Mataram arrived at the docks near Laran. He had dreaded the six-hour walk from the academy to the docks. He was surprised to find a carriage waiting for the recruits heading for the Meat Grinder. The other recruits in the carriage looked grim, their faces sunken and their bodies shaking. Only a few did not seem concerned.

A large carrier ship was waiting for them. Mataram looked up at the large vessel. Large did not give it any justice.

"Wow," Mataram muttered to himself.

"My Lorelai deserves more than a wow," a man beside him drolled.

Mataram noticed something unusual in the man's speech. It was as if he was trying to make a joke but could not find it funny.

Mataram looked to his right to the man that had spoken to him. He immediately saw the man's armband and saluted. "Of course, Captain!"

The captain gave his ship, Lorelai, and the sea beyond a stern look. A black balaclava wrapped the captain's face, only revealing his brown eyes and bage skin. Mataram could see the man had puffy cheeks and was built like a strong man.

The captain kissed his teeth and shook his head disappointedly. "Tsk." The captain walked away, not even looking at Mataram.

Mataram followed the other recruits boarding the ship. One of the crew escorted them to a large space in the hull, which was filled with supplies and bandages. Their escort told them to get settled and left without any further words.

The recruits began putting their bags on the floor and making themselves comfortable. Mataram used his small pack as a pillow and tried to sleep.

-------------

On the second night, Mataram jolted up from his sleep. A yell had woken him up. Looking around at the other recruits, he noticed he was not the only one that had awoken.

"Shut up, man!" one of the recruits yelled in a strange accent. The man was tall, had dark skin, and stood like a shadow in the dim light of the candles in the hull.

"What's the problem?" another recruit asked. She was tall and brandished a sword on her hip. She also had dark skin and a strange accent, but her accent differed from the recruit who yelled.

"Man's trying to sleep," the male recruit replied agitatedly. He gestured to another recruit huddled on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," the recruit on the floor repeated. He was a tiny man, Matarm noticed- like himself.

"Wasteman here won't stop cursing," the standing male recruit kicked the downed recruit.

"Stop it!" The female recruit stepped between the recruits. "Kicking him ain't doing nothing."

The male recruit clenched his fists. That was when Mataram noticed the man's eyes were red and moist. "Just SHUT UP, MAN!" He yelled again before turning and rushing out of the hull.

The woman then turned to face the recruit on the floor. "And you!" she yelled, but not as loud as the previous recruit. "You're not the only one going through this crap. Don't be so selfish, and stop waking everyone up."

The recruit on the floor curled himself tighter but did not stop swearing.

The woman shook her head. "Shut up, or I'm finding an officer," she muttered. "I wouldn't want to stand in battle with people like you."

Mataram wanted to go back to sleep but could not block out the recruit's cursing.

"Fine," the woman said. "Court-martial will suit you."

"I'll deal with him," Mataram said without a second thought. He got up and began making his way to the recruit. He bent down and nudged the man. "Come on. Let's get some fresh air."

The recruit snapped and batted Mataram's hand. "Leave me alone!" he yelled. The man had a sharp jaw, sunken cheeks, and large teary eyes. "You highborns have it easy. They're not going to make you a rat and send you to die!"

Mataram snickered. "You think I'm a highborn, do you?"

"Huh?" the man muttered before taking a closer look at Mataram. His eyes shifted in realisation.

"Come on, let's get some fresh air, and we can talk," Mataram replied. Then, clenching a fist full of the man's shirt, Mataram began to drag him towards the door.

"Let me go," the man struggled.

Mataram did not know why, but he felt something snapping in him. "Shut up!" Mataram yelled, turning to face the recruit.

The recruit's mouth continued to move, but no sound came out. His eyes went wide.

"Heh," the woman said, smirking. "Should've done that from the start."

Mataram did not reply but continued dragging the man out of the hull. The man was not struggling anymore. Did I do that? Mataram wondered.

When he opened the door to the deck, Mataram saw the other male recruit who had left earlier leaning against the rails. He turned to face them and gave Mataram a nod in thanks. Mataram noticed tear streaks on his cheeks. Mataram returned the nod. He left the deck once Mataram cleared the door.

Mataram let go of the recruit he was dragging on the left side of the deck near the rails. He tried to undo what transmutation he had accidentally done. When Mataram did, the man took a deep breath and followed it by immediately lunging at Mataram.

Reflexes took over, and Mataram turned his body sideways; the man lunged at nothing.

