I had no idea how those two had ended up in the same room.

The master had his back turned and was sitting right in front of them—Malia and Zokin. That summons began to feel like something serious, even though the "warm welcome" from the other chosen ones made me think otherwise. I could clearly see their faces: Zokin was the calmest of the two, and even sitting down, he radiated a powerful presence. Meanwhile, Malia was staring at me, trying to tell me something with her eyes, but I couldn’t understand it at all.

One of the two priestesses made me take off the tunic, leaving my chest bare, and another tunic, bright red and neatly folded in her hands, was placed in front of the master. As I approached the center of the tent, I noticed there was a bit of space next to Malia, as if she was inviting me to sit down.

"How are you, Falco?" the master asked seriously, once I had seated myself before him.

I looked around, trying to figure out what this tent was meant for, and then answered, "Good, sir."

For a moment, I doubted whether Malia had been summoned to be punished for her behavior toward me. Yet, though unlikely, I felt that something was about to happen. I still felt the need to protect her. After all, it was largely my fault I had gotten punched in the face.

“It’s my fault, sir. I lost focus. I don’t know how things work here, but if we’re here because of me or this girl, I would ask you to be lenient with her,” I said with my head bowed.

"No," the master responded sharply. "This isn’t about giving punishments. If you’re here, it’s for a far more noble reason," he continued with a smile, looking at Zokin. I had no idea what he meant, and seeing Malia’s smirk, I realized I wasn’t even close to figuring it out. So I wasn’t there to talk about what had happened? Was I not supposed to prove that I was one of the chosen? To prove my worth? Even though I kept asking myself these questions, I couldn’t see what was happening inside me. I had been there for barely a few days, yet that lie already weighed on me like a stone on my stomach.

I was about to say something, but Malia stopped me with a look and a nudge on my leg. I understood that I had to remain silent and listen.

“I had to summon you here to make official what I witnessed.”

I was happy to have succeeded in my mission, of course, but I still didn’t understand what the hell Zokin was doing there. He had seen nothing of the encounter between me and Malia, yet he was sitting there, all proud, as if he were someone important. Had he recognized me?

"Your family has already been notified." Then he stood up and made me lower my head. He gathered some grayish powder, similar to ashes, scattered all over the room, and let a few grains fall onto my head.

Then he spoke solemnly: "Falco, this is the day of your rebirth. From this memorable moment, you will become part of a new family. The camp will be your new home. The chosen ones, your new brothers. Today, you offer your loyalty to the chosen ones, to the masters, and to all the inhabitants of the village of Progonos. Accept this sacrament as your new mission of life."

I didn’t know what to say. Was he really consecrating me to officially become one of the chosen? So, the long-awaited moment had finally arrived. All those years spent training and figuring out my purpose, my future, what I was born for, seemed to have passed like a brief blink of an eye. It felt strange to think that I had actually managed to achieve that dream, one that even I had stopped believing in.

Instinctively, I looked toward Malia, and she nodded at me. Yes, if I was there, it was because she kept believing in me, even when I didn’t believe enough in myself. I knew she had her own motives, yet they didn’t seem as important compared to what she had done to help me.

With deep gratitude in my heart and a sense of fulfillment I had never felt before, I realized it was time to utter the sacred words.

"Slava dukhu zemli."

When I raised my head and opened my eyes, I noticed everything I once deemed insignificant or unworthy of attention. The entire inside of the tent was painted red, and around the carpet, candles were lit, casting a glow on our faces. Now I could clearly see everything around me. It was like being cured of blindness.

I saw Malia’s face, her red tunic, like the one one of the priestesses was handing me, and Zokin too, with his broad face, furrowed brows, and strong build. I could finally see those details I once considered trivial or insignificant.

"How did I live like this until now?" I wondered.

The master wore a red tunic like ours but decorated with golden patterns. He had a kind expression, yet at the same time, those furrowed brows, which resembled Zokin’s, made him seem serious and stern. The master sat down again and said, "It will be difficult for you, who have lived in the village until now, to adjust to our pace and the new rules."

"I will do my best, sir. Being here is a true honor for me, so I will do everything I can not to disappoint you."

He smiled. "That’s the spirit, young man." Then he noticed that I kept glancing at the two youths to my right. "I imagine you’re wondering what they are doing here. First, I needed two witnesses; secondly, I believe someone here owes you an apology."

Whaaaat??! I never thought this day would come. Malia, my mentor, apologizing to ME?! Well, well, well, after all, it was kinda her fault too that she couldn’t hold back with a “rookie.”

