“Rain Oren!” Cole booms from the end of the locker room aisle, silencing the chatter of the other cadets.

Here we go again. I thought today, of all days, they’d give it a rest. My combat uniform and my patience are shredded. My red Primus, first in class, arm band lies at the foot of my locker. The tattered remains are coated in something I know better than to investigate. 

I pull in a long drag of the dank air and will my shoulders to drop. This is the last time. After today, I’ll never have to endure them again. All I have to do is suck it up, put on the required uniform, and pass my trial. Then I’ll be free. 

I squeeze the thin metal of the locker door before releasing my hold and turn around to face him. Cole moves toward me in his predatory stride. His perfectly shined boots thunder across the damp concrete floor, beating in time with my pounding heart. The rest of the cadets follow in his wake, moving in to watch the show. 

He looks more pissed than normal, but it’s expected. He and his followers worked hard to make me fail. To make sure I never ranked first. Cole should be Primus. No one wants a traitor like me representing our class. But what they don’t understand is that surviving their attention for the last ten years made me the best. 

“Oren!” Cole’s hoarse bark curls my hands into fists.

I scan the eager faces that surround me. Always so eager to spill some Oren blood. I can’t blame them. They have good reasons to hate me.

I stiffen to keep the tension in my muscles from shaking and press my lips together. Any reaction is a weakness, any reply, an invitation to their violence. His narrowed black eyes are a soulless void. Cruel, calculating, and cold.

We’re both over six feet tall, but that’s where the similarity ends—complete contradictions. My white hair and pale gray eyes stand across the spectrum from his. He’s the only son of our highly decorated regional general. And I’m the last son of a family of disgraced traitors. He’s a tank of muscle, and I’m lean but quick, which is a good thing for me.  

“Cutting it kind of close, aren’t you? You better get into your gear soon. It’d be a real shame for you to miss your trial.” He chuckles, and right on cue, everyone else’s laughter follows.

He thinks he has the last laugh. No one takes their trial without the proper uniform. No trial, no graduation. I’d be forced into another year at the academy, and Cole will take first place.

“I’m not missing a thing.” I stand tall and give him a smirk.

Cole’s stare widens, and his open-mouthed grin turns down in a thin, cruel slash. He hates that he can’t rattle my mask of calm. Even when I’m outnumbered and taking his shit. I should thank him for the one thing he taught me: prepare for any possibility.

I reach for the zipper at the neck of my training uniform. Cole flinches back at the sudden movement, and I can’t help but flash a smile at that. I tug the zipper down and look over my classmates as I reveal the fresh, crisp combat uniform I wear underneath. Cole’s teeth snap together, drawing my attention to his jaw muscles working overtime. 

I pull my arms free and kick my legs out of the jumpsuit. I’ve been hiding and stealing to survive since I was six years old. And I’m very good at it. This is one of three uniforms I hid around the barracks after our ranks were announced.

I smooth a hand down the bright red Primus band around my left arm. Cole’s face flushes, and my legs lock to keep me from backing up. I can’t back down, not today. I have to take my trial. I have to get out of here before someone finds out what I can do. Or worse, I turn out to be like the rest of my family and hurt someone.

An electric hum draws my attention to the rusted speaker mounted high above the locker room exit. My head tilts towards it, ready for the crackling screech of an announcement.

I slide my eyes back over to Cole’s. The hard lines between his eyebrows deepens. He looks at the speaker and back at me with a questioning gaze. A series of pops turns everyone else away from me and to the speaker. The announcement signals it’s time to move out to the arena.

Cole’s dark brows lower into the scowl he wears when he tries to figure me out. Tries to understand how I’m just a few steps ahead of everyone else. The truth is, I don’t even understand my abilities. It’s not like I’m psychic. All warrior-born have inherent speed, strength, and endurance. From what I can tell, my warrior abilities and senses are heightened way above normal.

These abilities are hard to control and grow stronger every day. It’s why I can never fight back. I’m already the most hated person in all the regions of Centrum. No need to add unstable freaky super powers to the mix. 