"Are you trying to kill me?" the man said, panting.

"No," Mataram said. "But I'll do it again if you keep trying to attack me."

The man's face paled, and he collapsed in despair.

Mataram sighed and sat down next to him. "I am also going to be a rat," Mataram uttered after a while. "Many of us down there will be."

"Except the highborns," the man muttered. "They are going to get the easy jobs while we lowborns will be sent to die."

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"Highborns die too," Mataram groaned. He wondered if hanging out with Lycan had made him sympathise with highborns more. "Less of them die because there are fewer of them."

"Easy to say for a sorcerer," the man replied dryly.

"And you're not?" Mataram asked, surprised.

"Nah," replied the man, grasping his hair. He let out a frustrated scream.

"If you don't wanna fight, why join?" Mataram asked.

"You think I signed up for this?" the man snapped.

Mataram gave the man a confused look.

"Have they not told you anything in the academy?"

Mataram shook his head.

The man turned to face the ocean, closing his eyes. "The empire is expanding its efforts rapidly. They issued a draft. I was dragged away from my village to the training camp. That was just over a month ago. And this morning, I was picked up by this boat."

"A month?" Mataram asked, surprised.

"Not much to train if you're not a sorcerer," the man snarked. "They teach you to fight in a formation, and then you're ready." The man's face turned dark. "But now I'm a rat on its way to the meat grinder. No point in fighting in formation."

"Hold on," Mataram said, his heart racing. "Where are they conducting the drafts?"

The recruit turned to face Mataram in understanding and pity. "The whole empire. And they start from the villages. Yours most likely, too."

Mataram paled, thinking of his father and his sister Lea. "How... old?" Mataram stuttered.

"Fifteen to fifty for non-sorcerers," the man replied. "If you're a sorcerer. They'll take you the moment you can walk on your own."

Mataram exhaled a sigh of relief—it was only momentary. He slammed the metal railings. "Ten years," Mataram cursed.

"Ten years for what?" the man asked.

"My sister is five. I have ten years to get high enough to keep her safe. And five years too late if she's a sorcerer," Mataram replied, gripping the rails.

"We're not going to make it to ten years," the man replied fearfully.

"I am not going to die," Mataram replied, his hands shaking.

"We'll see about that," the man snorted. "Our empire's conquest has been ongoing for over a century. Why do you think they're suddenly increasing the efforts like never before?"

Mataram's arms shook even harder, and his face grew even paler.

"Word out there is that the invaders are coming soon. Very soon, by the looks of it." The man sighed.

"Then I'll have to rise quicker," Mataram replied, grounding himself in what was to come.

"You're not afraid," the man said and smiled sarcastically. "How?"

"I am afraid," Mataram confessed. "I was afraid," he corrected. I just keep telling myself that I'm not, and it becomes my reality." Mataram gripped the Garuda pendant in his pocket. The metal pendant grew warm, and the warmth seeped into his palm.

"I see," the man said. "Thanks for the talk. I won't give you my name." He pulled a silver necklace from underneath his shirt, revealing a gold pendant etched with the symbol of Garuda. "But if you see my body, get this back to my village to my grandmother, will you? The name of the village is on the back."

"Why not survive and bring it back yourself?" Mataram asked.

"Talking to you has made me see that I will die anyway. Easier to face death when you know it's inevitable," the man shrugged. "I don't have it in me like you do. Final advice for you, though. Stay weary if you somehow made it to rise fast. Highborns don't like it when Lowborns rise higher than them."

"They're not all bad," Mataram replied. "Besides, there's a lot of lowborn commanders in the army."

"They probably sucked off the highborns to get there," the man said dryly. "Highborns always seem nice at first, wanting to help. But they'll backstab you when they think you'll get in their way."

Mataram did not believe that. The man was likely unlucky. Whether highborn or lowborn, there will always be rotten ones.

The man stretched his arms to the sides and grinned. "Why do you think I'm here? I was too good at sparring, and now I'm a rat," he shrugged.

Seeing Mataram not taking his advice seriously, the man shook his head disappointedly. "I'm probably not welcomed down there," he pointed to the hull below the deck. "You should go back and get some sleep. I'll sleep here."

Mataram yawned. He was tired, and the constant rocking of the boat did not make it easy for him to sleep.

----------------

Lycan stood before the gates to the massive castle in Sunda, the heart of Akar's military power. The castle was not grand or beautiful. It was not made for their Monarch to stay or receive guests. It was made for military command. The castle was short, but its width made up for its lack of height. Lycan now understood where the rumours that HQ had an entire city inside its walls originated from.

