Julian was snoring so loudly that he almost didn't hear the knocking at his door.
It took sheer willpower not to toss something at the door just to make whoever it was go away.
Groaning, he pushed his messy hair back and forced himself to sit up, wiping the sleep from his left eye.
The room was barely two by three meters, so it wasn't a long walk to the door.
He made sure he looked somewhat presentable before cracking it open — only to find a pair of bright green eyes staring at him.
"Emma? What do you want this early…" Julian mumbled, checking his watch. It was barely six in the morning.
"You sure took your time," Emma said, hands on her hips.
"Now get up, we need to train. Didn't you say yesterday you wanted to learn?"
She looked frustratingly energetic for the hour.
"I did... but why this early?" Julian complained, only opening the door wide enough for her to see his face and messy hair.
"Here in the enclave, things end at sunset and everything begins at sunrise. You need to learn how things work." Emma's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Now get up, we need to hurry. I have other things to do after teaching you the basics."
Julian sighed, feeling cornered.
"Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes to get ready. I was up late reading... I'm a mess."
He shut the door before she could argue, gathering his few belongings quickly. He pulled on a slightly oversized shirt that Harris had given him the night before when he accepted to give him a room in the tower.
Julian was grateful at least for something clean to wear.
It hung loosely on his frame, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Supplies here were precious.
He didn't even have socks — his only other pair was still dirty from the day before. Julian made a mental note to find time to do laundry later, considering he only had two sets of clothes to his name.
Slinging his jacket over one shoulder, he hurried back to the door.
"So, where are we training?" Julian asked as he joined Emma, rubbing his eyes.
"I hope it's not near Kevin's forge again."
The memory of yesterday's embarrassment was still too fresh.
"Don't worry," Emma said, leading the way.
"We have a designated training area. Anyone there will be too busy with their own drills to pay attention to us."
Julian gave a small sigh of relief as he followed, feeling the cool morning air hit his face.
Maybe today would go better.
It wasn't long before they exited the enclave, where two guards stood watch with makeshift guns slung over their shoulders.
Nearby, three others were already busy training.
Sarah was coordinating with her newly tamed wolf, working on simple commands.
A male archer focused on his aim, firing arrow after arrow at distant dummies scattered across the field. And off to the side, a man in his late thirties or early forties practiced heavy swings with a long claymore, completely absorbed in his training.
"Now let's go over there and begin," Emma said, guiding Julian toward an open patch of dirt.
"We need to stretch and warm up. I don't want you straining a muscle and ending up hospitalized for a few days. I've seen it happen to new ones."
She began lightly stretching, letting out a small yawn.
It seemed Julian wasn't the only one who had stayed up late.
Emma led them into a light jog around the field. The area was fenced — not enough to stop a full-grown predator, but enough to delay something like a raptor, giving the guards time to react.
The jogging felt endless.
Since the space was relatively small, they had to complete twenty laps.
Julian struggled after the third.
Emma, meanwhile, looked like she could keep running forever but slowed down when she noticed Julian was practically dragging his legs, ready to collapse.
"Next time, go straight to sleep when curfew starts..." Emma advised, pulling out a small flask and taking a sip of water.
"Guess you don't have one," she said, tossing the flask toward Julian.
"Here, drink. We need to start sword training soon. Breakfast should be ready in an hour, so let's hurry."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked toward a training circle marked in the dirt.
Julian stared at the flask for a moment shrugged then gulped down the water in a few desperate sips.
It was warm, but it was heaven.
He forced himself back onto his feet and followed her.
Emma handed him two wooden sticks — simple practice swords — while she unsheathed her slender rapier.
"This time," Emma said, steady and clear, "I'll show you the attacks first. Watch carefully. You'll block — nothing more. No counterattacks until you can defend yourself properly."
At first, it went better than Julian expected.
Emma explained each motion before striking, and he managed to block most of them, feeling a small thrill every time his sticks met her blade instead of his ribs.
But once she stopped giving verbal warnings, things quickly became chaotic.
Julian found it harder and harder to predict her movements. His arms grew heavy, his breathing ragged.
Twice he stumbled, barely raising his sticks in time.
Still, he didn't quit.
Even when the training grew tedious — endless blocking, endless repetition — he kept trying.
He needed to be better than he was yesterday.
And maybe, just maybe, survive long enough to see another sunrise here.
As the morning flew by with training, the time for breakfast finally approached.
Those waiting for the meal began making their way toward the dining area, chatting quietly among themselves.
Feeling sticky and uncomfortable from sweat, Julian followed Emma as she led him toward the washing area. A communal bath had been set up, separated by gender by a tall wooden partition and a few worn signs.
"Remember," Emma said, glancing over her shoulder, "you can't take more than one shower per day. If you do take one, you'll have to help refill the water after. I'll teach you how to do that later — it needs to be done in groups."
She grabbed a towel from a rack with names stitched onto them before stepping into the women's section.
"The water's not warm," she added, "but with this heat, you won't need it."
Julian, realizing he hadn't brought a towel, awkwardly hovered by the rack for a few seconds, scanning the names stitched into each cloth.
As he hesitated, someone walked up behind him.
"Just grab one from the bottom," said the tall man who had been practicing earlier with a massive claymore.
He easily pulled a large towel — more like a small blanket — from the bottom shelf before heading into the men's section without another word.
Julian watched him go, feeling a little intimidated.
The man was probably close to seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair streaked with silver. Despite his age, he looked fitter than most, carrying himself with calm authority. His face was square and strong, freshly shaven — a rarity here — and his short-cropped hair looked like it had been self-cut but neatly maintained.
Julian grabbed a plain towel from the bottom of the pile and took a deep breath.
"Don't tell me it's like one of those Japanese-style baths where everyone just... walks in together," he muttered to himself, trying not to imagine the awkwardness.
With no other choice, he stepped inside, ready to face whatever embarrassment awaited him.