Spring had risen over the Paladinian domain.

Their trial had concluded. All thirty children returned safely from the Night’s Sea to Harion, judged and marked down by Takeo in the order relayed by the soothsayer. As they filed through eh grand gates back into Harion, the opposing house of the blessed earth passed by them out into the wild. Their time had now come to descend into the unrighteous pit, one formed by the collapse of man himself. One those smiling and laughing faces were unprepared to face, a happiness Eiko mocked even though he was the exact same way less than a week prior.

Regardless, life continued all the same.

The Sunretsu clan was in a season of prosperity, the children closing in on the end of their first year. Inching toward the desired goal of weapon specialization. Training with all weapons used under the warrior system, those sanctioned by Amaterasu, handcrafted in the days the earth bathed in fire. Along with it came solo training, for each child to differentiate themselves from others with a particular blade of choice. From bows to daggers, all were at their very fingertips. Kept out of reach until the second year rose upon them.

Those remaining deemed worthy enough to take the next step. Able to practice with the gear they would hope to one-day dawn out in combat, weapon mastery a fine art of Paladinian culture. Something to be proud of, the foundation of the society they thrived within.

No one was immediately sent home following their sessions with the soothsayer, that meeting was something to be evaluated at the end of the year itself. A full year was spent elevated into the open skyline in the city built near the Sun itself. Routine taking back over once they all situated themselves and their injuries endured in the pit.

Records of their successes and after-trial conditions were logged within the temple records by maidens ranked high enough to see the reports. The children kept in the dark on their standings in Harion. Time was the only factor that would tell their future. All riding on the word of Nari and Takeo. The grand Sun, the divider, and the final say so.

Days rolled by, lost in the sweet rush of a young summer’s warmth that drifted in over the land with spring in full blast. Yet the desert scenery that encompassed the training grounds remained lifeless as the season ventured on. Only small critters of the terrain moved across the open dusty expanse. Bits of vass beneath the surface poked out timidly, hesitant to embrace the chilly season’s desolate embrace. Waiting for the summer Sun to rise again.

…

Training.

In the months that followed the children’s encounter with the stalkers, their routine became intensified, every child pushed past their limits. Takeo no longer pulled his punches on their conditioning, their bodies left battered and inches away from death. An already minimal amount of sleep and food was decreased to a mere three hours and only a handful of water with a single bite's worth of bread. These conditions were standard for those servicing beneath the rays of the Sun. Their radiance the primary fuel drive that kept their bodies afloat.

It became clear to them who were the fast learners to acquire the endurance necessary to survive. Kiyo and Monterio were two of the first to do so. Both grew able to sustain themselves till the end of the day, promptly passing out in the blink of an eye to get an adequate amount of regeneration. Not a second was wasted. On the other side of such trivial matters, Kichi and Eiko barely made it to the end of each day, bodies marked with internal wear and tear. Forcing themselves to make it through one day at a time. To just make ends meet.

Yet through it all, another motivation was discovered: the caves.

This newfound terror only further pushed them to become stronger, to reach the necessary height to fend off creatures of that magnitude. Teratomas were one of the many fearsome beasts that scoured the open plains, worse monsters lurked beyond the horizon. Other breeds of the new man of this reborn world. Sculpted from the fiery wrath of Amaterasu.

The children only grew more into their potential as the months waned on. Mastering all of the basic combat moves and being able to outlast environmental conditions for extended periods. The bone-chilling frigid lakes beneath the city and hyperfocused beams from the Sun above became ingrained in them. Bodies able to switch in and out of climate conditions at will.

Their radiance coursed freely through them, yet some could harness it to a higher extent based on their genetic upbringing. The children of the Amaterasu bloodline were born with a natural talent to withstand and control the Sun’s blessing. Impermeable to such fatal damage.

Some prophecies foretold that one could regenerate their bodies through the essence of the Sun. Coming back stronger and healthier than the limbs blessed to them of the earth. But that was just a distant childish rumor. One of the many tacked onto the radiance that dwelled within the Paladinian people. They were blessed by the Sun, so to dream big was only natural.