Two guards stood by the gates. They were not powerfully built or looked threatening, but Lycan felt the need to look down at the ground beneath their gaze. They would be master sorcerers, he knew. And if one of them was a visioner, he hoped they would not take his resentment of getting sent to HQ personally.

Lycan's parents were not upset at dinner last night, he remembered. Instead, they were delighted. They denied having done anything to influence where he was sent to. At first, he did not believe them, but as dinner continued, he became more and more convinced. Something was not as it seemed, and they would not or could not tell him.

Lycan noticed two boots standing in front of him. Judging by their size, the shoes likely belonged to a woman.

"Lycan Torress," A woman said.

Lycan looked up and saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

The woman had long black hair tied to a bun with a hair stick poking out on two sides. Her skin was white, almost like a sheet of paper. She looked annoyed. "Follow me."

Only when Lycan began following behind her did he notice the two guards saluting towards her. They continued to salute until she gestured for one of them to open the gates.

Lycan raised his hand.

"Permission granted," the woman said without looking back at Lycan.

"Am I the only one, ma'am?" Lycan asked.

"Yes," she replied and made her way through the gates.

As Lycan made his way through the walls, he gawked. He had thought HQ was a single large structure. Not hundreds of smaller structures designed to give the illusion of a single building when seen from outside its walls. He saw sorcerers flying above, ready to apprehend anyone who breached the no-fly zone near HQ.

"Follow," the woman said. "We have a lot of grounds to cover." Without another word, she began floating a few feet above the ground and flew towards another walled section deeper inside.

Lycan ran after her. Fire elementalists could not fly, but Lycan had been trained since he could remember. Running at this pace was easy for him. Then, the woman flew even faster.

Around thirty minutes later, Lycan was kneeling before another set of gates. He breathed hard, his hair wet from sweat and matted on his face.

"Get up, recruit," the woman ordered.

Lycan snapped up into a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

The woman gestured to the guards by the second gate, who made their way to Lycan and patted his body. He was unsure what they were looking for as they did not remove his sword once they finished and let him through. The woman continued to remain silent.

They made their way to a square building guarded by another set of guards. The guards saluted at the woman.

"Good day, ma'am," one of them said.

"Good day," the woman said. "This is Lycan Torress; he will stay with us for now."

"Very good, ma'am," the guard said, lowering his head slightly. "I will tell the others."

"Thank you," the woman said as she and Lycan entered the building. One of the guards opened the door.

As they entered the building, the woman stopped. "Recruit!" she snapped.

Lycan stood straight and saluted.

"Next time you see those guards, you salute!" She barked. "They are ranked far above you."

"Yes, ma'am," Lycan said, growing uneasy. He wanted to slap himself for forgetting simple military manners.

The building only had a single floor, and the woman led Lycan to where he reckoned it was her office. The room was bare, with minimal furniture. There was a desk, two chairs, and a rucksack. The symbol etched onto the front of the desk sent chills down Lycan's spine.

The woman took a seat behind her desk. "Sit down," she said softly yet sternly.

She picked up a parchment that was on her desk and began to read it aloud. "Lycan Torress. Heir to house Torress. Fire Elementalist. Top of his cohort. No blue flame. Lost to a water elementalist in the tournament. Bleeds after ten minutes of average level transmutation."

"Yes, ma'am," Lycan concurred from his seat.

"Not bad, truth be told," and she eyed Lycan. "But not good enough."

"I'll train harder, ma'am."

"I don't like you," the woman said to Lycan. "Not because of this," she waved the parchment in her hand. "But because I'm here stuck with you while my brethren are risking their lives beyond the front lines."

"Apologies, ma'am," Lycan replied.

"Good," the woman said, her face calm. "Because you're going to make it up to me. I am going to train you and break you. In return, you will not make a single complaint. Instead, you will grow."

"Understood, ma'am."

The woman took a knife from her boot and jabbed it into the table. "Six months," she said. "That's the amount of time I will give you."

For the first time, Lycan noticed the ring she was wearing. His thoughts were confirmed, and he grew excited.

"I will do whatever you ask of me, ma'am," Lycan said, and he meant it.

The woman nodded. "Good. By the order of the Monarch, Lycan Torress will become my squire. Alez Ahri, Knight of the Bhayangkara, and Master Visioner."