Thorne woke to shouting, a groan escaping his lips. He had barely gotten any sleep all night, always having one eye open, afraid that someone would sneak attack him while he slept. The hard mattress did nothing to soothe his aching muscles, and the cold air seemed to seep into his bones.
During the night, he had heard muffled screams when some saw an opportunity to get a bed. The occasional thud or cry had kept him on edge, and the adrenaline of survival was the only thing that had kept him from succumbing to exhaustion.
Sitting up, Thorne scanned the room. His stomach twisted at the sight of two more bodies sprawled lifelessly on the floor. No one had bothered to move them; they lay discarded like broken tools. Several kids sported fresh bruises, swollen eyes, and hastily bandaged cuts—clear signs of skirmishes in the night.
Thorne’s gaze darted over the group, doing a quick headcount. Thirty-seven kids remained. Four had vanished entirely, their fates a mystery but easy enough to guess. He stretched his stiff limbs, his joints popping as he tried to work out the soreness. His eyes flickered to some of the other recruits, many of whom sat huddled together, their faces pale and blank. The fear in their eyes was unmistakable.
Thorne was contemplating looking for food when the door slammed open. A girl burst into the room, panting as though she had run for her life.
“The scary woman is coming!” she shouted, her voice high-pitched with panic. She quickly darted into the group, blending into the mass of recruits like a spooked animal seeking safety in a herd.
A ripple of movement spread through the room as everyone scrambled to their feet. Some winced visibly as they stood, still nursing the injuries from the night before. Thorne’s eyes landed on the boy he had beaten into submission the previous evening. The boy’s face was a mess of bruises, his eyes swollen to narrow slits, and he leaned heavily on another recruit for support. When he caught Thorne watching, he tried to glare, but the effort fell flat, drawing only a smirk from Thorne.
Thorne crossed his arms, leaning against the bedpost, his smirk widening. The boy’s glare faltered into something more akin to frustration than intimidation.
“You should have finished him off,” came a low voice beside him.
Thorne glanced over to see the short boy from the night before. His tone was light, almost conversational, but his words carried weight. “Now you’ve made an enemy. He’ll come for you again.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow. “I’m not worried. I can handle him.”
The boy chuckled softly, slapping Thorne lightly on the back in a gesture that felt almost friendly. “Oh, no doubt about that. You’ve got guts; I’ll give you that.”
He offered his hand, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Name’s Vance.”
Thorne hesitated for a moment before clasping it. “Thorne.”
Vance’s sharp eyes swept over him, appraising. “So, the rumors are true. You’re the favorite cousin.”
Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but the sharp clack of boots against stone cut him off. The air shifted as the woman from before entered the room, followed by the mysterious man. The murmurs died instantly, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
The woman’s gaze swept over them, her piercing green eyes scanning each recruit with clinical precision. She barely paused at the dead bodies on the floor, her lips curling in what might have been mild amusement—or disdain. She seemed to see through every layer of pretense or bravado, dissecting each of them without saying a word.
The man, Lock, lingered by the door, his cold, predatory presence amplifying the unease.
The woman stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “Stand to attention,” she barked, her tone cutting through the room like a blade.
The recruits shuffled into position, some straightening instinctively while others hesitated, unsure of what was expected of them. Thorne stood tall, his face blank but his mind racing.
“I am Talon,” the woman announced, her voice carrying easily through the room. “And this is Lock. We are the leaders of this group. You will follow our commands without question. Fail to do so, and you’ll wish for death long before it comes.”
Lock stepped forward with a slow, deliberate gait, his scowl deepening as he surveyed the room. He was tall and lean, his dark eyes sharp as obsidian, radiating cold menace with every movement. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the air. "Listen up," he commanded. "You will follow orders. No questions, no hesitation."
Thorne’s gaze flicked between Lock and Talon, studying the way they moved, how they commanded the room without a shred of doubt or hesitation. They were in charge, and they expected absolute obedience.
is mind churned with questions. If these were the “Cousins”, what exactly was their structure? How many more were out there? Unable to resist, he broke the heavy silence. “Is this the only group?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying a faint edge. “Are there others like us?”
The question hung in the air like a stone tossed into a still pond. Talon’s gaze snapped to him, her eyes narrowing with the precision of a hawk locking onto prey. Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her piercing green eyes. “That,” she said in a voice laced with mock sweetness, “is none of your concern.”
Lock turned his scornful glare on Thorne, his lip curling. “You’re animals,” he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Sleeping among the dead, like scavengers. It’s pathetic.” He pointed sharply at two boys near the back of the group, his gesture as much an accusation as it was an order. “You two, clean up this mess. Take the bodies and follow me.”
