It took no time at all for Jiran and Micah to string the huge slab of meat up above the fire pit. Jiran turned to head back outside but Micah stopped him with a raised hand.

“I want you to take the rest of the day off, Niya will finish your deliveries for the afternoon and bring back your satchel. You’re going to want to prepare yourself for tonight.

“Tiering up is important Jiran, especially for you, now.”

Micah sat down on their communal mat with his hands on his knees pondering how to express himself to the boy.

“Jiran, your father, and my father, both chose to build a home here. To raise a family and contribute in their own ways. There is nothing wrong with that life, they both found fulfillment in it, many do.

“I only served three seasons in the army, in that time I learned my father's path was best for me as well. Today you threw away that chance, four seasons in the army will change you, it would change anyone. Now, for some fool reason, you chose to serve fourteen!”

He paused again, eyes boring into Jiran with barely restrained anger.

“What I’m trying to say, what's truly the most important advice I can give you is, don’t waste a single moment. Every chance you have to grow more powerful, you need to grab it and tear into it like a dissipating beast.

“The Imperial Army will kill you within those two years if you don’t find a way to stand at the top. Learn your body, learn your mana, learn to kill, before you are killed in turn.” With those words, Micah got up and quietly padded out of the hovel.

Two years, two years, two years These words repeated endlessly in Jiran’s mind as he sat alone on the mat. What was he going to do, how was he going to survive? Now that it had been pointed out to him, it seemed so obvious.

He was definitely going to die before he finished his service. That's what everyone else must have been thinking out there on the field as well. Skandor’s disinterest was all the more obvious now, wasted meat, that's all Jiran was.

Jiran looked at the huge slab of meat hanging over the still-warm coals with entirely new eyes.

What a fool, what a child, how idiotic can I be?

Time swiftly passed as Jiran sat lost in his thoughts, he was so despondent he didn’t notice his cousin dropping off his satchel, or his father returning from his day of work at the pier.

Neither spoke a word as his father, with well-practiced motions prepared and cooked the high-Density meat. It wasn’t until the smell of the rich meat flooded his senses, that Jiran snapped out of his daze. Looking up at him for the first time that day, Jiran softly greeted the man.

“Father, welcome home.”

“Son, Micah told me what happened today. I can’t say I understand your choice or that I agree with it, but you still have two years to prepare, two full years to spend with us before you have to go to the army.

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“Let’s not waste that time moping about, the horizon’s mountain is not today’s hill. Your mother will be home soon, clean yourself up and prepare for dinner.”

His father did not have Micah’s stature or muscles, but all the same, he exuded a sense of calm strength that Jiran found, especially at this moment, calming and comforting.

Jiran hopped to his feet in response to his father's words. Awkwardly he shuffled about their home. Changing out of his work uniform, restocking the wood for the night's fire, preparing the setting for their upcoming meal, and cleaning the floor of blood and dirt.

Soon his mother returned from her work at the prayer hall. One look was all it took to completely shatter what little defenses Jiran had prepared. The child launched across the room and practically tackled her as he bawled into her lap. Time flowed smoothly as the mother comforted her son.

By the time dinner was ready, emotions had simmered and nerves calmed enough for Jiran to speak without tears. However his father spoke up first,

“Tonight, our child becomes an adolescent. He has chosen the path he wishes to tread, and even though it is not our path, we will not stand in his way. Jiran, for the next year you will continue to work for your uncle as he is the only other returnee from the army in the village, besides Skandor.

“Your second year will, however, be spent with the hunter disciples under Skandor himself, you will surely need the survival skills he can teach.” His mother began to open her mouth but a hard look from his father stopped her. Dark brown eyes landed back on Jiran, his father waited patiently for his acquiescence.

“Yes father,” said Jiran reluctantly.

An entire year with the hunter disciples would be a worthy challenge, albeit a miserable one, to help Jiran prepare. He nodded in approval and his father relaxed his posture, indicating Jiran’s mother had the floor to begin the nightly prayer.

“Mother above we receive your blessing. Your gift of a strong child weathering the Seven seasons. Tonight this son of ours is a child no more, may he fulfill the destiny set forth by the Fathers.” Her eyes shone with fervor at the short ceremony. Palm in hand, she raised her eyes to the sky and Jiran quickly followed. Tonight was not the night to mess up his mother's prayer.

After the prayer, both parents watched Jiran as he took his first bite of the Tier four meat.

As if the beast was still alive, the meat seemed to move inside of his mouth with a will of its own. He quickly swallowed to avoid the uncomfortable feeling. This did not help, the morsel had a life of its own, not even reaching his stomach before dispersing into energy that crashed within his body.

Jiran tried to contain the forces struggling within him, but it was useless. His arms and legs spasmed uncontrollably, unable to sit up any longer he fell into a fetal position.

Then he remembered his uncle's words. ‘Tear into it like a dissipating beast,’ so he did just that. He no longer focused on the erratic movements of his body but dove into the feeling of the mana as it moved through him.

He felt the energies at work, remaking his body. Muscles were shredded and joints unwound, even his bones tingled and split. Every inch of his body was being reconstructed by the overabundance of mana flowing through him. It pulsed and expanded, then shrunk and contracted with each beat of his heart.

But suddenly something changed, he could feel it at the base of his head. In the back of his neck, a single spot no bigger than a speck of dirt became unbearably hot. The once uncontrollable energies rampaging inside him shifted painfully through his body to gather at the point in his neck.

Within three beats of his heart, all that rampaging mana was gone as if it never existed, completely absorbed into the tiny speck in his spine.

The boy moaned in agony as his body reminded him the ritual had stopped halfway through. He lost his inner focus as pain overwhelmed him.

“Jiran! Jiran!” his mother yelled as she scrambled to him, clearly noticing something was wrong.

Jiran? Who the hell is Jiran? Brandon wondered. That was the last thought that crossed his mind before blackness took him.