As a collective unit, all 573- no, it’s only 572 now- of us make our way from the hall, and out onto the field to begin our warm up. This is most definitely my least favorite part of the day. I absolutely despise running.

It is peaceful this morning though, which makes this far better. The trees are still smothered in an impenetrable layer of mist that tickles across my cheeks as I find a seat in the dew kissed grass, the limbs swaying with the light, cool breeze.

We’re allowed roughly five minutes to begin stretching before one of our “instructors”, who's just another one of the Wardens Dogs, Colonel Kraus, joins us on the field. He storms over, huffing hard enough that I’m surprised he hasn’t hacked up a lung, his massive hands swaying sporadically at his sides.

Kraus is the very picture of a war veteran, gruff and scarred head to toe, always rambling on and on about his past experiences, traumatizing us with each gory tale of what he went through out there, not that he gives the specifics of what he fought against or why.

If he wasn’t absolutely covered in scars, I would question if he’d actually been in any combat. His stories don’t add up, nor do they have much detail. Rather annoying, especially since we’re expected to go out there and fight whatever the hell they keep so secret.

If Kraus wasn’t such a yapper, I might even fear him. But Kraus is just a nuisance. One who tells us that he would still have all ten of his fingers and toes if he would've been able to run an extra three miles. Which is precisely why, he lectures every morning, that we all start our day with a 20 mile run. It’s also why we have to complete that run in record pace, under two hours to be exact. Because endurance isn’t enough if our enemies can just outrun us anyway.

Every second over the time limit is punished with a lashing. My back is all you need to prove it. There isn’t an inch of my skin unscarred from the first week being here. I think that first day I received 70 lashes before I passed out. Reed told me they finished the rest while my body was slumped on the floor, blood slowly pooling around my unconscious body.

The run alone wouldn’t be the absolute worst, after a few miles you start to get in a rhythm. What takes down most of the people here are the various rock climbing sections and the swimming portion. It’s like a demonic obstacle course. There's jumps and tunnels and a bunch of random shit that’s intended to make us “all terrain” fighters, whatever that means.

“All right you candy asses,” the Colonel hollers, his voice scratchy and abrasive, making my wince as the sound tears through my head, “You know the drill. Finish your 20 miles in time or the General and I will see you in his office.”

I scoff at that. An office is hardly the way I would describe the mutilation chamber the General uses. I mean for fucks sake, theres a drain in the center of the room, and the walls are lined with a plethora of torture tools, all of which are crafted for the specific intention to gouge out as much of a persons flesh as possible.

“Well, get going,” the Colonel growls, having already started his watch.

We all take off at the realization, I’ll take every second I can get. Glancing over my shoulder, I let out a small sigh when I see the new guys still hesitating to start. An onyx haired boy at the back makes me particularly nervous, as he’s tenderly holding his stomach as if he may throw up the morning's ooze at any second. It won’t be pretty for the new guys, and they’re going to learn that damn fast.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

About two miles into the run I begin to drift into severe boredom. Thinking of the stories my Mom used to read to me has always gotten me through even the most tedious of tasks here. Stories I’ve read so often I know them by heart.

Hythalla

The home Earthila had spent many Suns and Moons creating, she named Hythalla. A world of love and passion, welcome to all.

She created magnificent plains of tall grasses, lush with critters and bugs, each and every one born by her very self. She carved deep canyons, long and wide enough that it would take a dragon to fly over the grand opening. She made giant sand dunes as far as the eye can see, mountains taller and vaster than a person could possibly climb, and ice fields and snow capped mountains she would slide and skate on from morning to night.

Earthila made jungles and swamps and lands of clouds. She made volcanoes and underground sanctuaries. Each and every place she created with love in her heart. Each and every creation an adventure, a new form of life never before seen. She made it all, and yet, she was lonely.

In her time, she had made many creatures to stand by her side, but these beings did not offer the companionship she hoped for. Her creatures loved her dearly, and she loved them, but they were beings who only wished to love and protect her, driven by loyalty and honor, always doing what was best to their nature. But what Earthila wished for was not perfection. The Mother wished for truth, for love despite her role as the Mother.

So, Earthila created her very own family. One birthed from her very gifts. Nine daughters, she made. Nine daughters, each individual and drastically different from the other. Each daughter was blessed with the Mother’s own gifts, distributed in a way that best complimented their passions and talents.

