As the group finished their foraged meal, warm from the soil and heartening to their weary bones, Khoryv stood, brushing moss from his hands.
"No more drills tonight," he said, his voice carrying a strange warmth. "You'll rest. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow will be different."
They exchanged tired, surprised glances. Even Maksym didn't argue. The fire crackled, and for once, the forest stayed quiet. The shadow of Mara felt distant, lulled back to uneasy dreams.
They slept without nightmares.
Time passed in darkness, as always—but Khoryv's voice called them to rise for the second day. Khoryv's voice stirred them from rest.
"Day two," he said, arms crossed. "Today you fight in pairs. Learn to rely. Learn to follow."
He pointed with his thin pale fingers..
"Maksym and Lybid. You are first."
They nodded to each other, unsure but ready.
"Kyi and Yurko. You two second."
Yurko gave Kyi a nod as the wolf padded to his side. The beast lowered itself, allowing Yurko to mount with practiced effort, crossbow at the ready.
Khoryv turned to the final pair.
"Methodius and Shchek."
Shchek cracked his neck.
Before they could even step into formation, the ground split open.
From the shadows emerged monsters—but not Mavkas, nor Navs.
Vovkulakas, their fur patchy and eyes red with hate, crawled forward on clawed hands.
Poterchata, ghostly children with twisted, drowned faces, giggled eerily as they danced around the edges.
From the trees, Lisovyks glared—corrupted forest spirits, draped in rotting leaves, bearing antlers like dead branches.
Khoryv slammed his fist on the ground.
Walls of rose-thorned vines erupted from the ground, dividing the group into three arenas.
"Train," he said. "Or die."