“Sit down”.

An unseen voice croaked with the broken cadence of long-unused vocal cords. Rays of sunsets dim light pierced through slats in the ceiling, fighting to illuminate a darkened room. Heat radiated from the walls like a furnace, and in the center of the room was a boy.

Lanky and thin, the boy stood transfixed, his chest rising and falling seemingly in tandem with the erratic pounding of his heartbeat. The boy's face twisted into a grimace as his knees began to tremble, unable to further support his weight. With a dulled thud he fell, the snap of desiccated wooden joints rang out as splinters shot up from below him.

The words spoken had not been a request.

They were reality.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought this place was empty. I’ll leave.” The boy's voice was tight. High with panic and youth. “I swear I won’t tell -“

“Quiet.”

The boy's tongue froze in place. Muscles in his jaw twitched awkwardly, mouth agape.

“This isn’t a place you can enter by accident. I should know. I’ve been waiting so long...” The archaic voice trailed off into unintelligible muttering as a man walked out from behind the boy.

The man was small and moved with a crippled gait. Leathery skin withered by time and age hung loosely off of his lithe form. He moved slowly. Each step was meticulously placed and to the frozen boy now kneeling on the ground, it seemed as if in those footsteps rested something unstoppable. Like they were predestined, or part of the earth itself.

For a brief moment, the boy felt like he was in the shadow of something great. A mountain that once blocked the heavens, but had been reduced to rubble by jealous gods.

The man stood silently for several moments, hands clasped behind his back. His gray eyes locked with the boys. A gaze that was simultaneously invasive and seemingly lost.

The boy's breath grew ragged, and veins across his skin throbbed thickly with effort as he tried to avert the pervasive gaze. Muscles in his neck rebelled against the impulse, frozen in place. From the perspective of an outsider, it looked like a young boy worshiping an ancient deity.

"Well. Not too bad.” The words were spoken softly but crashed down on the boy below. His body slumped to the ground with a thud; twitching shivers indicating his bodily control had returned.

“Wh-what are you?” The words spilled from his still numbed tongue, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“That... is not the right question.” The man said as he cleared a bit of dirt from the ground in front of the boy. He sat with a small groan, discomfort escaping his cracked lips. He folded his hand into his lap and watched as the boy struggled to sit up fully.

“The correct question is who am I?”

“Well”, The boy said stiffly. Pushing himself into a kneeling position again. “Who are you?”

“Good question! I am Kasra, and from the day your father spilled his seed into your mother, I was destined to be your master.”

Kasra’s slim lips turned up into a queer smile.

"You should bow now.”

———————————————————-

“Brent!”

A melodic voice echoed above the treetops, resonating with the playfulness of youth.

“I’m gonna find you!”

“Keep looking, dummy.” Brent said in a hushed whisper. The corner of his lips crept upwards into an impish smirk.

Lanky and thin for his age, Brent had always been particularly adept at hiding in plain sight. He pressed further down against the base of a thick branch, his limbs curling around the hard bark like a dying spider.

By his estimation, this was shaping up to be another win. His younger sister Emily was all but lost in the densely wooded grove, and he didn’t think there was much of a chance that she’d decide to look some fifty feet into the air at the tree where they started their game. From his perch among the canopy, Brent had a fairly decent view of Emily and the woods below. He watched as she stalked toward wild berry bushes and bramble thickets. She chased shadows, certain of her impending victory. He couldn’t help but smile at her naïve confidence. This was a game they played often enough, one he learned from his father when he was just a kid too. He felt it was his responsibility as an older brother to teach his little sister how to lose honorably.

Two days prior they were chased off of Old Grant's farm with cries of retribution and ruined roughage flying over their heads when Emily lost her temper and somehow managed to knock over a cart she had hidden behind.

Today they had decided to venture further from home and into the newly dubbed Glades Grove.

Once a thick forest unmolested by the hands of men Glades Grove was now basically a glorified park waiting to be cleared. The small village of Noddem had grown extensively over the last few years. According to Brent's father, some novel drilling method had unlocked a veritable horde of ores and raw Magicite beneath Noddem, giving rise to a booming industry and wealth to spare. Having grown well beyond the founders of Noddem's rural expectations, the nearby forest was quickly eyed to be annexed in its expansion.

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Brent was from a village called Restow, about half a day's walk from Noddem. His father had been summoned by the Lord of their City, a man called Jaris, when a call to arms by the Mayor of Noddem was received. Capable warriors were invited to enter Glades Grove and ensure no foul beasts had taken roost before the construction began in earnest.

All named men were guaranteed a small reward and first pick if they wanted to take residence in the soon-to-be district. The area was well known and explored already, the call mostly intended to placate the wealthy, if cowardly, businessmen now calling Noddem home. Investing in a major construction was a hard sell without proper proof of scouting.

As such, when Brent's father was asked if he wanted to attend the purge, he took it as an opportunity to bring his son with him. Then thirteen, Brent was on the cusp of manhood and a bit of danger would suit him well.

On the day of the expedition, Brent showed up at the City gates with the Bracket twins in tow. The Bracket twins were Brent's closest friends. Barrel-chested boys with dark auburn hair and blue eyes. Darren was the slightly taller of the two, and never let his brother Branson forget it despite the fact that both boys were much larger than thirteen-year-olds should be. Both boys were covered head to toe in dark freckles, spending most of their days with Brent exploring the countryside. The two boys had spent a full week begging their parents for permission to join Brent and his father. No soul in Restow City could doubt the combined effort of the Bracket twins. When the twins had their minds set on something, it was bound to happen eventually. A stubbornness that was lamented by their teachers, and doubly so by their mother.

