Cyra and Silver were the closest of friends in the Kor. True, that wasn’t so hard to beat since most “friendships” were highly competitive ones. Blitz and Qwynn would never miss a chance to spar off each other. Cyra wouldn’t be surprised if Blitz secretly celebrated after successfully placed Qwynn in the hospital with a wound in the head.

Cyra and Silver wasn’t like that. They mostly just argued about the ninja and the mortal worlds. Cyra rarely won, but it was fun. One time they were talking about weapons.

“You ninjas have all sort of fancy things to kill,” Cyra had mentioned casually, “yet it seems that the majority of these guns are from the mortal world, and guns happen to be the most efficient of weapons.”

“But what’s the point of guns? After a few shots, you’re out of ammo. At least swords last,” Sliver replied.

“Yet they are nowhere as accurate as a bullet.”

“Yet mere armor can stop a bullet.”

“Doesn’t armor stop everything?”

Sliver sighed, as if it were obvious. “Not gas. Heck, even pepper spray can defeat armor. Acid too.”

“Fine. But guns are better in surprise attacks.”

“Poison is way better. Slip it in the food, and no one will know.”

“That takes way more energy than guns.”

“Guns are loud, and the bullet is left as evidence. You can’t get away with it. Even with a silencer, the most you can kill is four, maybe five people before someone eventually notices. By then, you’ll have to fight someone fully prepared to kill.”

“But—”

This, like many other arguments, ended in a win for the ninja world. But Cyra was happy. She wanted the ninja world to win. She wanted to prove that the place she was living in is better than the place she left. Most didn’t have to deal with this. They already forgotten what they had left behind. But not Cyra.

Cyra had been recruited when she was seven years old. This was uncommon for a ninja. Most were brought in early. And that had been the plan.

Cyra’s aunt had died when she was six. That had seemed to be the problem.

Before that, her parents were relatively normal. They did not like Cyra, though they didn’t hate her. Cyra was left by herself most of the day. Ralli, her sister, was three and was sent to daycare. Apparently Cyra’s education was too expensive.

But after her aunt died, everything changed.

Her aunt had been in an earthquake, her body undiscovered for eight days. Cyra didn’t know if her parents had been close to her aunt, though it certainly did not seem so. They were disgruntled when the funeral letter arrived and only went on the slight chance something was left for them in the will. There was nothing.

Yet barely a day later, their attitude towards Cyra changed dramatically. Even Ralli was affected. Happy, fun, cheery Ralli glared somewhat coldly at Cyra.

Cyra was barely let out of the house, being locked in a bathroom—a makeshift bedroom—with the company of books and a cold, but nonetheless comforting, Ralli. Cyra would listen to Ralli ramble on about her friends and who did what. She’d wait for Ralli to bring her food and water, and a new book. Cyra relied on Ralli with her life.

So the day Ralli was taken, Cyra sprang to action.

Her parents were acting weird. It wasn’t that they looked drunk, which they usually were, but they didn’t fight Rhea, who led Ralli away. Cyra watched them leave, assuming Rhea was some sort of mom or teacher. But they followed no obvious road, and when Cyra saw Ralli’s own drunk-looking face, she knew something wasn’t quite right.

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Cyra broke out of the bathroom, shimmying down a pipe. Ralli and Rhea hadn’t noticed her. Afterall, Cyra usually was the one who noticed things.

Cyra followed them for a while, unsure when to stop. They had walked through the backyard, onto a dirt trail amid a dark forest, that later converged to be part of the town park. Cyra watched them disappear into the thick woods, Cyra following close behind. But by that time, they were gone.

Cyra stayed in the woods for over a week. For a seven-year-old, this was brave. But Cyra found herself happier in the woods than at home, and she had a fleeting suspicion that the parents thought so too. Cyra found it easy to locate edible plants, mainly dandelions and buttercups, from the many books she had read. But she couldn’t stay forever. She had a goal.

On the eighth night, it rained. Cyra was soaked. When morning came, she was on the verge of hypothermia. This was the end. The little adventure had stopped.

