Desert.

Empty, crusty, lonely, deadly, and excruciatingly hot.

That’s all there was for no end in sight.

Daisuke peeked through a sliver of light beneath the tarp overhead held open by the scruff of his right hand. Through the gap, Daisuke saw what had surrounded them since Nippon had long faded into the horizon: ashy sand. Thin-cut gravel was disrupted by pillars of rocks that towered up into the sky. Vass clung against these rocks for survival, the only plant life seen for some time besides weeds and the occasional clumped cactus that rolled by.

The sky was as barren as the land beneath it, cloudless and dried out as the Sun beamed down on the marked children through the flimsy tarp. It was like a sauna in there. All of them were sweating relentlessly in the back of the carts, kept alive by the drops of water delivered to them by the guardians at the wheel. Despite being draped in all-black skin-tight leather plating, they had been trained to sustain enough nutrients and necessary water for extensive periods of time. Their bodies molded to overcome any circumstances.

Perfect warriors.

But the children were struggling to stay afloat. Their clothes were drenched in sweat, and a few had already passed out halfway through the journey. On the verge of dehydration, of death itself.

A common casualty of the trials. The first trial of many: a test of willpower.

Kiyo was far more prepared than the rest, a few close to his level including Daisuke as they all sat together in silence. Barely to make do with what they had in their systems, they were depleted to the bare minimum necessary for the remainder of the trip.

With little to distract themselves, those on the verge of failing discovered entertainment in watching the faces of others. Their fellow brethren's misery was a newfound pastime as they fought to grapple against the lure to sleep that loomed over them. To survive.

Daisuke was one of those few.

“Kiyo. How much longer do you think?” Daisuke asked dryly, his throat sore and cacked in saliva from his mouth down to his stomach.

“Don’t talk,” Kiyo whispered, not wanting to garner attention.

“Why?”

Kiyo timidly shook his head and gestured at the slumped bodies piled on the floor, other marked children who had already failed. Those were to be sent back on the next cart for revaluation of their part in the clan. What their purpose would become.

“Not far,” Kiyo relayed.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Daiskued muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms.

Yawn.

“But . . . how many days has it been?” Daisuke asked as he struggled to hold his head upright.

Refusing to respond, Kiyo held up a flat hand toward his neck to silence Daisuke. Tired of repeating himself, Kiyo knew they both were in dire need to conserve all energy they could. So Kiyo kept quiet. With a brush of sweat rubbed off his forehead, Daisuke gave into the silence with a dejected sigh. The hint given was too vague for him to decipher. Attention redirected, he simmered back into deep thought, stuck in his imagination of what wonders they would see.

But his eyelids grew heavier by the second, the lull for rest too strong to ignore. Daisuke smacked his lips and rubbed his eyes as his body yearned for slumber. Its lustrous call weaved in and out of Daisuke’s ears. A fatal tone that took another boy in the far corner.

An unwanted end all sleep had to give.

“Hey.” A voice whispered to Daisuke.

Looking across, Daisuke spotted a peculiar boy gesturing at him to talk. His hair was more silver than white that dulled off at the ends to a bleak mustard yellow. Taller than average children, his legs cramped against the baseboards, knees held up into his chest as he sat there. His eyes a charming lime green that lured Daisuke in.

“What?” Daisuke muttered back, leaning forward into the distant conversation.

“What were you two talking about?” The boy said as he tilted his head toward Kiyo.

“Oh . . . nothin, just nothin.”

“Okay, fair enough, you don’t trust me.”

“Duh, I don’t know you.” Daisuke spat out with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Fine . . . I’m Isao, you?” The boy prodded with a sturdy point.

“Daisuke.”

The two nodded and then resumed the dull silence that resonated within the atmosphere for a few moments, unsure if continuing was wise. Each had their own reason to not do so. The weariness of others and one’s own health was enough of a burden to bear on this expedition. Daisuke only grew more depleted as he lingered on the conversation, Isao with a masked grin took notice of Daisuke’s weary mind.

“You tired?” Isao asked in an abrupt exhale.

“Just—-a little,” Daisuke admitted with a light stutter in his voice as he picked at an itch on the back of his head.