Cole leans in, slamming my locker door shut behind me. We stand toe to toe. I drop my smirk when my forearms warm, signaling my warrior blades are ready to manifest to this new threat. Cole rubs one hand over his shoulder where his weapon manifests before dropping it to his side. His breath rushes out between clenched teeth as we watch each other.

“Enjoy wearing that, for now.” He pinches the red-colored band around my arm in a hard twisting motion, grabbing more skin than band.

I tightly hold a bored expression on my face through the burning sting. I know better than to engage. Cole’s a ticking bomb. Just one word from me lights his fuse. He’s used to me quietly taking his shit. And, it’s not worth my trouble, not today.

“You still have to pass the trial to claim Primus.” Cole pulls his hand away and backs up a few steps.

I stay rooted. My arm throbs, and my stomach churns. He turns his back to me, crossing over a couple of benches to join his friends.

“Good luck with that, you’re going to need it.” His laughter echoes around the locker room as the rest of the class follows him towards the exit.

I sag against my locker and press my palms against the cool metal behind me. The weight of his presence lifts as the drip of the showers tick out my last moments at the academy.

I’ve looked forward to this day for ten years. I’ve dreamed of nothing else since being shipped here. I will graduate. I will finally be free of my tormentors and the tireless vigil of keeping my powers under control. I’ll go home, my family’s home.

To learn the truth about what happened to them. To figure out if what they did is the reason I have these powers. But first, I’ll face whatever Cole planned for me. He’s not finished with me yet. 

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“Oren! You miss your trial and I’ll personally ensure the last ten years will feel like a damn vacation compared to another year with yours truly. Move your ass!” Instructor Hale’s roar bounces around the vacant locker room.

“Sir, yes sir.” I race to the exit with Hale’s stale coffee breath at my back pushing me faster.

“Cadet Spence. Who told you to stop?” He peels off to terrorize some other cadets and I relax my pace.

The dawning sun burns off the night’s chill. And the shadows from the barracks grow thin along the gravel path to the arena. Everyone is quiet.

I stay a practiced distance away from the other cadets in my class. Far enough behind to keep out of sight, to be forgotten. There’s a certain finesse to being invisible. Invisibility isn’t one of my powers, unfortunately. But I can fade into the background seamlessly and it helps that I’m ignored. I keep my distance to track their positions, it’s a protective advantage. But I can study their ways too. And I know my enemies well.

Lans Blackwell runs a hand through his curly black hair, secretly counting to himself. A group of female cadets walk beside him in quiet concentration, jaws tight, gait purposeful. Trenton Stone is seconds from rubbing the medallion around his neck. The once deep red color of his family crest is now a shiny silver.

I cross my arms and run the pad of my thumbs over the thin white lines on the inside of my forearms where my weapons manifest. I trace the large half-moon shape before moving to the smaller circle inside it. Three double-headed arrows pierce them at different lengths. I’m glad my warrior marks appeared on my forearms, where I can see them. They’re all I have of my family crest.

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The bouncing heads of Cole’s minions slam into each other at the front of our class and block him from my view. I dig a fist in my empty stomach to stop the rolling. I’m not nervous about the graduation trial. The trial itself will be easy. But thinking about Cole’s threat while trying to contain my powers is hard to handle. The last time they slipped my hold one of my classmates ended up in traction for six months. The academy called it an unfortunate training accident. He unfortunately stepped into my path as I ran from another beat down. I’d never moved so fast or felt more out of control.

My abilities rise like a sixth sense when I’m threatened, in danger, or too emotional. And with all our regional leadership and officers in attendance I can’t get worked up. I have no idea what would happen if they discover my powers, see what I can do. But thoughts of becoming a lab rat or executed on site fill my head. I slow my breathing and push the worry away, bury it down deep as always.

“Focus. Be here.” I breathe out in my regular chant to calm down.

This day has always been so far away, so impossible to realize. Now that it’s here, the sliver of hope that invades my mind is worse than everything I’ve faced in the last ten years. Hope is a snare. And the most dangerous snare is the one right before the finish line.