Cyra readied herself to head back home, dreading to see her parent’s faces. But as she started trekking back, she heard something.

Her head whipped back, half expecting a squirrel. But a flash of metal caught her eye.

The cold of the rain and the overwhelming scent of pine woke her up. Cyra squinted.

It was Rhea. Cyra ran up to her, and flung her body at the commander, wrapping her arms around Rhea’s neck. Rhea gagged.

“Where’s my sister?” Cyra demanded.

“Who?” Rhea shot back, regaining her breath.

“My sister!” Cyra repeated, “the girl you kidnapped.”

Rhea processed this, calling up a memory of the girl. “Oh, her, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

Cyra screamed, “Give her back!”

Rhea stood rigid, her eyes scanning the surroundings. “Don’t yell! Do you have any idea what they’re going to do?”

Cyra smirked. “Kidnapping! Kidnapping! KID—”

“Shush!” Rhea clapped her hand around Cyra’s mouth. “Jeez, I’ll take you. But say no word of this. Where I’m taking you, no one would save a kidnapper.”

Cyra nodded eagerly. Rhea sighed, assuming this new recruit would cause trouble for her in the years to come. “Ok, stay very still…” Rhea moved her hands around Cyra’s head, a wispy line of blue curling smoke floating out of her wrists. Cyra stared at them in awe, but the wisps seemed to disintegrate when it came within an inch of Cyra’s head.

“Dammit!” Rhea cursed. “Why doesn’t it work?”

“What?” Cyra asked, “And that’s a bad word.”

Rhea glared at Cyra, and tried the blue smoke once more, but to no avail. Finally, tired, resigned, and drained, she transported Cyra to the ninja world.

Cyra stayed in one of the jail cells for the first two days she arrived. She was assigned new clothes, a shower, and a set of books (that were rather boring). They books told tales of ninjas who didn’t follow the rules, ninjas who died in war, and famous ninjas who, in Cyra’s opinion, did very evil things to get what they wanted.

But then again, plenty of people did that in the mortal world.

Cyra was instructed on ninja rules and the schedule. She pretended to be interested, but she doubted the instructor cared. All Cyra could think about was Ralli. This whole ninja thing, up to that point, still seemed like a wild adventure.

Finally, she was let out.

Cyra set out to find Ralli. It took a day, but she was finally able to locate her sister.

“Ralli!” she shouted.

But as Ralli turned her head, her stone eyes glared at Cyra. One of the ninjas next to Ralli, one of her friends, followed her gaze. The friend smirked. “You know this oversized twelfth ranker?”

“No,” Ralli said, “Who are you?”

Cyra stood, open-mouth. Ralli and her friend pushed through Cyra. Cyra could hear giggles coming from them. But Cyra didn’t mind. She could feel anything. She couldn’t hear anything, other than the dull throb of blood in her head. A high-pitch whining filled her ears.

Ralli wasn’t the sister Cyra knew. She had become stone cold, with no sign of recognition. Cyra was almost convinced she had forgotten her.

Or maybe that’s what Rhea had been trying to do to Cyra.

It was good Cyra and Ralli looked nothing alike. Ralli had her mother’s tan skin and green eyes, and her father’s thick, dark hair. Cyra had her mother’s flat, brown hair and her father’s yellowish skin and brown eyes. No one could associate them being siblings.

Cyra was able to quickly climb her ranks. She was smart and sharp-eyed. Slowly, she realized that no one remembered much about their past life, except herself. Cyra soon caught up with her age group, met Sliver, and slowly began to protect Ralli, fulfilling her job as a big sister in the smallest ways possible.

But, as one can imagine, that was extremely difficult in the ninja world.

The time came during the Katana war.

Ralli died.

And Cyra had a chance to save her.

The guilt ate away at her heart. Thoughts came swarming back to Cyra, the thoughts she had buried in the back of her brain.

I shouldn’t be here.

I don’t belong here.

I’m just a failure.