“And Daisuke, right?” Isao motioned Daisuke to come closer as he scooted forward.

“Yeah?”

“Want to sleep?”

“Uhh—I don’t think that’s—”

“Man, 'cause I want to.” Isao exaggerated with a wry chuckle.

“Yeah, I mean if I could I would,” Daisuke added, a tinge of laughter accompanying his words.

“You said it.” Isao slumped back onto his side of the cart and let the thought settle.

The silence resumed, broken up by the occasional bump of the buggy from the beaten road, but it was only for a moment. A mere breath of time as Isao brightened up with a snap of his fingers.

“Wait. I have an idea.” Isao waved Daisuke in close and cupped his mouth behind his right hand. “How about we take turns to, you know, sleep?”

“Are you serious?” Daisuke questioned as he recoiled at the temerarious thought.

“Look, I’ll wake you up if you wake me up. We both sleep, we both win,” Isao reassured, face set aglow with an out-of-place cheery smile.

Something was off about it all. The unforeseen kindness, random introduction, and jump to a temptation that meant exile. Daisuke picked up on the assertion and pondered the idea for a moment. Would Isao wake him up?

But then again, sleep was ever such a precious gem in the eye of exhaustion.

“Hmmmmm.” Daisuke glanced between Isao and the cluster of bodies in front of him.

“C’mon, it’ll only be for a turn. Two tops if you’re really tired.” Isao instigated with an outstretched two fingers to mark a deal.

But the red herring had outed itself. Out of the corner of his eye, Daisuke spotted Kiyo’s attention beamed toward him. With a single adamant headshake, all was said that needed to be in Daisuke’s mind; this offer of vague generosity wasn’t one to be trusted.

“I’m good,” Daisuke replied, sliding back out of the conversation.

“You sure? I mean, I’ve heard those tired don’t end up as—”

“He’s fine.” Kiyo butted in with a rise in a tone that struck Isao sideways.

Isao took the aggression in stride and tossed his hands into the air, clicking his tongue as he slouched against the wooden railing. Another loss. While he failed, the boy had already moved on to find his next target. His next victim. This entire trial was nothing more than a game for some children knowledgeable enough. Those around them were mere stepping stones to grander glory.

To becoming a savior.

Those competitive from the get-go attempted to lull others into a sense of false security. That they would be able to continue on the coattails of those generous enough to help. A sturdy foundation for the weaker half to lean upon, to trust. Yet when the time came no one would be awoken. Their hopes, dreams, and foreseen futures were smothered beneath the hooves of others. One by one those who passed out withered away into the abyss. Their part in the trials cut ever so short by their own brethren.

The journey to becoming one of the few uplifted warriors was lined with pitfalls.

A few more turns passed and the final nightfall swept over the wagons. Already seventeen children had succumbed to the tranquil lullaby for sleep, their time as marked children short and bittersweet. Only eleven of the original twenty-eight remained, Daisuke and Kiyo two of the last few strong souls able to hold on. They were exhausted, dehydrated, and shaking but they were awake.

They were alive.

Daisuke took this opportunity and peeked from the sheet to catch a glimpse of the skies, the lightless area perfect to view the heavenly bodies above. It was his only way to fight off the nagging urges of relentless rest. Awestricken by its beauty, he couldn’t help but gasp aloud.

Clusters of stars and galaxies dotted the blanketed night skyline. Sure, they were all things he had seen before back home, but out there it felt different. Something about it entranced the young boy, able to appreciate what he couldn’t understand. The night sky was something most Paladinians feared, their lives declared unworthy to even look upon it. Darkness was only a time of impurity for the living. Yet he found peace in it. All those stars passed warriors who had died in battle heroically, who gave their lives for the clan. They were saviors.

That’s what he wanted to do. To become. A symbol for something more, to make his family proud of him. To protect his clan. That’s all that marked children cherished to become. Labeled from their birth to hold the potential to do so.

Kiyo refused to join in such beliefs or enjoyment of the stars. His eyes were closed yet wide awake as he channeled the power within him, practicing exercises to spread the radiated life that flourished in his vessel. Little glimmers and ripples of radiance pierced through his skin. Such a blessed gift was difficult to hide. Every second stung as it cascaded throughout his veins, scorching the inside of his flesh if not carefully maintained. But he managed to control it, to endure the pain.