The two boys hesitated, their faces pale and sickly. One visibly gagged as he glanced at the lifeless forms on the floor, but neither dared to disobey. They scrambled to their feet, avoiding Lock’s gaze as they began dragging the bodies out of the room, their movements jerky and panicked.
Talon resumed speaking, her gaze sweeping over the room. “Today, your training begins,” she declared, her eyes scanning the room. “Your schedule will be divided into four sections: physical conditioning, weapon training, stealth techniques, and survival skills. Each will push you to your absolute limits. Failure is not an option.”
She began pacing, her boots clicking against the stone floor, her gaze sweeping across the room with an almost predatory intensity. “Physical conditioning starts at dawn. You’ll run until your legs give out. Climb until your arms are numb. Fight until you’re barely standing. This will build the endurance you’ll need to survive.”
Talon’s voice was cold, clinical, as if she were reciting the specifications for a weapon being forged. “Next comes weapon training. You’ll learn to wield anything we give you—knives, swords, bows, and whatever else we see fit. If you can’t master a weapon, you’re dead weight.”
A girl near the front raised a trembling hand, her voice tentative as she asked, “When do we eat?”
Talon’s laughter was sharp and cruel, reverberating through the chamber. “Eat?” she mocked, her tone dripping with derision. “You’ll eat when you’ve earned it. Food is part of your training. Find it. Steal it. Take it from someone else if you have to.” Her eyes glittered with sadistic amusement. “Let’s see how resourceful you can be.”
The murmurs grew louder, fear and disbelief rippling through the group. Thorne stayed silent, his mind racing to absorb every word. This wasn’t just about physical strength; they were breaking them down, remolding them into something ruthless, something inhuman.
“In the afternoon,” Talon continued, her voice slicing through the rising unrest, “you’ll learn stealth techniques. How to vanish, how to watch without being seen, how to take what you need without leaving a trace. Your survival depends on being invisible when it matters.”
Her pacing slowed, and she fixed the group with a hard, unyielding stare. “Survival skills come last. You’ll learn to adapt, to read your surroundings, and to exploit them. Every decision you make in the field will determine whether you live or die. Make the wrong call, and you won’t get a second chance.”
The weight of her words settled heavily over the recruits, suffocating any flicker of hope they might have clung to. Talon’s gaze lingered on Thorne for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she turned toward the door.
“Follow me,” she commanded, her voice brooking no argument. The recruits formed a hesitant line, shuffling after her like lambs to the slaughter. Thorne kept to the middle, his eyes darting around, cataloging every detail of the space.
As they exited the room, they heard shouting, and Thorne's heart skipped a beat. He heard the familiar voice, and his heart started racing. Years of pain and fear from this man made him instinctively shiver, but also rejoice from familiarity. Sid was arguing loudly with Lock. The two men were clashing, oblivious to their audience. The two boys who had followed Lock were huddling in the shadows, trying to be as inconspicuous as they could.
"I have every right to see him," Sid growled. "You know damn well he's my responsibility."
Lock's face twisted with contempt. "He's not your responsibility anymore. You had your chance. If you wanted to see him, you should have volunteered as his trainer."
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Sid's eyes narrowed. "I have instructions from Uncle to see him."
At that, Lock froze, and the other recruits around him turned to Thorne, watching him with surprised eyes, some with envy, some with calculation. Thorne felt uncomfortable by the attention and struggled to maintain an air of indifference.
Lock protested, "I was given no such orders."
Sid scoffed, his voice dripping with challenge. "Then maybe you should take it up with Uncle. I’m sure he’d love to hear about your complaints."
The tension between the two men was palpable, and the recruits could sense it. Lock's face grew redder by the second, his fury barely contained. He stepped closer to Sid, his voice a low growl. "You always were a thorn in my side, Sid. You think you can waltz in here and pull rank because of Uncle? You're delusional."
Sid's lips curled into a mocking smile. "And you're just as petty as ever, Lock. Some things never change."
Lock clenched his fists, but before he could respond, Talon intervened. "Enough," she commanded, her voice sharp. She turned to Sid, her expression cold. "You have five minutes with the boy. If he is not in time for his training, you will be kicked out."
Sid laughed and raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he responded with a smirk.
Talon's face remained expressionless, but Lock's face grew even redder. "Careful, old man," he seethed. "It's not like the old days anymore. It's a new age."
Lock's eyes gleamed with something that sent shivers down Thorne's spine, but Sid remained unaffected. He yawned dramatically, as if bored by the whole exchange.
Sid's eyes spotted Thorne in the crowd of new recruits. "Follow me," he said, tilting his head.
