Forged in Ice and Fire
Lorn knelt in the training pit of Shiraya's Rest, his brothers and sisters in arms a silent, watchful circle around him. The air, thick with the scent of earth and sweat, pulsed with anticipation. Today was the day, the culmination of countless hours of grueling training and unwavering dedication. Today, he would become a full member of the Vanguard, Shiraya's elite, their name a whisper of fear on battlefields across Naboo. It hadn't taken him long to earn their respect. Lorn was a weapon, forged for war, a soul tempered in the fires of adversity, and the Vanguard recognized that. Now, as dusk painted the sky in shades of violet and crimson, he knelt before Commander Lyra, her eyes, hard as polished steel, holding a flicker of approval. In Lyra's gloved hand, a branding iron glowed red-hot, the letters S and V emblazoned upon its tip. It was the mark of the Vanguard, a symbol of unwavering loyalty, courage, and sacrifice.
As a young man, he had gone through a similar situation with the Kingdom of Varnell and their army, led by his Master. At the age of 17, nearly a year after he had last seen Virginia, he was on the precipice of becoming a man, joining the family's army, ready to go to war. He tried to bury himself in his training, in finding bonds with the men and women there, even though news had reached him that Virginia had a child within the year. It broke his heart to know she shared something with a man she couldn't possibly love. But he pushed it deep down, focusing on his task at hand.
The heat of the iron was a faint echo of another memory from years ago. He closed his eyes, his mind slipping back to a harsh, unforgiving time, the forge that truly shaped him. It wasn't so different, this moment. A ceremony marking another step towards becoming something greater than what he was.
---
The wind howled like a banshee as the transport ship deposited him on the summit of the Hollund Mountains. Lorn, not one for trusting machines, especially flimsy flying ones, felt a knot of unease in his stomach as the vessel retreated. The world around him was a canvas of white, the endless snow mirroring the biting chill that pierced through his thick furs. His mission, delivered in his Master's typically gruff tones, was simple: survive fourteen days and fourteen nights with only the meager rations in his rucksack and the clothes on his back.
"Winter forges warriors, not the weak, Lorn." his Master had said, his eyes like chips of flint. The sheer audacity of the task was lost on the boy, eager to prove himself. Now, six days and nights into his ordeal, the words echoed around him, now with a taunting sneer. The cold had dug into him like a burrowing creature, and lack of sleep made his thoughts swim, turning the stark white landscape into a canvas of terror. A wolf, twice the normal size, with eyes like molten gold, had begun stalking him each night, a silent, menacing predator. Sleepless nights were riddled with the constant need for vigilance.
And then, the hallucinations started. Half-formed visions of Virginia, her face luminous in the snow, haunted his waking moments. Her laughter echoed on the wind, and he saw her cradling a child, a beautiful girl with her mother's eyes, a constant painful reminder of what he had lost. Of course, she was happy. He was nothing more than a passing memory. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it.
One night, as he drifted into fitful sleep, her vision became clearer, more real than ever. He felt her arms around him, her familiar warmth chasing away the bone-deep cold. "Wake up, Lorn!" she whispered, her voice frantic, a plea that penetrated the veil of sleep. Startled, his eyes snapped open, and he was face to face with the wolf, its teeth bared only a few feet away. Lorn scrambled back, heart pounding like a war drum. He saw her, Virginia, standing a little ways off with her child, an image of perfect domestic bliss, yet he felt no sadness. He felt calm. He felt in control, something he hadn't felt in a very long time.
He understood, he knew what he had to do. The fear receded, replaced by an unnatural calm. The wolf growled again, but Lorn felt no fear, only a strange sense of connection. He reached out a hand, the force, the energy, a power he hadn't understood, but accepted, surging through him. He moved slowly, measured, towards the beast. The wolf, seemingly frozen, watched him. Lorn reached its snout, feeling a strange understanding between him and the creature. He felt the wolf, understood the fear it had and the hunger. It was not evil, it was just surviving. He released the force, the energy flowing through him as he calmed the animal. He let himself and the beast become connected on this chaotic trial.
Over the following nights, the wolf became his protector, keeping him warm and safe. On the fourteenth day, the beast, gentle as a lamb, carried him down the mountain, back to the Kingdom and to the welcoming arms of his people. He was no longer the boy who had left. He was a man. The ceremony held in his honor, the warrior's mark inked into his flesh, was a rite of passage, a badge of honor.
---
The branding iron pressed into his chest, the smell of burning hair and flesh filling the air. The pain was a sharp, fleeting thing, easily overtaken by the warmth that spread through his chest, the same comforting warmth he had felt when he was finally back from the mountain.
Lorn opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of his brothers and sisters in arms. Their faces, once impassive, were now alight with acceptance, with the unbreakable bond they shared, a connection that ran deeper than blood. Their acceptance, their pride was like a warm blanket engulfing the cold of the mountain. He had come to Shiraya's Vanguard seeking purpose, a place to belong in his new home. And now he found it. He had been forged in fire, tempered in the unforgiving cold, and now he stood, a full member of the Vanguard, ready to face whatever the future held.