Wielding raw fire hotter than the Sun herself and the ability to live without a beating heart were just a few of the ancient tales that lingered in the dusty minds of Paladian’s past. Some of these other prophecies were labeled blasphemous, downright preposterous to even be considered possible. Rituals that only a being of the night could accomplish. Acts so inhumane and unnatural. Such abilities had nothing to do with the Sun. They were disgraceful and evil.

But aren’t all things in this world?

Either way, the children grinded for perfection. Their bodies, minds, and radiance were elevated to the brink every second of every day. No breaks and no time for idle fun. Their lives were no longer their own, such vessels belonged to the Sun. Beneath her seasonal changes, the children’s power only surmounted as summer crept in, months gone in the blink of an eye. The skies lit up with a beautiful array of pinks and oranges that grew more vibrant as summer made itself known.

But in reality, time was dwindling. Soon a few would have to say goodbye for good.

…

Training only grew in intensity. Takeo committed to drawing out the best in each of them.

Standing in front of the children as they practiced spars against one another, he oversaw their every movement. The groups formed on the day of the descent into the Night’s Sea still held together. Used to the company of those they had fought tooth and nail with to escape that eternal darkness. Able to connect and propel each other further off one another.

Voice raised and sights set high, Takeo stepped closer to the sparring children.

“All of you. Listen, and listen well,” Takeo shouted abruptly.

The spars halted as children pulled back their strikes and separated from each other. All focus shifted to Takeo in an instant, no child daring to interrupt, much less mutter a word. Sixty beady anxious eyes locked onto him, bodies stiffened and upright.

That day was one in infamy, the spring season coming to a close as summer started to sweep in over the valley. The arid deserts were overcome by a vindictive life-threatening heat that ate away at the moisture of the children's brittle skin. Its rays were something they considered a tender touch of tough love from the Sun, a way to keep her children in check. To bring them up as profound and agile warriors. But too much love was harmful.

“Only three more fulls remain until your placement here will be readdressed. When we determine, with the Sun’s blessing, where you belong within the clan,” Takeo announced.

Almost a full revolution had now passed since they first arrived in Harion. The previous days brought in with the summer season brought them up to speed. They were no longer oblivious to their fate, all aware of the changes coming in the months ahead. The Sun’s jurisdiction over them could uplift or burn them to the ground at a moment's notice.

“At most, five of you will not move on. Your fate will be redecided, and we will send you to where the Sun calls you,” Takeo said adamantly, his gaze passing across the crowded space of young roughened faces.

Guardians overlooked them from the side, there to keep order as usual but more so to prevent any unnecessary questions from finding answers. The children’s knowledge of their placement here is one meant to be kept behind closed doors, only looked upon by those of higher ranking. The warrior mantel one of prestigious exaltation within the clan, those unworthy meant to never even grasp the idea of why they were rejected. That ideal one belonged in the hands of Sun herself. These children's lives were only crafter for her.

This apparent isolation left them in the dark. All the voices grew more uneasy as Takeo continued, struggling to try and reason what this was about. Why was he unloading all of this onto them now?

“The council expects the most from you all. Your class is—different from the previous years. Born under the vibrant transition of the shifting Sun. From bloodlust to salvation.” Takeo paused and gazed up at the Sun, nestled in the center of the heavens above. A twinkle in his eye reflected into the gaze of his student observers, vessels he had molded by hand.

“Remember this well. This is the direct prophecy from the Sun, nothing can change it. Your lives are indebted to her regardless of where she determines you to be valuable.” Takeo’s voice trailed off, lost in the gravity of this decision to come. The children took it at their own pace.

Some faces upheld confidence in their abilities, unfazed by the upfront warning of their birthright at stake. Others crumbled on the inside, minds sent into a frenzy of worry and confusion about where they stood amongst others.

Kiyo and Daisuke remained impartial to the information, well on the outside. Inside, Daisuke lit up with an inner boost of motivation to push himself further as he nodded to every word. Face narrowed in and compact, no sorrowful emotion shown, just pure determination. Kiyo looked at the facts laid before him in disdain, offset by the ways of his society. More for Daisuke’s sake than his own, such emotions were drawn out by doubt toward their future.

