett,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “You certainly look like your father.”

He must be an old rival of some sort.

“I’ve read your reports from your old training schools. It seems you’ll be a standout soldier from the looks of things.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Why are you thanking me? I haven’t seen you perform. Do you see me as a suck-up?”

“No, sir,” I state.

“I’m nothing like your father,” he says with disgust.

I hold back a scowl of my own. What is this guy’s problem?

“But one can't deny how good he is. I hope you understand you’re expected to be as good as him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad that’s clear. Now get out there and train, Drelanor. I’ll be watching. It’s time to show what you’re made of.”

He marches behind me the entire time on the way to training. If looks could kill, I’d be long dead by now. Zett only parts when I convene with other recruits but still watches from the sidelines as promised.

“Alright, you pieces of taura shit, listen up!” he calls out. “What you’re seeing is an obstacle course designed to beat the absolute piss out of all of you. You’re going to run, climb, crawl, and roll your way to the finish line, all while dodging the light spells cast at you by our fine mages here. Any questions?”

“Yes, actually,” a cadet says, meekly holding up a hand. “I was told there’d be –”

“Alright, get into positions. Ready, set, go!”

I spring into action. This is what I’ve trained for. This is my chance to show the commander and the others what I’ve got.

Already, the magic is hitting some of us. I jump over a hurdle just as an orb flies between my legs, executing a perfect roll to get back on my feet.

Two others sprint for their lives, running ahead of me, but one gets shot down. The other stops to help and is blasted for his mistake. Now he’ll know that sentiment serves as nothing but a distraction.

Up ahead, there approaches an incline so steep it’s practically vertical. I lunge and grab hold of the grips peppering its surface, utilizing every muscle to pull myself up. I feel the contractions in my body, each tension and release playing its part to propel me forward.

I hoist myself over the peak and land square on my feet. In an instant, I’m sprinting again. I jump over a pit, landing hard on the ground to crawl forward on my belly.

As I crawl, I look over my shoulder, seeing the others are far behind. One peeks his head over the incline and is shot down immediately. His fault, he’s far too slow.

I reach the end without a mark on me, much to the approval of the instructors. All but Commander Zett, that is. His response is only to show less disgust on his face than before.

“What’s next?” I ask.

By the time we start our sparring sessions, the other cadets are still trying to catch their breath. At the signal to start each fight, there grows inside me a familiar competitive desire, a force that drives me to win over each opponent.

Perhaps it is my ancestry ensuring the current generation does not fail. I feel their eyes on me as I outmaneuver my fellow cadets.

When it ends and we’re receiving feedback, I see them glaring at me in my peripheral vision. But not all are intimidated by me. Some extend an invitation to hang out with them, citing the need to create a friendship between all the new recruits.

“No,” I tell them. “I have training to do.”

“But we just finished training!” They stare at me in disbelief. “Whatever, have it your way!”

They’re nothing like me. They don’t know what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s as if the more successful I am, the heavier the pressure gets.

At the same time, I’m forcibly shoving down that voice within me, the one telling me I’m stupid for passing up the chance to make a friend. I’ve never had a real one for all of my life.

There’s no time for it, the warrior in me says. You’re here to excel, not to make buddies.

I keep training deep into the evening, only wrapping up my exercises after another few hours have passed.

I finally call it a night, walking past the common room where celebrations are already underway.

Idiots. Don’t they know we’re up bright and early tomorrow?

But something does stop me. I press myself against the wall, inching closer to the administration office, the doors of which are open. Inside, I hear two voices, one of whom I recognize as Commander Zett.

“The boy has potential, there’s no denying that.”

Is he warming up to me? I think to myself, not that I truly care.

“But having the blood of his father running through his veins doesn't mean shit unless he can hold his own in the long run.”

I feel my spirits fall. It’s the first time someone else’s remarks have gotten to me. Maybe it’s because it’s coming from someone whose opinion matters. The commander has the ability to make or break my experience here.

“Aye,” his companion says. “I only hope he can live up to his family name.”

So do I, but I say nothing.