“Oren!” Sergeant Gray calls from up ahead.

I fell too far behind trying to keep it together. I quicken my pace to catch up, and my classmates murmur and laugh. I shoot a glare at them and get the silence I want when their heads quickly turn forward. I worked hard for the wide berth I enjoy now. After I got taller and my powers grew stronger, it was easy to outmaneuver and evade their attacks.

“Those ghostly eyes give me the creeps.” One female cadet whispers to another.

“Yeah, right, you stare at him all the time.”

“Forget about him. Do you think they will pick anyone for the Elite Squad?”

The female cadets speak to each other all at the same time. Somehow they all think my silence means I can’t hear when they talk about me. But my chest eases with their chatter to distract me.

“Everyone wants to be picked. Can you imagine living in Centrum City?”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Another says. “To be sent out on some crazy, dangerous mission, deep in the Mist. No thanks. I can do my duty close to home and keep my limbs intact.”

If there’s an opening for the Elite Squad, Cole is the obvious choice. But they haven’t chosen a warrior for years. We’re all likely to get Gate Guard assignments in our home villages. I know I will. No one wants an Oren connected to the Elite Squad, the best warriors in our nation, and I couldn’t be happier.

I’ll be assigned to the Guard and live in my home village. It’s all I dream about. I don’t have a family to return to like the others, but I have our family’s home, where Orens have lived since the beginning. I try to pull up the few scattered memories of my childhood home. It’s like trying to fist running water.

This academy has been my home since I was six years old. And even though I go days, sometimes weeks, without speaking to anyone, the cadets and instructors that hate me are all I know. I rub the center of my chest where my powers lie. Will I still need to hold on so tight once I leave here?

The chatter stops as we approach the massive, white-dome arena. We’ve trained here since the first day at the academy, but it looks different today. All heads turn back to me. It’s time. And as Primus, I’m first. I stride to the front to take my position, holding a confidence they could never break. I don’t look over at Cole as I pass. With so many high-ranking officials in attendance, I’m sure whatever he’s planned for me won’t happen in front of this audience.

We stand grouped before the thick metal security doors of the arena. A stage with a podium sits to the left of the arena, next to a wall of security glass for viewing. Rows of white folding chairs filled with officers wait before the stage that was set up in our training grounds outside the barracks.

“Welcome, fellow warriors.” Our regional general, General Targe, sets off a solid round of applause as he takes center stage. His words echo through the microphone in a deep, smooth vibration, capturing everyone’s attention. Even from here, I recognize the same lofty stance Cole must’ve picked up from his father.

“Thank you, guests from the Guard, academy instructors, and Hallow Point regional officers for your dedication to our next generation.”

“This day we continue the time-honored tradition of strengthening our ranks with only the best of our warrior-born. Every year we say goodbye to too many brave, skillful warriors who’ve died in the line of duty.”

The crowd goes quiet and my head bows in memorial of the thousands of warriors that die every year in service. My heart thuds and my face heats when I think of the warriors that died at my family’s hands instead of a true warrior’s death.

“It is our birth-given distinction, as warrior-born, to keep our nation safe and thriving. Only with these,” the general’s arm gestures in our direction, “new graduates can we keep our commitment to our nation. But being warrior-born is not enough. Only the strongest earn the privilege to serve. For over two centuries, we’ve been at war with the demon creatures from the Mist.”

All eyes follow the general’s sweeping fist to take in the ancient barrier wall behind him and the heavy iron gate set in it. I stare at the metal tunnel that connects the gate entrance to the arena. My father, mother, and older brother each stood right here. They waited, like I do, to prove themselves in this arena, at this very academy. I swallow hard, knowing I’m the last Oren that will ever be here again.

“This year’s cadets must prove they are worthy to join our ranks as we have done before them. Each cadet will stand on their own merit and strength in one-on-one combat with a class one Grunt demon. Only a death blow or kill will grant full warrior status. True strike to you all!”

His speech ends in the proper warrior send off, ‘True Strike’, instead of the ‘good luck’ insult Cole gave me. A true warrior doesn’t believe in or need luck. But I’ll never be considered a true warrior.