Would Daisuke make it?

Kiyo shook his head and wiped the treacherous thought from his mind with a sniffle. Refocusing on Takeo, he puffed out the stress and slipped back into composure.

“Remember, fate is inevitable. But you decide what lines the way there,” With that, Takeo waved them off to get back into their sessions.

Yet no one could truly focus after what was said. Too distracted by the looming presence of the possibility of their displacement from their warrior pathway. This announcement only chucked another wrench into the works, minds further compressed for results. But some could only take so much before they cracked.

Yet some had other things on their mind.

…

“I’m done,” Shoma muttered, swatting his arms in front of his chest.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Monterio and Isao stuttered in their motion like their souls had been sucked right out of their bodies. No words could describe the confusion that clouded their thoughts. This breach of agreement was too sudden to account for. Was Shoma serious?

Behind them, Kichi, Yori, and Mamoru stood by in idle silence. Just background observers, nothing more than followers of Monterio indebted to him for their lives in the caves. Respecting him as a leader was enough to stick by his side. To entrust their futures to him.

Yet they still steered clear of his anger.

Isao stepped up to Shoma and clicked his tongue, passing a glance back toward Monterio as a wry smirk creased his lips. Mind trying to work through what Shoma was insinuating. Shoma’s news a great contrast to what they were expecting to hear, their threat still looming in the air over Eiko and Kono.

“What do you mean, done? There’s no done. You know what happens if—” Arms primed, Shoma shoved Isao’s words back into his chest.

Stumbling back, laughter laced Isao’s scornful toothy smile, the jagged shark-like teeth in his mouth revealing themselves as tension coursed through his veins. This disrespect was something he was barely able to tolerate. His hands balled into fists as he pumped his chest. Ready for a brawl.

“Say it again,” Isao muttered through the crook in his smile.

“I’m. Done.” Shoma spat out.

“You really think—”

“Stop,” Monterio cut in as he yanked Isao back from the confrontation he was all too eager to get into.

One he was guaranteed to lose.

Submission to Monterio’s instruction, Isao sulked as he posted himself up against the back of the barracks. The brief scuffle of feet and voices could be heard in the distance, this meeting one that Shoma threw upon them in the daylight. Unable to take the pressure of being their informant any longer. More drawn out of what he saw down in the pit, taking time to think it over. Who he wanted to have ties with.

“You know what this means, right?” Monterio muttered, words drenched in gritty humor.

“You can’t hurt them,” Shoma relayed confidently, nerves on edge as his radiance started to flow through his body. Triggered by Monterio’s hold over him.

“Like I said, I’m—”

Tsk-tsk-tsk.

Monterio clicked his tongue with a simple wag of his finger. Easing forward with each swipe, he closed the distance between them. This entire interaction seen as nothing but business, this little disagreement nothing more than a hiccup. Something he could fix in a few words.

“Right, but I never meant I’d hurt them. Other people can do that for me. . .guardians,” Monterio insinuated, the reality of Monterio’s family’s reaches within the system far deeper than most knew. But Shoma remained unfazed, one thought interlocked in his mind.

“No one can beat him. Not even you,” Shoma said with a sharp cut in his voice.

“Right, right. Kiyo.” Monterio let out sleazily through the smack of his lips.

“Yeah. . .Kiyo.” The name cascaded out of Shoma’s mouth in a dejected murmur, the taste left behind all the more revolting. Sure, Kiyo was his friend, but something remained unsettling beneath the surface. A bleak thought he couldn’t shake.

“You’re afraid of him too, aren’t you?” Monterio spewed out in a low whimper. The question caught Shoma by surprise. Falling still, tension sprawled across his back as he stood there. No words escaped his lips, only a dreaded silence of the truth within. He didn’t know what to say, too many thoughts crowding his mind to think straight. Kiyo’s presence, one he continued to question. To wonder where their future with him led to.

“Yeah, thought so. . .” Monterio mumbled.