"Well, what can I do? I’ll accept this apology, and when she regrets it, I’ll just pretend it never happened," I thought, crossing my arms, already savoring the thought of Malia’s public apology—a girl who wouldn’t even dream of apologizing, not even in her sleep.

"Alright," said stooding up, then looked me in the eyes and said, "I’m sorry for doubting your abilities."

Wait a minute.

Why was Zokin apologizing? Wasn’t Malia supposed to do it?

"Go on," the master instructed.

Annoyed, he looked me up and down and said, "I didn’t believe that someone could awaken powers, I admit it. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends."

It was quite ironic because, if he had known the truth, we might have become friends again.

"I have nothing else to say," he said as he sat back down.

"Good. Today, we’ve all learned a lesson," the master said proudly.

The two seemed rather annoyed by this statement, as if the master’s daily moral lessons were a common occurrence.

"Malia, you’ve learned that you must control your Dark Soul; Zokin, you’ve learned to be humble despite your abilities; and you, Falco, have learned that when dealing with us, even a momentary lapse in focus can be fatal. We are no longer in the village. Here we are at the camp of the chosen ones."

I was happy to have become a part of that new family. Finally, I knew who I was. I was Falco Anderson, the one who fought for his dream, and even though I pretended to be what I idealized, I liked that lie—it made me feel like myself.

Even though my inner self was something I cared a lot about, another aspect I hadn’t considered was my physiological needs.

After leaving the tent with Malia, who would escort me to my future room, I started to worry about dirtying my beautiful red tunic, which had just been given to me.

"Malia… I’m a bit embarrassed to ask you this right now, but could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

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I don’t know what went through her mind, but she immediately replied, "See those two tents on the other side of the camp? Just go there."

She saved me. All the tension I had been carrying—probably since the day Malia started training me—seemed to release at that moment, and from my intestines too, for that matter. It was a bit of a pathetic scene to see this guy, wearing a red tunic—a really nice, vibrant red—was running like a peasant, desperate because he was about to soil himself.

I reached the tent, which had various compartments inside, like small rooms with a pit in the center. I immediately understood what I had to do, even though the method we used at home with the animal stomach was a bit different. There were buckets of water to clean up, but, well, habits die hard once you’ve gotten used to the comforts of home, or using the stream near the forest.

"Now even my soul is nice and clean," I said with satisfaction as I left those rather grimy tents.

Beside me were two chosen ones, looking quite baffled. It seemed like my comment had really thrown them off. One of them looked at the other and said, "It was your turn to deal with cleaning today, right?"

Not understanding what they meant, I tried to introduce myself without making the situation even weirder: "Ah, sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Falco, the new guy."

Both of them were still stunned by what I’d said earlier. Maybe I should have said it more quietly, or better yet, just kept it to myself… or not thought it at all!

"Sorry for arriving later than you guys."

"Oi, bro, this guy is apologizing because he’s a late bloomer chosen one."

"Yeah, bro, I heard. But come on, he seems like a decent guy," the other replied, trying to calm him down.

They were teasing me. But honestly, I couldn’t blame them. I had just arrived and was behind on the training schedule compared to them, not to mention I wasn’t actually a chosen one.

"One more rival. Like we needed that," grumbled the one who had mocked me earlier, then he walked off.

"Come on, Mop, let’s go. It’s lunchtime."

"Sorry about him, his name is Kol. He’s just like that; you’ve got to give him some space."

I tried to reassure him: "Well, nice to meet you, Mop."

He suddenly jumped back "My name is not Mop. I’m Motterdolf, one of the spirit dominators. Only Kol calls me that."

He was a shorter guy, a bit hunched over, with long, messy hair that covered most of his left eye. He seemed like a calm kid.

"Sorry if I got your name wrong earlier. From now on, I’ll call you Motterdolf."

"Stop calling me whatever name I give you!"

"But you said you didn’t want to be called Mop." The more I spoke, the more he seemed embarrassed by all the names and nicknames I was using.

"MOP! Are you coming or not?!"

They headed toward a table that I could see in the distance.

“See you at the table!” concluded Mop, or Motterdolf, or whatever the heck his name was.

It was lunchtime, the moment when all the chosen ones and the master gathered at the center of the field to eat in harmony.

"I just hope I'm not a burden," I thought.

Everyone had a dish in front of them. I had never noticed before—from a distance, it was hard to tell what they were eating, and I hadn’t cared much back then—but all the trays contained different foods, as if each meal were personalized according to everyone’s tastes.

Zokin had a tray filled with various meats, while Malia was eating a variety of vegetables and a lot of chicken, from different parts of the animal. Others had soups, but everyone seemed to love meat.