General Targe turns from the podium, walking off stage, dropping his shiny broad smile too easily. His eyes turn stony as they fall on Cole. Without stopping or acknowledging his son or the class, General Targe heads to the group of high-ranking officers waiting to proceed into the arena’s private observation room.

He moves like a predator, ready to strike. The other officers part, letting him pass through to the front. I shudder. Cole’s father always causes this reaction.

I’ve watched Cole and his father interact at every assembly over the years. Their jagged smiles are the frigid bite of being held under iced water. Their cold, black stare is the oppressive weight of an impending storm. But they’re the heroes, and I’m the villain that makes skin crawl.

The general’s barking laugh sounds above the other officers. It’s like a switch flipped inside him and his charismatic, commanding presence from the stage is back. Everyone is enthralled by whatever he says, nodding along with his every word. Cole watches as well. I wonder, not for the first time, how he feels when someone brags about his father or wishes they were his son.

“Rain Oren.” Sergeant Gray booms. He has no other setting.

Whispers and grumbles from the attendees move over the crowd in a wave as I walk up to the arena doors. I’m used to the attention, to the hostility. I refocus my heightened hearing on the arena I’m about to enter. No time for distractions now.

I pick up the clang of the heavy metal gate, unlocking almost a mile away. The instructor’s footsteps echo through the long tunnel between the barrier wall and the arena as they escort a rolling cage with a captive demon. The wheels strain with groaning squeaks. I guess I’ll be fighting a big one. The whoosh of the fog-like atmosphere from the demon’s territory sounds in the corridor before the grind of the metal bolt slides in place to seal the wall gate shut.

I remind myself it’s just like any other live training exercise. The instructors will release the Grunt demon into the arena and I’ll kill it. The only difference between the trial and training is I’ll be the sole focus under observation.

The squeaky wheels stop. I fist my chest as a piercing burn radiates from my center. Nearby demons trigger my powers the strongest. I internally clamp down the surge of energy ready for a fight. Facing demons is the easy part, holding my powers back, that’s the real test.

I swallow hard when Sergeant Gray steps in front of me. There’s a frayed red wire by his boot. His black buzz cut and crisp khaki fatigues give him the severe look every drill sergeant aims for. He’s waiting for the signal to send me inside to start my trial. I’ve walked through these doors more times than I can count. But standing here facing them, knowing they hold the key to my freedom, makes them taller, impenetrable.

A cage rattles inside the arena, and my arms tremble as my muscles fill up with energy. I’m too close to the sergeant. He’ll notice my eyes flashing bright if my powers escape my hold. I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my chin, shaking my head until the longer pieces of my hair fall forward to cover them.

My enhanced sight is the hardest to hide. If Cole hadn’t shoved my face into a muddy puddle on our first day, I’d have no clue they turn electric blue. The murky water’s reflection saved my secret. I lower my head more, and my chin scrapes against the goggles hanging around my neck. I modified this pair to hide my power-infused eyes in plain sight.

I drag them up and secure them, tightening the rubber strap on the back of my head. The glow of my eyes simulates the same vision-enhancing light regular goggles have. And my abilities are all I need to see through the demon’s fog-like atmosphere. I make an exaggerated show of pressing the on button that doesn’t work. With my goggles secure, I open my eyes and let my sight flow freely.

“Oren,” Sergeant growls out, “save it for the arena.”

He shakes his head at my eagerness in powering up my gear too soon.

“Just ready to go, sir.”

I glance across his face through strips of my hair. His squinty dark eyes are on mine. I freeze from the unexpected acknowledgment. Instructors never look at me. I figured it out in my first year here. There’s no need to step in or save me from the other cadets if they don’t see anything happening.

The sergeant’s mouth drops open. The only time instructors speak to me is to give an order or reprimand. He’s keeping eye contact too, his mouth opening and closing. Then, with a snap, he’s back to looking like he’s grinding rocks with his teeth and his eyes dart behind me.

That was weird. Before I can think about it some more, the arena doors swing open.

“Let the trials begin!”