The visceral ability had only grown within Kiyo as they sat idly by on their journey. Without the morning sessions with his father to release the pent-up energy, it became ten times harder to regulate it. To keep his radiance at bay. While a tainted and painful process, Ronin’s training always managed to de-escalate the aggravated battle for physical dominance of his body. A chemical imbalance.

Trapped within his mind, Kiyo concentrated on the waves that swayed back and forth with every agonizing pulse. The pure blessed energy a mediated ocean that jolted down his spine and throughout his body. His mind was permanently altered by its presence, something he had kept sequestered, kept from blowing over. Always on the alert, physically and mentally potent, Kiyo contained the unrelenting surges of sweltering radiance.

A gift from the Sun. From Amaterasu herself for the protection of the Paladinian people.

Yet Kiyo only had one person in his mind worth saving. His friend.

Daisuke.

…

Night turned to day and the trial came to an end.

They had arrived at the city built upon a hill touched by the Sun.

Harion.

The wagon rolled to an abrupt stop that awoke those who sustained themselves long enough for the week's journey; nine marked children in total left to meet the new day granted to them by the Sun.

Disembarking from the wagons, the four guardians walked to the tent flaps and flung them apart to view the unsuspecting lucky few. Invasive light poured in from the opening and shone down on their faces. Arms raised to shield their eyes, Daisuke and Kiyo staggered past the pile of purposeless bodies at their feet. The duo was two of the successful four able to unload out of the creaky wagon. Five broken souls followed them toward the city from the other wagons present. The successors of the first trial always a minuscule number.

Nothing but loose gravel greeted their fresh soles. Every step was a prick that dragged them back into the reality of the situation that lay ahead. Their lives had become forgone, the years to come not theirs to decide. They were tools and nothing more.

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Crossing the crumbled earth, all able-bodied marked children gathered at the doorstep for the grand trials. The beginning of years of training for one sole purpose. To strengthen the clan.

Stood before them, sat atop grated sandstone burned a crusted ash gray from the Sun’s rays that scorched the earth, was the entrance to the city. A mighty wooden gate that stood as tall as fifteen men. Alongside it were wooden hand-carved walls that intersected one another in a link-n-log style build topped with slanted tar roofs. Bow warriors were stationed on the walkway atop the wall to maintain surveillance and serve as the first lines of defense.

The walls encompassed the clan's entire training camp. A place dedicated to bringing people into the Sun’s grasp firsthand. All who exited as warriors were sent out perfected in their specialized sector of combat. Flawless.

Delivered, the guardians closed the tents and hopped back on the steers of the wagons for the ride back. All the children within them had become disappointments to their clan. Potentials were wasted from the predictions given over their lives. Their marks now would become everlasting scars.

Daisuke and Kiyo watched the wagons as they trampled down the hill. A mix of pitiful relief filled their faces at the sight, glad they weren’t in the desolate horde forced to go home. Left to gaze at the grandiose rustic wooden gateway into their new lives.

BOOM! Creaaaaak!

The doors parted open for the children as the wagons disappeared on the horizon. At the base, a scuffling of composed footsteps approached the children. Stepping out into the sunlight, the line of trainers revealed themselves. These men were those elevated by pure achievements, dignified by their scars and past victories to be prepared to take in the last village of recruits. Of marked children destined to serve for Nippon by any means necessary. Their lives were sacrificed for the Sun.

Of the men were four warriors clothed in all-black glistening leather training armor. The dried teratoma skin was cut and layered for perfected insolation and cooling alongside high levels of protection that such light armor could provide.

Held together by tar and silk-sewn straps, the leather plates covered their shoulders, chest, and stomach. Individual padded covers were ingrained in the underlayer of black tight configured fabric for the elbows, knees, and shins. Spliced lightweight flaps rolled down from their wastes to their knees. The Sundried armor held a mahogany color with built-in segments for maxed agility. Only those of the most high could wish to obtain such pristine gear.

Faces concealed by the black spiraled robes, only their eyes could be seen. Four pairs of vibrant yellow or green spheres that stared deep into each of the children’s souls.