Thorne hesitated for a moment, feeling the eyes of the other recruits on him. The murmurs grew louder as he stepped out of the line, following Sid through the corridors. He could feel the weight of their gazes, the envy, curiosity, and resentment. He kept his head high, trying to project confidence despite the turmoil inside.
As they walked, Thorne’s mind raced. Sid had always been a complex figure in his life, a mix of mentor and tormentor. The familiarity of Sid’s presence brought a strange comfort, even as it dredged up painful memories. They entered a small, dimly lit room. Sid closed the door behind them and turned to face Thorne. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
Sid broke the silence first. "You look like hell."
Thorne snorted. "Thanks."
Sid’s expression softened slightly. "I heard what happened." He looked Thorne up and down, his voice steady but tinged with something like pride. "I had no doubt you’d do fine in the trial."
"I survived," Thorne replied flatly, keeping his tone even. He crossed his arms and locked eyes with Sid. "Why are you here?"
Sid’s expression darkened, the faint warmth disappearing as quickly as it had come. "To see you. To make sure you're okay."
"Well, I’m still breathing," Thorne shot back, bitterness lacing his words. "Why are you really here, Sid?"
Sid held his gaze, unflinching. "I’m here to make sure you keep breathing."
Thorne’s anger flared, and he took a step closer, his voice trembling with frustration. "You knew, didn’t you? You knew I’d end up here."
Sid didn’t deny it. He nodded slowly, regret flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. I knew."
"You could’ve warned me!" Thorne’s voice rose, each word sharp with betrayal. His fists clenched at his sides as if he were ready to throw a punch.
Sid sighed, deeply and heavily, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, slightly crumpled slice of blueberry pie. "Here," he said, holding it out with a crooked smile. "Your favorite."
Thorne hesitated for only a moment before snatching the pie from Sid’s hand. Hunger overwhelmed his indignation as he tore into the slice, not caring about appearances. As the sweet, familiar taste hit his tongue, something inside him softened just a little. Even so, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing resentment in his chest.
While Thorne ate, he studied Sid’s face. The man’s once-sharp features were now worn and tired, his eyes shadowed by years of worry and whiskey. The streaks of gray creeping into his dark hair made him look older than Thorne remembered. For the first time, Thorne noticed how heavy Sid’s shoulders seemed, like a man carrying an invisible burden he couldn’t put down.
Sid sank into a nearby chair with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "Food’s gonna be an issue for you in the first few weeks," he commented, his tone casual. "But things will smooth out. Eventually."
Thorne glared at him through another mouthful of pie. "So, what—was that why you made me train every damn day for years? To prepare for this?"
Sid’s eyes went blank, his gaze distant as he stared at the wall. "Yes and no." He leaned back, exhaling heavily. "Uncle always knew you weren’t like the other kids."
Thorne froze mid-bite, his eyes narrowing. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Sid smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Remember when you snuck into the elven forest? You couldn’t have been older than six. Came back looking like hell—cuts, bruises, clothes torn to shreds—but you acted like it was nothing. Like you’d just wandered off to haggle for fish at the market."
Thorne's eyes flickered with a mixture of pride and bitterness at the memory. "Yeah," he muttered, his tone clipped. "I remember."
Sid leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes, though tired, burned with intensity. "Uncle put you through all those tests—spying on merchants, stealing letters, overhearing conversations that no child had any business being able to accomplish —and yet you did. You surprised and delighted him at every turn. But you also sealed your fate with those actions."
Thorne froze, his hands suspended in mid-air, the half-eaten pie forgotten. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice a mix of curiosity and anger.
Sid sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "In the beginning, Uncle recruited adventurers and rogues with specific skill sets, like me. He needed people with stealth abilities to do his dirty work, and for a time, that was enough. Until you brought him that letter..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes grew distant, clouded with something that looked a lot like regret.
Thorne’s chest tightened, the memory of that letter flashing in his mind. He remembered how proud he’d been, thinking he’d done something important. "What happened with the letter?" he asked, his voice barely audible, though the question burned in his chest.
Sid’s gaze snapped back to him, his expression grim. "That letter changed everything. It gave Uncle the leverage he needed to escalate his plans. His ambitions grew beyond anything I could’ve imagined. And with that, he needed more people like me. More... tools."
Thorne felt his grip on the pie tighten unconsciously, the fragile crust crumbling in his hand. He didn’t care. Every fiber of his being was focused on Sid’s words.
Sid exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Uncle already had his network of orphans—the cousins. But even the older ones weren’t enough. They grew up scrapping in the slums, sure, but their skills only went so far. A knife fight in a dark alley is nothing compared to what Uncle had in mind."
Thorne’s jaw clenched as the implications began to sink in.