With permission inevitably granted and the right of passage in hand, the four set forth on their journey.

Brent's father showed them many things during their trip. Like the optimal spot to set up a base camp by scouting for fresh beast tracks. Or how to set traps that could detain large creatures or traps that could kill small ones. The exact spot to pierce through the flesh of an elk to destroy its heart.

It was then that Brent was given his blade, and taught the proper way to slay a beast. The two-handed grip, one supporting the other on the hilt of the blade. One motion. One confident pierce through the enormous chest, careful to avoid any unnecessary bones in the way. Father told him with a sufficiently sharp blade, the beast wouldn't even feel pain, just the cold sleep of death. Most importantly he learned to never look away as the life drains from their body. A final respect.

Their expedition was a success. A foregone conclusion as several other adventurers had heeded the call and quickly swept through the thickest parts forest before Brent and his team could even arrive Aside from the elk, Brent's group encountered no real dangers and returned to Restow victorious. Since that day Brent always kept the small sword with him. Sheathed snuggly and tied down securely to his thigh with twine. On the pommel a small wooden medallion had been crudely carved with his initials and secured with tar Brent had managed to whisk away from a distracted tanner.

Brent pushed up from the thick branch he rested on and leaned back, his hemp shirt catching purchase against the bark of the tree, the palm of his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Emily had turned around and started to trudge back to base, her eyes low and shoulder slumping. The pouting walk of another loss. It was only a matter of time before she returned and saw his gloating face far above.

Brent’s eyes began to grow heavy, the smirk from before steadily falling. Mid-day’s sun held firmly in the cloudless sky creating a blanket of warmth and victory that lulled him into a quick sleep.

—————————————————————

“Kid, you’re in over your head right now.”

The crumpled form of a teenage boy sprawled across the ground. Well-tread dirt that had been stomped flat and meticulously even into the shape of a circle served as an arena big enough for two. A stout man stood some distance away. A long and thin wooden staff rested on his shoulders, his arms dangling lightly atop it. The mocking pose of a scarecrow, meant to instill fear in the boy below.

Brent rolled to his side. A sharp pain radiating from his hip reminded him of how devastating a simple strike could be at the right time.

“Shut up.” His voice trembled slightly, betraying his intent and forced resolve.

“I can go again, John.”

The small clearing the two stood in was part of a larger installation, surrounded by thick forest on three sides. A dozen other circles and a dozen other young men populated the area. Some were unconscious on the earth, their wounds being tended to by their staff-wielding counterparts, while others had yet to break into a sweat, moving with grace and agility far beyond their years.

Brent pushed himself to his knees, and in one jerking motion stood up, stumbling forward a step before catching himself. The knotted tip of a crude wooden long sword weathered by age and decay drove into the ground like a post to support his weight.

“You need to learn your limits,” John said, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. John swung out, his staff whipping in a short arc, smashing against the blade of the wooden sword sending it sprawling away.

A wince of pain escaped as Brent's face connected with the ground. The taste of dirt and shame fresh on his lips.

“You’re a tough kid,” John sighed, squatting beside Brent. “but you’re a stubborn idiot. What do you expect to accomplish like that? You can hardly hold that damned toy sword and it’s practically made of rot and leather. Can you even lift a real one?”

John reached to his hip and pulled out a short sword. The sheathe was partially obscured by a wide, gray cloth wrapped multiple times around his waist. The kind of weapon that wasn’t meant to be seen until it was needed. The edge was chipped in many places but was ground fine and sharp, slick oil still fresh on the flats.

John held the sword in the air inspecting something unseen on the blade's edge before slamming the point into the ground beside Brent's head.

A splatter of dirt and rubble peppered Brent's face, his eyes clenching shut at the impact.

John lifted Brent's chin so that their eyes would meet. “You’ve got so much to work with."

"Look around you." He said gesturing to the others. "These men are older and stronger than you, but you’re still fighting among them."

"You need to learn to hone yourself, like a blade," He said, grabbing the hilt of his sword with his free hand. "or you will crack under the pressure. You fight, yes, but that is all you do. Fight. It isn’t enough."

John let Brent's head drop, unearthed the blade, and turned to leave, stopping a few steps away.

Without turning he said, “What we do is more than crossing swords, and kicking dirt. It takes more than resolve and blind confidence.”

"Only the living can conquer death, boy.”

John sighed, “You're going to die just like she did if you don’t realize that soon.”

A moment passed as John deftly sheathed his blade, cinching the now loosened binding around his waist. He returned the staff to his shoulders, assuming the scarecrow pose once again as he walked through the training grounds towards a building on the far end.

"Maybe.. maybe that’s what you want.”

————————————————————

“Brent!”

Brent lurched awake, small beads of sweat that had begun to percolate on his forehead shook free and fell as he gripped the limb before him. A scream shook the canopy, sending a flock of roosting birds into flight.

“Emily!?”

Brent’s vision narrowed as he struggled to stand upright, feet slipping against rotting bark. He bit down onto his tongue, hard - a trick his dad had taught him to keep from panicking when charged by a bull elk; sharp pain gave rise to refocused senses.

Another shriek pierced the air and Brent’s neck craned toward the sound in the forest below, his eyes scanning the clearings in search of his sister's small form.