“All of you. Form a line.” The foremost right guard barked.

Without hesitation, the nine children lined up, shoulder to shoulder, brought up under enough influence to know to do so. Authority was placed above all else.

Focus locked ahead, the children straightened up as the four trainers inspected them on all sides. One’s appearance was an earlier determiner of expectations. Breath held, they sequestered their nerves in the face of their new teachers. Those who would seek out new potential from the masses for future squadrons and what their bodies were best suited for, from archery to being thrown onto the front lines.

On the very left end Kiyo, Daisuke, and Isao stood in silence. No one dared to move a single muscle. To let out a peep.

To breathe.

“Now. Starting with you, name and father’s blessed specialty.” The rightmost man uttered from beneath the cloth, voice a little softer than the first.

“Miho. My father, Toyo, is a spearman.” The child croaked on command. A small boy with dirty blonde white hair and beady pale green eyes. At first glance, he appeared to be very sickly and not one to have much fight stocked within him. A weakling.

The four trainers conversed for a few moments before the one in the right middle unveiled two bowls from a small leather side pouch no bigger than a full-grown man's hand. Without any words, the rightmost emerald green-eyed man stuck his thumb into a bowl. He removed it, now covered in soot, and jammed it onto the sickly boy's forehead.

His group was assigned, his future was determined, his life was on the line.

“Next.” The softly spoken man beckoned.

One by one, all the children said their piece to the men till the row got down to Isao.

“Isao. And my father, Kin, is a squadron leader swordsman.” Isao announced with a smug curl of his upper lip eyes narrowed by a faint squint.

A few heads turned at Isao’s mention of his father’s rank, followed by a little burst of closeted discussion. Deciding on his placement with the bowls, they eventually concluded to the second bowl for the first time in line. The emerald-eyed man pulled out his thumb, and it was drenched in a thick coat of scarlet blood. Finger thrust forward, he marked Isao for his group.\

A blood-borne child.

They each nodded and whispered to each other for a few minutes. Daisuke, up next, stood idly by with a pit burdening his stomach. His nerves rattled relentlessly, anxious stress sequestered to nothing more than a slight twitch. Raring to get it over with and begin training.

“Good. Next.”

“Daisuke, sir. And my father Botan is also a swordsman.”

“Mhm.” The right man responded, his pure yellow eyes locked onto Daisuke with a considerate nod.

The two stared at each for a moment, some sense of recognition passed between them, a vague inquisitive sensation that warped Daisuke’s face. Nothing more than a vague familiarity

He looks . . . familiar . . . but from where? Daisuke thought to himself, unable to pin down the man’s eyes.

The thought was swept away as the emerald-eyed man pressed his blood-soaked thumb on Daisuke’s forehead. In an instant, his role had been assigned, and his group determined amidst his absent-mindedness. Now the second child to be assigned to the blood-borne group. But what separated Daisuke and Isao from the rest?

“Next.” The rightmost man called out.

Shifting down the line, the four men arrived at Kiyo, the last blessed child. Calm and collected, little interest or care was visible on Kiyo’s face. Masked and devoid of emotion, primed for the trials ahead. He was a blank canvas, one ready to be colored in every which way. This place was Kiyo’s fresh start.

“Kiyo. My father Ronin is a Sun warrior.” Kiyo muttered plainly, no shifts or means of expression on his face.

But three of the four men came to a standstill. Awestruck as they whispered discreetly to each other, the name Ronin was one to be uplifted in any state of mind. With his son in their very midst, expectations for him were raised drastically higher than the rest of the group. The boy was hand selected by the High Priest himself.

Kiyo a prime candidate to become a savior.

The one man who didn’t appear enthralled or intrigued by Kiyo’s arrival only gazed at the boy with earnest interest. His expectations were set before Kiyo ever arrived, something Kiyo picked up on as he gazed into the man's eyes. The same one who stared at Daisuke, a strange distant link between them.

“Why are they talking so much?” Isao whispered under his breath discretely, a tinge of jealousy warping his words.

