Salted cuts stung Michael’s entire body. His armor had been sliced right through - hanging like bloody scraps from his arms and chest. The sun stood high in the skies, scorching their pale, naked skin to a deep pink.

Further up ahead, Abraham yelped as he touched his arm to another steel wire to provoke another stream of blood from his elbow. They had made it over three times by then, a meager result for what time they had spent on their training.

Shining shards of green, blue and red littered the arena - glinting back at them as they moved. Their feet were all agonized, but none as bad as Marcel’s - whose partition of the course had been greatly disturbed by his walk. The bare strips of glass had long since disappeared, having been disturbed by his initial zest; a stumbling he now deeply regretted.

Isaac sat far up the row of benches with his hands folded in front of him, praying for the strength to watch the boys press on through the agonizing course.

Even Bear’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest, dreading the sight of their continued journey.

“Stop it with the prayers, you idiot.” Bear huffed.

Isaac was unsurprised to hear his old partner’s disposition, but what had surprised him was how masterfully the course had been prepared. Up until that day, the brute had been set in his desire to keep the boys in the town, dissuading any and all talk of wandering the world outside. More than he wanted to know why the brutal arena had been set, he wanted to know…

“What’s changed, old man?” Such was their companionship - they’d been together long enough for Bear to know what the priest was truly inquiring.

The aged warrior ran his hand along his braided beard and huffed again. “They’re still arrogant. Foolish. Impulsive… But they’re no longer the boys we raised. They’re men now - old enough to choose for themselves what they want to do with their lives.” Isaac was left dissatisfied with the answer and Bear knew it.

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“Logan’s said he’s seen it in them. The look of the warrior; the mark that made us join the Purge. You remember how it was, don’t you?” How could Isaac forget? That hatred - that bloodlust, the camaraderie and the devotion that had fueled their holy crusade. Isaac bowed his head.

“I suppose it’d be unfair of us to expect them to be any different… but it’s hard for me to accept it. Chances are they won’t be making it back here.” Isaac muttered.

“I never said I’m thrilled about it. But it’s their own choice… we accepted that risk, too. If they die, they’ll die as warriors - fighting for what they believe in. They’ll die for us and for the women and children of Cradle. It beats starving to death as a castrated administrator, hidden behind these walls.” Isaac dipped his head lower.

“If we’d have died out there, then we wouldn’t have met those kids. Without them, I’m not sure what I’ll do. It’s too late to teach Ethel to respect the laws of Man.” Bear could not stifle his booming laughter at that.

“But you’re still needed, Isaac, which is more than can be said of me. So when those boys leave, I’ll go too. I’m going to the Frontier where I belong. If I’m lucky, I can die a warrior’s death.” Isaac had always known of Bear’s desire to go back out into the field, but with his duties as Administrator and with raising the boys, he had been unhappily stuck in Anza. Now that those duties had been fulfilled, who was he to question Bear’s decision?

“I’m jealous, old beast. I wish I could return to those campfires, singing the songs of Bravelle as loud as we could to deafen the ringing of the artillery-fire. But there’ll be kids to raise here soon enough;and my mind’s been weakened by the battles. You’ll have to slay some for me, too.”

The two locked eyes, nodded and shook the warrior’s arms - ignoring the constant yelps of pain from down in the arena.

Up above the blood obstacle course, the Ghast sat in the Order’s helical tower - seething with rage. His mask lay atop a letter signed by the Governor - a well-read, spat-on piece of paper that had informed him of the most dreadful news.

Rolling his thumb around his index finger, he considered the implications and already, a solution to his conundrum was beginning to form in the forefront of his mind. A solution involving the warriors whining down below.