"The few of us he’d recruited from nearby cities, from guilds—" Sid gestured vaguely, his voice weary. "—we were too few. Too limited. And Uncle wasn’t interested in fighting the way nobles do, with big armies marching on castles. He wanted something different. An army of ghosts. Shadows capable of bringing a city to its knees overnight."
The words hung in the air like a curse, and Thorne could feel the walls of the room closing in. "So, he decided to make one," Thorne said, his voice hollow. "A whole army of assassins and spies."
Sid nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with a mixture of pride and shame. "Yes. And you were the first. The prototype. You proved it could be done."
Thorne’s world tilted, the realization slamming into him like a physical blow. He stared at Sid, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and fury. "That’s why you trained me so hard," he said, his voice trembling with barely-contained anger. "To turn me into one of his weapons."
Sid’s gaze softened, regret flickering in his tired eyes. "It was more than that, Thorne," he said quietly. "You had potential. More than anyone we’d ever seen. Uncle saw it immediately, and so did I. We didn’t just want to use it. We wanted to hone it. To make you the best."
Thorne’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "So you used me," he spat, his voice sharp enough to cut.
Sid’s jaw tightened, his own frustration rising to meet Thorne’s anger. "It wasn’t like that," he said, his tone clipped. "I wanted to help you survive, Thorne. To give you the skills to make it in this world, no matter what was thrown at you. But yes," he admitted, his voice growing quieter, "in the end, we used you. I won’t lie about that."
Thorne turned away, his emotions swirling like a storm inside him—anger, betrayal, grief, and something he couldn’t quite name, something that felt like pride. He’d been chosen, singled out, but for what? To be a tool in someone else’s plans? He’d proven himself, hadn’t he? But the cost...
Sid sighed again. "He put me in charge of your training because he saw your potential, but as he watched your progress, something clicked for him. He realized he could replicate what he was doing with you. That he could take other children with promise and mold them the same way—build the army he’s always dreamed of, right from the orphans he’s been fostering."
Thorne’s fists clenched, the remnants of the pie crumbling to the floor. His voice was tight, bitter. "So I’m just the first of many."
Sid met his gaze, his eyes clouded with a mix of regret and pride. "That night at the Gravediggers’ base," Sid began, his voice soft but heavy, "that’s what really sealed your fate."
The memory hit Thorne like a blow. He saw it all again—the chaos, the fire licking at the sky, the screams echoing in the dark. And those eyes. The lifeless stare of the man he had killed. They haunted him still, creeping into his dreams, lurking in the quiet moments. "And you used that," Thorne said, his voice trembling with anger. "You used it to impress Uncle."
Sid didn’t flinch. He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "I did. I was beyond impressed by what you did. Your resourcefulness, your determination. You rallied the cousins, found the base, freed your friend... even burned the place to the ground. That wasn’t something a kid should’ve been able to pull off. I wanted Uncle to see what you were capable of. Maybe even brag a little about how far you’d come under my training."
Thorne's eyes burned with betrayal, his voice cracking with accusation. "And what did Uncle think of that, huh? He must’ve been thrilled to see a kid turned into his perfect little killer."
Sid let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "You should’ve seen his face. He was ecstatic. He didn’t just see what you’d done—he saw what could be done with hundreds of others like you."
The weight of Sid’s words settled over Thorne like a shroud. His stomach churned with anger and guilt. "So, what you’re saying is, because of me, Uncle decided to expand his operations. To turn more orphans into killers."
Sid’s face grew grim, the lines on his face deepening. His voice was low, burdened. "Yes. From that moment, everything changed. Plans for the new recruits moved faster than I ever thought possible. The whole organization was restructured. New people were brought in, new roles created, and since then, we have only expanded further. New recruits are being brought in every few months, to be assessed and trained. Scouts were assigned their job to watch the cousins, evaluate them, and pick out the ones with the most promise. Trainers were chosen for each candidate to mold them, just like I molded you. And then they’re sent through the initiation trial. The ones who survive become recruits. From there, they’re honed, sharpened into the tools Uncle uses to tighten his grip on the city and beyond."
Thorne’s chest felt tight, his breath shallow. A storm of emotions roared inside him—anger, guilt, helplessness. "So all of this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "was because of me?"
Sid shook his head firmly. "Not just you. Uncle always had his plans. You didn’t create his ambition, Thorne. You were just the spark. The proof he needed that his vision could work. But make no mistake, he would’ve found another way eventually."
Thorne’s fists unclenched, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. His voice turned hard. "And now what? I’m just another piece in his game? Another weapon for him to wield however he wants?"
Sid leaned forward, his gaze boring into Thorne’s. There was something raw, something desperate in his tone. "You’re a weapon, Thorne. That’s true. But even weapons can turn against their masters."