As soon as I sat at the table, I felt a strange sensation. I had never seen so much good food on one table. I could only see things like this during festivals, so I didn’t know what to do. My plate was missing, but no one had started eating yet. With those steaming, delicious plates in front of them, everyone was staring at me, as if they expected something from me.

“Thank you for welcoming me,” I said, standing up from my chair, driven by an impulse I couldn't explain.

The master, who was standing like everyone else, pronounced, “It’s a tradition for newcomers to receive a bit from each tray. We didn’t expect another chosen one, another brother, to be with us. And yet, here we are!” He smiled. Then a very young priestess came by with what would be my tray, collecting some food from each person.

“Maybe not everything will be to your liking, but how you handle this food will reflect how you behave with your brothers.” Then hhe cut to the chase: “Let’s eat!” He probably was very hungry too.

I had various items in my plate, all distinct and separated from each other. No doubt about it, they were all delicious. I never would have thought such dishes existed in the village.

“Make sure you finish everything,” Malia said, who was sitting across from me, resting her elbows on the table and leaning her face closer “Otherwise, they’ll be offended. It’s tradition.”

No one seemed to notice what she had just said. They were all very hungry, but I didn’t quite understand why. Even Malia finished her tray in no time.

Every time I took a bite from someone’s plate, from my colorful dish, that person would stare at me until I gave some sign of approval or something that resembled it. Odd custom, I thought.

“So, before becoming a chosen one, what was life like without powers?” asked Mop, sitting next to me and very curious about life outside the camp.

"Shut it up, bro." said the other one aside him.

“I was like everyone else.”

“Yeah, but what did you do?” asked Mop, ignoring his friend.

“Don’t you remember the time when you were without powers? When you had your family and stuff like that?”

At that point, silence fell over the table. Had I accidentally said something strange? I tried to respond to the question: “What I meant is that outside I did exactly what you all did as kids. I played with my friends, spent time with my family… the usual stuff.”

Someone interrupted the conversation: “I’d like to know more about your family,” said the boy sitting to Malia’s right.

“My mom was kind,” I said, and everyone looked at me with great attention, as if they wanted to know more “My dad, let’s say he was a bit stricter.”

“And then?” Mop asked. “What did you do when it was time to go to the camp?” I thought he was trying to tease me.

“I just couldn’t go. I stayed with my family.”

“But if you didn’t train, what did you do? Could you do anything, or are there rules even for the kids in the village?”

“Yeah, let’s say there are rules to follow to be happy.”

“And what are these rules?”

I looked up, and the question came from across the table, from Malia.

“For example, finding a job. A job means helping others, building huts, farming the land, keeping the cows and chickens in check. Stuff like that.”

“So what we eat is the work of the powerless?!” Robby exclaimed, looking at his now-empty plate.

“Yeah, that’s right. Basically, we… the powerless trust you. Everyone outside the village sees you as heroes, protectors who fight for their village and help them, to protect them. That’s also why I didn’t have a job, and seeing the situation from the outside, I wished even more as a child to become a chosen one, just like you.”

“Now don’t be such a wuss,” Zokin said. “We know we’re incredible, and we don’t need to prove it to anyone, not even the powerless who admire us so much. Now you’re one of us. And so you have to act like it.”

Did he recognized me?

“Don’t be so hard on him, Zokin,” the master said in a strangely unsettling tone “Don’t worry, Falco; you just arrived. Over time, you’ll get used to not thinking about the powerless anymore. It’s normal to care about them. In time, you’ll learn to care only about one thing: becoming the best chosen one of all.”

Evening came, and for the first time, I could lie down on the straw bed, soft like I had never had before. Although many events had occurred, I was satisfied with how things had gone. Other than the coma, nothing had gone wrong according to my plans, and that gave me hope for the future. The master's speech had scared me a little, but Malia reassured me, saying that they were just empty words, as often happened.

Looking at that different ceiling swaying with the light breeze of the early evening, I remembered the day I met Malia for the first time, when it all began.

“I was just a kid,” I thought “I told her I was an admirer of the chosen ones, and now look at me, I’ve actually become one.”

For the first time, I wasn’t thinking about anything.

“Unbelievable.”

I was free from all the thoughts that tormented me, every doubt or uncertainty, because I knew who I was. I was a chosen one, and no one could say otherwise, not anymore. I left all my plans and secret meetings with Malia to the future.

That night, I managed to sleep peacefully like never before, even though the hard work would begin the very next day and continue for the upcoming months: the toughest of my life.