After the discussion wrapped up, the emerald-eyed man marched right up to Kiyo. It was like a grand white shark and a seal in a standoff, their appearance unable to match the blood lust within the two souls interlinked. A few mere inches remained between them as the man gave it his final thought. Then without hesitation, he dipped his thumb into a bowl and imprinted it on Kiyo’s forehead.

His thumbprint: blood.

All three boys were assigned to the same group.

Why them of all people?? Isao thought to himself twisting his foot in the gravel, irritated by Kiyo and Daisuke’s placement into his group.

In one movement, the four trainers retracted away from the children. Satisfied with their decisions as they looked up and down the row, eyes broad with steady eyebrows.

“Go file in with the others in the square.” The rightmost man muttered with a loose gesture toward the kids to follow them back into Harion.

Without hesitation, the children followed suit and marched into the village through the massive entryway. Gravel kicked up as they stepped up from the loose grated earth onto the paved training grounds.

Harion itself was built for the sole purpose of training lethal killers. Set up with eight barracks for all ages of recruits from nine upward. Most rose in the hierarchy by the age of sixteen. Years were spent developing the precise field best suited to their abilities, drawing out the most of their potential.

Within the walls were multiple training stations from archery lanes, close combat duel matted squares, airborne throwing ranges, to team combat fields. These established grounds surround the barracks placed right off the central temple. The sacred space for those that were moved up in the ranks or for private training from veteran warriors that resided within the city bounds.

All of it was constructed from gray shaved deadwood topped with molded tar clay black shingles. Teratoma hides decorated the outside walls of the barracks, each engrained with the star symbol for the sublevel of those in training. Four in total, two barracks for each level. Increasing in level from 0 to Ib. Each was an additional piece for the penultimate sign that would grow in complexity on their right palm. A direct symbol of their position in the clan.

Of their strength.

The nine boys were led over to the central thatch matted square that was placed before the entrance to the temple. It was filled with squeamish bodies of other marked children from various villages throughout the clan. Many new arrivals ranged in age from nine to thirteen, their addition to the training camp decided upon by their own town. Hand-picked from birth as all marked children were.

“Join the rest. You will all be assigned momentarily.” The leftmost trainer scruffily let out with chinned motion toward the horde of exhausted souls.

With that, the trainers left the boys to join the rest. The last wave of marked children, all eyes directed toward them for a moment as the already established friend groups stood idly by in wait for their assignment.

For training to begin.

Isao quickly bumped past Daisuke and raced off into the crowd, hopeful to find stronger opponents to align himself with. Those also stamped with the blood-colored seal. His primary goal of building his rank resided in his plan to dominate those seen as threats to his status. Build a close chain of command around him and use them to decimate others. Friends were nothing more than stones to build himself off of, tools to abuse.

Passing side glances toward each other, it took only a moment for the other six children to do the same. Quick to eradicate their nerves as they darted deeper into the hoard in search of a connection, someone else to befriend.

Daisuke and Kiyo left to their lonesome. The duo stepped toward the mass herd, gazes peering through the sea of white-topped heads. Specks of silver and glistening blonde dotted the sweaty sea. But they refused to go any further, stopping near the dead center of the crowd.

A few other kids flicked their attention toward them for a moment but nothing more. Already situated in conversations about what others knew, hoping to find an edge. Anything insightful on the process or trainers?

“Kiyo,” Daisuke whispered behind his cupped left hand.

Kiyo nodded in response, his face unfazed by the plethora of eyes that locked with him as he peered through the masses. All nameless unknown faces that he didn’t care to put identities to. Mindset on rising to the top, to become what his father couldn’t. A savior.

“What are we waiting for?” Daisuke asked in a low tone.

“The temple’s leader.”

“Who? Our trainer?”

“No. The head of Harion.”

“Oooooh . . . Okay,” Daisuke said acceptingly as he shrugged off the thought.

Separated from the rest of the groups already forming, the two stood there in silence and bided their time in the open pit of wandering children. Those older did the same as they drifted away from the anxious chatty younger years. This process was familiar enough, and the end result was something to keep in mind.

Daisuke passed the idle time as he surveyed the area. Captivated by the architecture of the city, he spun around and took it all in at once. All the wooden barracks around them were identical to each other besides the markings ingrained on the sewn teratoma skin tarps. Where they would reside for years to come.

