Then they call my group to the starting line, and we’re off. Three of the men shoot out at a speed I can’t possibly match, but everybody else takes it slower. There are four sides of the field, and I manage to stay with the pack as we round the corner. My lungs burn though. My feet feel like stone, and by the second turn I start to lag behind. I’m dead last at the third corner, and still flagging. I urge my legs to move faster, but they don’t respond.

Scars, I can do better than this, can’t I? I sense someone watching me, and I glance up to see Cas looking on from the side, smug in his Neju’s Guard sash. I don’t look at him long, but I can feel him smirking. It’s enough to give me a burst of strength. I shoot forward, passing one man and then two. I overtake a third as I round the last corner, and I see him lift his head in surprise. I fix my eyes on the men in front of me and give one last burst of speed, overtaking a few more before I fall across the finish line. Four men stand panting on the other side. I’d come in fifth. Right in the middle.

Several stone-faced soldiers jot notes onto clay tablets. I have no idea what they’re writing. “The next station is archery,” one of them says.

At the archery field, I’m surprised to see Walgash running the trials. He has us each take position in front of a target and gives us each a bow and quiver.

“Ten arrows at the target,” he says. “Fire at will.”

I sling the quiver over my shoulder, feeling pretty confident. I’ve had a chance over the past days to come to the archery fields. After some trial and error, the skill came back to me. I’m pretty good.

I step through the bow to string it, bearing down, but somehow, the bow won’t bend enough for me to loop the string over the end. I release the pressure and try again, but the bow just won’t cooperate. That’s strange. Has my earlier trial sapped me of strength so completely?

Around me, arrows start thudding into their respective targets. Everybody else is doing just fine, and I can’t even ready my weapon. A flush starts to creep across my face.

“Having trouble, soldier?” Walgash says from behind me.

“Yes, sir,” I mutter. I can’t bear to look at him, and simply continue to struggle. What in the world is wrong?

“Well, you’d better hurry. Everybody else is finishing up.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, more sharply this time. I don’t know how much longer I should even keep trying. I’m getting tired, and the bow is not getting any more cooperative.