From these children, the Mother created civilizations to best fit her daughters' varying desires. Places in the mountains and trees, even under the vast sparkling seas. And with these civilizations, the Mother created another being. These beloved creations, she named the fae. Creatures similar to herself, but wholly new and unique. Those truest of heart she allowed blessings of her own talents, gifts that would help them adjust to their new home, to grow communities and trust.

For each of the Mother’s daughters, she created nine lands. Lands for them to look after, to love and support to no end. These lands she named as such: Harensia, Vermah, Shavira, Piandra, Dumbrik, Omaiya, Feidrah, Kah, and Ivierma.

The people of Harensia were given the land of light and sky. Harensia has five different civilizations, all made of large cloud bases high above the lands below them, each soaring over Hythalla as the winds demand.

The Mother gave the people of Harensia long, beautiful, feathered wings, which are white as the very clouds they soar over, and tipped in varying colors of the beautiful sunsets and sunrises that perfectly match the color of their irises.

The people of Vermah were born to the underground world of fire and shadow, surrounded by volcanoes and caves, with glittering jewels and rivers of magma to light their shadowed lives. A different type of wonder, but one regardless.

The people of Vermah were blessed with elegant wings of sleek black feathers, with an undercoat of varying dark green and blue hues so they may soar around their generous cities. These people are typically pale as the Moon, after all they never see the sunlight, and finished with gold colored eyes that were made for living at night.

The fae of Shavira call the vast desert and dunes their beloved home. They are most well known for roaming the land in the middle of the night, for the day is often too hot and dry for them to survive. But they do not mind the heat, nor the lack of moisture, for the people of Shavira thrive in such conditions, bending their home to fit their lives. Additionally, it should be noted that the Shavi have long been thought of as the greatest knowledge holders on Earthila, it is not wise to question them on this.

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The fae of Piandra are jungle dwellers, typically living in the vast tree bungalows that can span for many miles. While most about this very secretive culture is unrecorded and unknown by outsiders, it is clear that these people are quite resilient and nimble. They are also known to be quite spiritual, spending much of their time honoring Earthila and her bountiful gifts.

The Dumbrik are a very headstrong people. Unable to be swayed or pushed over, they are steadily grounded. Their minds are as heavily fortified as their walls, which to this day are the strongest in Hythalla. But while these people are quite stubborn and strong willed, they are also incredibly level headed and can be trusted in times of peril.

The Dumbrik live in the unending mountain ranges and cliffsides they so fiercely defend. Their home instills a certain toughness that not any of the other lands can quite replicate, even the children of these communities are known to be born with more strength than the average adult of another land. Additionally, their skin is particularly tough and is incredibly hard to break through. Only a fool would attempt to slay them with a blade.

Omaiya is a home to free flowing thinkers and spirits. They are a people who take life as it comes to them and very rarely have abundant stressors. They are artisans primarily. Their talents span from pottery, to drawing, to painting, and even artforms not given a name lest they lose their abstract visions. Most of the art in all of Hythalla is from the most skilled of their craftsmen.

Their home is that of the vast oceans and coastal towns that are scattered throughout Hythalla. Their communities are, at times, on sandy shores, but their major cities lay deep under the water, forming beautiful coral and sand sculpted communities. In light of this, these people have the unique ability to grow a tail and fins when they wish it, and many possess gills behind their ears as a permanent signifier of their home.

Similar to Omaiya, but beautiful all the same, are the wondrous lands of Feidrah. Feidrah is, debatably, the most graceful of the lands. Composed of gorgeous, unending fields of tall, green grasses, and enchanting fields of flowers of every color and size. Scattered throughout are large and inviting forests, the leaves of the trees as graceful and delicate as the fae who live among them.

The people here are commonly found laying around these fields and forests, and the sparkling rivers weaved through them. They are known for their kindness and charity, always happy and helping to all. They are very similar to the Omaiya in this way, though their main difference is over their love of music. There is hardly an inch of these lands that is untouched by melodies and songs, especially late into the night, when some of the most entrancing symphonies are played.

The lands of Kah are a brutal and harsh climate of ice and snow. The fae of Kah live in the snow capped mountains, and ice covered lakes which compose their magnificent lands. The people here are harsh and fierce, unrelenting to the climate or their foes. They are not a people one would wish to cross, however, they are a brilliant adversary for those who can prove they are worthy. These fae are incredibly intelligent, cherishing knowledge and information more than the Omaiyan’s do their art.

The Mother created the Kah to have silver hair and skin to better blend in with the climate they were built for. They run incredibly warm, allowing them an extra layer of protection against the fierce winds and freeze of their biome, which they could spend all day and night in without getting a single goosebump.

