> ## Silverhaven, Royal Castle >

Royal Training Grounds

--- The Silverhaven training grounds were a vast, well-trodden expanse of packed earth, surrounded by wooden weapon racks and straw-stuffed dummies. The morning sun beat down on two neat, rigid lines of new guild recruits. They stood at a semblance of attention, their postures ranging from eager stiffness to poorly concealed anxiety. Before them, a stark contrast to their disarray, stood Lucan Rowland. He was not in his full Royal Guard plate, but in practical, hardened leathers, the green of his tunic the only hint of color. His white hair was tied back severely, and his expression was one of detached, clinical assessment. He had just finished speaking, his voice having carried across the field with calm, unwavering authority, leaving a silence that was immediately filled by the chirping of distant birds. “To reiterate the core principles,” Lucan said, his gaze sweeping over the young faces, “safety of your party supersedes personal glory. A clean, efficient report is as valuable as a clean kill. You represent the crown from the moment you accept a writ until the moment you return it. Your conduct, your preparedness, and your discipline are a reflection on all of us. Failure in these fundamentals is not a stepping stone. It is a preventable end.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Now, for your initial assessment and partner drills,” Lucan continued, picking up a waxed slate from a nearby stool. “I will call your names and assign you a training partner and a station. You will proceed there immediately and await further instruction. Anderson, Kael. You are at pell station three. Focus on guard positions, not power. Belthor, Mira. Station two, basic parry and riposte drills. Corwin, Fen…” The list went on, methodical and precise. Each pair, once named, hurried off to their designated area, a mix of relief and new nervousness on their features. Within minutes, the field began to echo with the tentative clack of wooden practice swords and the low murmur of concentrated effort. Lucan lowered the slate, his task of organization complete. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing perfectly straight as he observed the scattered groups. His eyes were already critiquing stances, noting hesitation, identifying the overconfident swing that would leave a fatal opening. “The schedule for the remainder of the week is posted on the headquarters’s secondary board,” he stated, his voice rising just enough to be heard by all. He took a single step forward, his green eyes cool and impersonal. “This concludes the initial briefing. You have your assignments. Begin.” He waited a beat, his demeanor making it clear this was a formality, not an invitation for debate. “Are there any questions?”