Ahead sat the temple, a magnificent building constructed of fine tar and thatched wood sealed with Sun-dried blood. Turned a merlot red, pillars of chiseled rock were built at the four corners of the structure, holding up the obsidian single roof. A luxurious expense that no paladinian could ignore.

Markings of scriptures of the Sun and stories of paladinian history were carved into the pillars. Scrolls for the foundation of the clan, how they rose to power and cleansed the earth.

Wooden steps padded with thick slabs of teratoma skin led up to the tarped floors within the temple. A doorless hold that was secured by the guardians posted at every entrance. The place itself was safer than any Paladinian village could wish to be. It was ground zero for warriors.

The beginning of their rise to strength.

Crimson flags decorated with the Paladinian insignia hung down from silk strings that weaved back and forth throughout the temple ceilings. Each was specified with a little star for every town apart of the clan. Their everlasting connection to Harion within the cosmos. Where warriors would be brought up and shipped back home.

A few minutes passed as the two waited alongside the other children, and then an uncalled-for silence spread throughout the collected hoard.

Barrrrooooooh!

A coar horn blared through the clustered air of stagnant voices, a direct declaration of the arrival of the high leading trainer for Harion, a guardian angel in rank. The most uplifted one could become in the training division.

The current holder was a woman. Nari.

“Welcome, children,” Nari called out adamantly from the footsteps of the temple.

She was draped in tight-knit white robes that signified her purity and elevated ranking as the highest established trainer in Harion. Her elegance and strength were placed above all others within the four walls of the campgrounds.

Born with heterochromia eyes, the left green and right yellow, her blonde-dominated hair flowed from white roots atop her head. A sight to behold for all the children, captivated by the mysterious pillar of a woman standing in front of them.

Her armor was spotless, untouched, and never previously damaged despite the past seventeen of her twenty-seven years alive spent out in the field. Yet no weapons could be seen on her person, all concealed beneath layers of blackened obsidian plate armor. Thinly cut to perfection.

With her white hooded shawl unwrapped, her face glistened in the open sun. Her face freckled with white spots on her cheeks, marks from the Sun above. A sign of internal blessings.

“From this day forth, you are all my students. Everyone in this square is your peer, but also your competition.” Nari continued.

“You will be split by age groups into your dignified household, but that is only for team sake.” Nari let a slick smile spread across her paled face, amusement building at the sight of the new batch of recruits at her feet. Minds that were willingly ready to be conformed, reshaped, and broken.

A mix of perplexed voices filled the air, unaware of the nature of the process. Lost for thought on history, they were divided on how one was meant to climb the social combat ladder. Such young minds couldn’t grasp the bigger picture at hand before them. The older children just sighed at the naive younger ones, used to this introduction.

“Outside of your teams, you can excel on your own and join in sessions specified to your rank. Or you can request to have one on one’s which will be granted based on the trainer you ask for.” Nari said as she motioned to the training squares and sections behind the children.

“Every day we will partake in the same set of training sessions to scope where you belong. What combat style suits you best. If you deserve to be here.” She clarified, her smile dropping into a stern glare as she peered through the antsy pairs of eyes in front of her.

“In the name of the Sun, I pray you make it out of here as warriors,” Nari said with her hands raised toward the sky, grasping at the glorious ball of light.

With clenched fists, she dropped her arms to her sides and glanced back at the children. Face emotionless and serious in nature as her true character peeked out through the smoothen folds in her face. This was no laughing matter. This place would change all the eager and excited faces that stood before her. One that would crack them and open up a route to their cores.

Who walked in the gate would be the last inkling of their previous existence.

Who would walk out of the gate would be a whole new person. Their identity reduced to one word: warrior.

“We start tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me.” Nari said sternly as she concluded the opening ceremony.

Without another peep, she strolled back into the temple out of sight. A few trainers walked up to the stage to take her place and divide up the children. The same four from the front gate, their lists already predetermined and registered between them. Age divisions were the most common factor, but beyond that personal choice played a part. Potential evident in the eye of the beholder.

But with this Daisuke and Kiyo had finally transitioned forward into the next grand step on their accession to becoming Sun Kissed Warriors.

Their first trial had ended. Now began the second: unification.