Everyone came to a standstill. Isao scoffed aloud, baffled by the turn of events that overrode their original plan. Monterio hung his head forward, unable to get past the piece of him riddled with terror. Shoma just wanted to leave, to go back to how things were, but he couldn’t get himself to make that step. One look back at the pure uneasiness that dwelled within these boys grappled with his interest. The lingering shreds of truth he didn’t want to believe, that they were right.

He was afraid of Kiyo, of his own friend. What he’d become.

“Fine. . .no threat, but will you work with us?”

“What? Monterio have you lost—”

Whoosh—bam!

Monterio pinned Isao against the wall, a grievous stern glare interlocked with him through the visceral neon glow that beamed into Isao’s eyes. Veins bulging along his arm, just an ounce of the strength he had curled up within used to keep Isao in order. Grinding his teeth, Monterio leaned in close with a stagnant breath spat out onto Isao’s face. Words he was tired of repeating.

“I said, stop,” Monterio barked.

Isao nodded hastily, all sense of authority killed off by a glimpse into Monterio’s eyes. With a light punch into Isao’s chest, Monterio released his hold and redirected his attention back to Shoma. The boy who actually mattered, someone who could change the course of Kiyo’s future.

“I don’t get it,” Shoma said, scrunching his nose beneath the growing confusion.

“Kiyo’s hiding something. They're all hiding something from all of us. Whatever prophecy or stupid hierarchy garbage they believe in.” Monterio spat his anger onto the graveled earth and stepped closer to Shoma. “I just want to prove I’m better than all of them. That I’m the one who’ll save us, not him.”

Stuttering forward, Monterio reached out with a supple palm. And for the first time, no malice was laced on his skin. It was an earnest gesture. One wrapped in hope, hope that he could win. That Kiyo would fall.

“And I need you to do it. So. . .will you help us?” Monterio relayed with a shake of his hand in the dreary air.

Shoma stared at the hand for a moment, considering his options, racing through the best possibility to chase for the safety of his friends. Any way he looked at it, there was no guarantee that Kiyo would always be there, that the quiet mentally disturbed boy would remain sane. Such an ideal faded in light of the new opportunity at hand. This link one born of trust, not fear.

To be honest, deep down just didn’t want to be afraid anymore. For himself or his friends.

“They won’t be hurt?” Shoma asked as he stretched his arm toward agreement.

“I swear on the Sun,” Monterio agreed with a pound of his right fist against his heart.

Isao just scoffed and crossed his arms, unable to see eye to eye on any of this. His goal to regain his dignity only shrunk by the daily, left to rot away in the recesses of Monterio’s mind. But his part held no real impact, just another tool used in Monterio’s grand scheme. Centered around Shoma’s compliance, one aimed directly at uncovering Kiyo. At beating him.

Closing the gap, Shoma clasped his hand onto Monterio’s, and with that, a new pact was made. Monterio couldn’t help but smile as the weight of his dream felt a little lighter just then. The distant future he desired was a couple of steps closer, Kiyo’s demise was just on the horizon.

“Good.” Monterio slipped out between the prevalent joy warping his face.

Yet with all said and done one major component was still left to be dealt with: Daisuke.

Kiyo’s true weakness.

…

Evening rolled in over Harion, a Sunset cast across the open tinged greenish-blue skies now replaced with a pink and orange horizon. Just like back home, Daisuke and Kiyo sat atop the city wall as they gazed across the desert, a way to reminisce. To look for home within the endless plains around them.

“It’s almost the Sunny season,” Daisuke commented amidst the dead conversation, masked with a weary smirk.

“Mhm,” Kiyo mumbled, arms crossed over his knees as he stared at the dark space between them.

Both of them were lost in their thoughts, circling the same issue at hand: Daisuke’s place in the greater purpose of the clan. Kiyo thought of what all he could do while Daisuke tried to distract himself from the dire truth settling in, that he may not make it through the summer season. His birthright, family's honor, and entire future were at risk, left to float in the air off of a fluttering dream. One wrong prick and it’d burst, reality cascading back onto his face.

“Right now, I bet everyone in Nippon is already preparing for the festival. All the weapon stands are getting set up, people are in those formal itchy robes, and my family. . .” Daisuke’s voice trailed off, lost in the meaning within his aimless words, spouting whatever came to mind.

