Adan was given the task of tilling the soil. The manager of the fields was another of the People, part of the groups that worked with the Rakt, and clearly better fed than the rest. He got more food as a result of his being obedient and managing the field workers. It mattered not though, for Adan was barely paying attention, just enough to know his task and get to work. He had worked on the farm at home, and while he had never grown barley, the basics were the same.

The monotony of the task let him think. Lost at sea did not mean dead. There was still hope that Akna was alive. Ruminating on how she could survive, Adan thought she would probably survive if she had awoken magic. Magic was an unknown to him, but it would at least increase her chances if nothing else. He knew their grandmother was the previous Maman, and while magic in the People didn’t exactly follow bloodlines, it couldn’t hurt her chances. There was a way to check however. If he had magic, it was much more likely she had as well. They had always been extremely similar, fraternal or not, so if he had it, she would as well. She must.

Working the field allowed him to fall into a more meditative state, so he decided to take advantage of that fact, as well as the fact there were few Rakt around. The few he had seen seemed to be guarding the seed storehouse on the other side of the field. Adan closed his eyes, and did his best to follow his mothers instructions. Calling out inside himself like he would a child, feeling inside his chest, he waited and hoped. There, a slight movement. He had magic! Which means Akna was safe. He had to believe she was safe.

“Keep working! No taking breaks you mongrel!” The overseer pulled out a flat piece of wood with a handle, waving it threateningly. Adan put his head back down, eyes open, and kept working. He had gotten what he needed. He just needed practice.

Thankful that the overseer was one of the People and wouldn’t be able to sense what he was doing, Adan did his best to call on his magic. No Rakt were around to detect his practice, so he knew he was safe. His magic moved slowly and confusedly, like a newborn waking from a nap following a mother in a rush. He did his best to guide it around his body, getting a feel for it, feeling how it reacted. Gather information first, that was the rule. The magic sped up slowly, became more active as he practiced. The sun was nearing its peak when he decided to try to learn how to block his magic from prying eyes, but before he could attempt Patli’s technique, a screeching sound echoed through the fields.

Around him, all the other workers stopped what they were doing and slowly started to file towards the location of the sound. As Adan followed, he was able to spot the source of that awful noise. A strangely shaped metal thing on top of the roof of what was now clearly the workers meal and rest spot. Steam blasted out of the metal again as another screech rang out, like someone was scraping rusted tools together.

Inside the building was a long table with a few of the People standing behind it tending to large steel pots. At the front of the table was a large stack of shallow bowls, one for each field worker. As the field workers lined up and walked down the table, one of the cooks behind the counter would ladle a watery slop into their bowl. Barely enough to keep them alive, watery enough to give the illusion they were full. Small chunks of what looked like a tight and tough bread floated in the soup, but not enough to give the whole any texture beyond slimy and hard to chew.

As Adan got his bowl filled, he followed the line to an empty room as the rest of the workers sat on the floor in small circles, cliques and groups formed long before Adan and his village had been captured. He had heard rumors before they were raided, but none took the threat seriously, thinking they were too far from the sea to be raided. Now he was here.

Moving to an empty corner, Adan slid down the wall to slowly eat the poor excuse for food in front of him. He looked around and studied the People around, looking for anyone he knew. There were none. In fact, the more he looked, the more he realized none of his village was here. They had been separated again, like the boats. It made sense, keep them separate, keep them down. If they were all strangers, it would be that much harder for them to talk and rebel. They didn’t know Adan had magic though. He looked back down at his food to hide the smile that crept onto his face as magic flowed through his body.

--------

Back in the fields, Adan had learned to disguise his magic. It had taken a few attempts, but after a while he had learned to speak to his magic in a way and request it to curl into a ball around his core, protecting it. While he couldn’t visually see it, it did leave an impression in his mind of a swirling sphere full of all the colors of the rainbow. If he could have, it would have been a sight to behold. Instead he just cherished the impression he got, and cooed at his magic about how beautiful it was.

Eventually the sun went down and the overseer rounded all the workers up to be escorted back to the prison. It wasn’t a long trek thankfully, and as soon as they were back the workers all split to their various areas to go to sleep exhausted. The lack of nutrition combined with working under the scorching heat of the desert sun was not kind to the People. Their only saving grace was they were not forced to work during the sun's peak hours, as the Rakt didn’t want their labor force fainting or dying from the heat.

Adan wasn’t tired though. He was hungry, but his new magic flowing through him kept him more awake and stronger than his fellows. So he wandered over to where his village had been in the morning. Many were not back yet, as those working in the mines or in the different crafts were placed further away from the prison. The few who were back were just as exhausted as the workers in the barley fields, and were not in the talking mood.

After a while, the rest of the village was back, including his mother. Walking over to them, Adan gave her a big hug as he leaned into her ear and whispered.

“I have magic”

Bug eyed, his mother quickly recovered and pulled away smiling before speaking.

“I’m glad you’re doing so well, Adan. Your sister would be happy to see you doing so well.”

