Early morning work out

The next day, Atrox woke up when he heard low voices inside the tent. He turned and saw the two that looked so unlike the others—Syla and Tiber.

They were fully clothed and hurried out of the room.

Atrox debated with himself and then hurled himself upright to follow them. It was still dark out, and the cold curled around his limbs, but he shrugged it away, looking for his target.

They were easy to pick out. Although they weren't the only ones up and about, they were the only ones moving with a sense of purpose. Tiber was a tall, big man, and he moved as if rolling forward—quick and decisive. Atrox could see that he hadn't been an ordinary man before he was sent here.

Rubbing his hands together, Atrox followed them as they weaved between tents, watching the two of them speak to each other with ease. They were odd in the midst of the other dejected workers. 'How did they get into the labor camp?'

Finally, they slowed, and the tents thinned as they reached the edge of the Steelclaw camp. Atrox saw where they were heading—a small pool, murky and not so clear, set right there on the ground.

The two stopped at the edge, and instead of going in as Atrox thought, they spread out and began to bend their limbs. 'Are…they exercising?' Atrox was baffled and stood there awkwardly in the open space, watching them.

Syla seemed to be the only one doing something right, though. With her slim body, she sat and began bending her legs at impossible angles, flexing her body in a way Atrox had never seen before. He stood there, transfixed.

"Do you just come to stare?" Tiber said, his voice gruff. The man was older, probably in his forties, but his body was still in great shape, and he carried himself as if he could explode into action at any time.

It reminded Atrox of his former sword trainer. The man was forever stuck at the Squire rank but was a master of the sword. They had the same look too, as if constantly searching for the best way to stab a person.

"I…what are you doing?" Atrox finally asked, stepping closer.

Syla shot him a look but said nothing.

"Getting our body ready for the day. The work is hard and draining, and you'd want to use all your free time to sleep, but preparing yourself like this helps like magic," the big man said as he began doing a set of sit-ups.

Atrox hesitated. His body wasn't in the best condition, and he was hungry. Should he subject himself to more training that might sap the rest of his energy? But then, Tiber and Syla seemed to be the only two alive among the workers. Maybe they were doing something right after all.

He sat down slowly, wincing, and began to do sit-ups. It was one of the easiest exercises given to him to build his core strength, especially when he was standing and moving, so he figured he'd start there.

He began using the training method taught by his former trainer—to first clear the mind and think of nothing but darkness. To imagine the body as nothing but flesh and bones that couldn't feel pain. To do nothing but move.

It came easier than he thought, and soon Atrox was thinking about nothing but his moving body. His mind was easily claimed by the emptiness, the darkness, and his body moved without him needing to focus on it.

He kept going until a hand shook him roughly out of it. "Hey! Scrawny! Stop that! Hey!"

The hand gripped him tightly, and Atrox blinked, his senses reluctantly pulling away from the darkness that soothed his mind. "What?" He looked around in confusion.

Tiber was looming over him with a frown on his face, while Syla was crouched beside him, her hand digging into his shoulder. Atrox was still sitting on the ground.

"What?" he repeated, alarmed. Had he done something? He looked at his right hand in panic, his heart surging and his breath catching. 'Did I show my mark?'

He calmed when he saw that it wasn't his mark. They weren't looking at his hand but his face. "What?" he said for the third time.

Syla snatched her hand away and glared at him. "Are you trying to kill yourself before you even work and make the quota today? Much lower, and we'll all get punished," she accused.

He could only stare at her, baffled.

She gestured at him, and he finally looked at himself, paying attention to his body. He was sweating hard, and his body felt like soft leather. His stomach was spasming, twitching, but Atrox…felt good, as if all the tension he'd been carrying for years had finally found a way out.

Tiber grunted. "Interesting. You've been doing that for close to an hour and would have continued if she hadn't stopped you. I've never seen anyone go at it like that without stopping."

His eyes sharpened on Atrox, who almost flinched, his heart beating even faster. 'Does he know I'm a Squire? I don't want others to know until I'm ready. If they know, they'll want to see my mark…not yet. I'm not ready'

Ready for what? He couldn't answer that either.

Syla was looking at him with suspicion as well. "It's light out. You'd better strip and get into the water before others come here."

Taking her own advice, she stripped and followed Tiber into the water. Atrox stood, threw his wet clothes into a pile on the ground, and entered the cold water.

Rough stones lined the edge of the pool for scrubbing the body, and he gladly used them. He was far more relaxed than he'd been in a long time.

Maybe that was why he didn't notice Tiber and Syla staring at him so intently.