Leaning back, Daisuke set his focus on the sky above. Eyes locked onto the setting Sun in the distance, a little structure masked in a silhouette beneath it. A callback to their view of the word as children, wishing to cross that line between the realms of land and sky. To reach the world beyond it, a land of green.

“I never missed it, not one year,” Daisuke muttered as he continued with the simplistic mindless distraction.

Kiyo remained silent, keen to half listen as he tried to figure everything out. Taking it upon himself to help the friend he indebted his life to. Yet they only were becoming ever so different in this place, tethered solely by childhood ties and an inner bond. Beyond that, who they were had transitioned into a mutualistic friendship. Allies in a place bred for war.

“Wish they would let us go back. Even for just a little bit. . .just a little.”

“Mhmm,” Kiyo mumbled once more, unable to add any real thought to matter, home only brewing distaste within his tattered mind. Such forlorn memories associated with the place he remembered as a prison and nothing more.

“It feels like we’ve already been here for—I don’t know ten revolutions or something. Just forever. . .an endless forever.”

Daisuke's smile shrunk as he let reality bleed into view, his tongue wrapped up in the facts that surrounded him. The dreary gray gravel desert was an isolator and reminder of it all. The world he once imagined not all he foresaw it to be.

“So much has changed,” Daisuke admitted meekly.

But then the act slipped, the confidence he considered his personality endured its final lashing. One glimpse of the future he once saw as within their grasp was now miles out of reach. Kiyo was no longer at his side but off in the distance, walking away into the morning to come.

Into the future, Daisuke left in the past. Alone.

“You think I’ll make it?” Daisuke let out stiffly as he stared down the drop-off from the wall.

“Make it?” Kiyo asked, snapping out of his silent concentration.

“Be able to stay here. . .become a warrior,” Daisuke relayed, grip tightened on the gritty planks.

“Why wouldn’t you—” Kiyo failed to even offer a sympathetic lie, words choked out by his lack of effort to offer a breath of motivation. The boy devoid of emotion unable to grapple with the impact of his words. So they sat in silence, lost in a perilous wonder.

Daisuke huffed out a long drawn-out sigh and leaned forward, arms wrapped around his knees mimicking Kiyo like always. Burying his head into this open gap as he blocked out the world around him. The only way he could manage to let it all out.

The truth.

“I know okay. I know I’m not like you. . .or really anyone here. I mess up, I’m always at the back, and I’m—just me.”

Kiyo could only remain silent, searching for the words to make this right. But the problem remained within himself, that Kiyo agreed. How long could Daisuke really last in Harion?

“I’m just. . .weak,” Daisuke muttered, head buried into his forearms, the weight of his family on his shoulders.

Bang.

Kiyo struck his fist down into the wall, the wooden plank cracking beneath the curled radiance in his fist.

“No,” Kiyo spat out between the grit in his teeth.

Daisuke pulled his head back out of his lap, eyes glossed over from the influx of emotions that leaked out of his face. Staring at Kiyo with stagnant awe, he remained mesmerized by the shift in tone in Kiyo’s voice. A side he rarely had seen. Sincerity.

“What?” Daisuke snuffed.

“You’ll make it,” Kiyo paused and grasped Daisuke’s shoulder as he pointed toward the horizon. “We’ll make it there. We promised.”

Daisuke sniffled at the thought, a smile peeking between his lips. Kiyo’s kind words soothed his ravaged mind, a little light against the onslaught of doubt. Sparks that set a blaze to the dying hope within his chest. A mighty fire that rose up his throat out into the wind.

“Yeah. Right.” Daisuke coughed up with a hearty nod.

In the rekindling of the future they believed in as children, the world mimicked their embellished connection, waves of wonderous light, unimaginable colors that settled with the Sun. Disappearing over the horizon, the night seeping into the sky around them. A blue iridescent glow covered Harion in place of the Sun’s luminous lively rays. Their way is to ward off the night.

With the night came questions, pricks at the bubbled hope that enveloped this childish belief in such a future was possible. But Daisuke continued to hold onto it, hand in hand with Kiyo. Together till the end.

“I mean, what else would we do?”