The final land of the Mother’s creation was that of Ivierma. Ivierma is a wild and untamed land, ruled by none, with claims to all. Everyone is accepted here, for Ivierma is a mix of all of the Mother’s lands. If one is wishing for a life of peace and calm, this is not the land in which you would find it.

Ivierma is bound to no rules, often acting with a mind of her own. It is this reason that the fae are so drawn to it, for in a land with no rules, you could be anything you wish to be.

Mother Earthila relished her new creations, and loved each and every one. She had her people, she had her daughters, she had everything she could ever ask for.

The Mother was finally at home.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

I think my feet are going to fall off of my body. Just a couple more bends and I’ll be done, I tell myself. Just a couple more. I pant through my partially opened mouth, my tongue begging me for any type of moisture, stars flooding my field of vision from the beginning effects of dehydration.

It doesn’t help that the dip in the thrashing river has my skin clammy and blue, desperate for any sort of warmth. We’ve just begun swimming again, the water finally high enough that it could easily drown the weakest among us. At times, it can be a major pain in the ass, but swimming has never been an issue for me, I’ve always been fond of the water. I can’t say the same about the number of boys who succumb to the unruly rapids that seem inherently bloodthirsty. We typically lose a fifth of our numbers every year because of it. The newbies not lasting even a minute in the strong currents.

Passing a bend that reveals the largest oak tree on the trail, my eyes catch on the markings carved into the thick trunk. Having faded after the years that have passed, I have to squint to find the faint L and D, the letters carved flimsily into wood for close to a decade now. Me and Luca did it together.

My heart almost breaks at the thought of my old friend. Anytime I think of him, it’s like I can still see him, still hear his obnoxious laugh. His rough, shaggy brown hair, the way he smiled when he was messing with people, the blue and green flannel he wore like a uniform. He and I had been thick as thieves for two years.

But he was caught breaking the rules, and was sent to the cell where he inevitably disappeared, just like so many others who had been punished before him. I never saw him again, and it re-shattered my already broken soul.

“Hour n’ 26 minutes, Thorn,” The Colonel yells at me as I pass the finish line.

My breathing gallops fast and hard, unable to get enough of the air my lungs so desperately crave. Resting my hands on my hips, I stare at the thunderous sky above. A storm will surely start soon, and it looks like it’ll last a while. Smells like it too

My legs threatening to give out on me, I at last make my way to the dew kissed grass, the water not even registering with how soaked my clothes are from swimming just an hour ago.

And so we wait and wait, and then wait some more, until every runner files in, the new guys coming in well after the time limit. Mother save their souls. The last finally crosses over, the Colonel calling out his time, “Three hours, 48 minutes, Kohl,” he tsks.

Kraus scans his eyes over the sheet, his face bunching up as he looks over the names, “Where the hell are Fox and Quincey?” He looks around at the group. But everyone just looks at one another. I don’t recognize the names, but I wasn’t expecting to.

When no one speaks up, the Colonel turns the shade of an overly ripe tomato and screams loud enough to sway the grass, “WELL?”

One of the boys a couple feet away from me quickly stands at attention, “I last saw Fox around mile eight, sir,” he mumbles.

“And Quincey?” The Colonel barks.

“Drowned.” The boy says, his throat bobbing.

The Colonel only grunts in response, “And what was Fox doing when you last saw him,” the Colonel demands, stomping over to the boy and pulling him down by his collar despite the seven inches the kid has over him.

“He was on the ground, sir,” the boy stutters.

Colonel Kraus narrows his gaze, his face not even an inch from the boys, before slowly turning around, “Well, one of you better go retrieve him, or it’ll be ten lashings for all of you.”

Silence. Silence accompanied by absolutely nothing. No movement, no acknowledgment. Nothing. Oh come on. Selfish pricks.

Sighing in a way that I should win an acting award for, I hobble to my feet, which are still throbbing from the effort of the 20 miles I just completed, “I’ll go get him,” I sigh.

I don’t know why I’d hoped for anything else. Of course it’ll be me retrieving him. Nobody else gives a single shit about anyone but themselves. Even the best of friendships are torn apart by self preservation in this damn prison.

“Make it quick, Thorn,” the Colonel gruffs, “Bring him to the General’s office when you get back.” Nodding curtly, I start a quick jog down the path, my feet begging me to stop. At least it’s not raining…yet.