Hearing this, Adan thought the mood would be lowered at the reminder of his sister. Instead, Balam and Pakal both perked up, seemingly understanding what that sentence meant.

“I’m happy as well my son, seeing you so strong is a… fortuitous occasion. We will have to speak more in the coming days, see if we can’t keep you this healthy with more food. It’s what Akna would have wanted.”

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Pakal had a slight smirk as he listened to Balam talk. Motioning Adan over, Pakal handed him a piece of flat bread. Unused to the shape, and unsure as to why Pakal had it, Adan look up curiously.

“As an injured but respected leader, the Rakt have decided to make me work in their kitchens and receive extra rations as a way to ingratiate themselves with me. Trying to convince me to help them hold power I suspect. I do not want their food though. Instead, our next leader deserves it more, don’t you think?”

Adan blinked a few times to process what was said.

“Are you sure Pakal? I do not know if I am worthy.”

Patli stepped up this time, his mother slowly placing her hands on his face as she spoke.

“Tradition dictates our leader and our Maman would help guide us to full bellies and shelter us from harm. Now is not the time for tradition.”

“Without knowing what has happened to our Maman, and with our leader injured, it only makes sense that we start to train our future. I am sorry for what we must do though son.” Balam spoke in a solemn voice.

Patli had a sad look on her face. “We keep the roles of Maman and leader separate for good reason. We do not tell others, for we do not wish to cause strife. The only ones who know are the family of the leader, and the family of the Maman. For if the roles are combined, it means a great tragedy has befallen the People.”

Balam pulled Adan into a hug, before pulling away and staring deep into his eyes. “When a Maman becomes the leader, a new existence is born. One that cannot be allowed to be soft. One that must learn quickly. One that must be able to endure much pain. One that you must become.”

Pakal stepped forward, before tracing a spiral on Adan’s forehead and intoning a deep melody. No lyrics were needed, the song ringing of honor and triumph, a low drone beneath the bustle of the prison. Patli slowly drifted in next, her voice ringing with a melancholy tune to underpin the honor. Balam slowly let his voice through as well, speaking in rhythm with his wife and his village leader.

“In times of peace, our leaders stand tall. Our Maman speak truth. They guide us all. Yet in times of war, a decision must be made. It is not made lightly. Yet we must receive aid. So come to be the one who leads. In times of war, in times of strife, we combine the roles, and bring him to light. Be named now. Grotz.”

As the chant finished, all three placed their hands on Adan with their eyes closed, as magic rushed deep into Adan, making his magic roil. It boiled as it grew, with angry flares and pustules seemingly growing from tendrils it released outwards, as they connected with his parents and with Pakal. The three flinched, as small writhing black specks were pulled through the tendrils and into Adans magic. A singular tear fell from Adan’s eye.

“What have you done?”

Adan felt the magic in his chest roiling with anger. It had changed from its innocent beginning into this rage filled mass. It contained a lot of power though, that was undeniable. He could feel the magic twisting inside, like blistered tentacles. Looking up at his parents, his village, he could barely form words. Why had they done this?

“I am sorry Adan. This is a ritual known to all the People, but only the elders in our community know its history in full.” Patli had tears welling behind her eyes as she spoke.

“The People are weak Adan. All the others in this world are born bound to their magic with mastery over their element, magic beyond belief. Yet even our strongest magic users only have mediocre talents. So in times of war, we need a protector.”

Balam walked over to Adan and grabbed him by his shoulders. “This is necessary for our survival. We need a war chief. We need a Grotz. That is what you are now, the Grotz of the People. You will gain immense power as we sacrifice whatever small talent the rest of us may have had, we sacrifice our potential, to raise you up.”

Adan could hardly believe what was being told to him. He could understand why they did what they did, but he didn’t know if they fully understood the ramifications of what it had done to him. What it had done to his magic. Such innocence, such purity, warped into hate and violence and anger.

“We know it has likely caused pain and loss. Our histories speak of the pain our Grotz often go through after the ritual. I am sorry for that, truly. But we need you now more than ever Adan. We are weak, we need you to be our strength. For now though, go rest. We shall spread the word of our new Grotz, and we will bring others to participate in the ritual over the coming months. When the time is right, you will understand why we have done what we have done.”

Pakal stood from his seat and turned towards his sleeping area as he limped away. The rest of the village also split, the few that there were, and went to their own small family units. Adan simply walked away, not towards where his parents were walking, just away. They both looked like they wanted to stop him, but thankfully they at least understood that he needed time.

As Adan walked around the prison, he just absorbed the quiet as he felt the rage in his chest. He had just gotten his magic, and already it felt out of his control. He wanted to help his family though, he wanted to help the People. If… if this is what had to be done, then so be it. He would be the Grotz they needed. He would take their pain unto himself, and help push them to a brighter future.

Adan found his way to a quiet edge of the prison, out of the eyesight of the guards. It was a small area, but it was enough for what he wanted to do. Adan pressed his hand against the wall of the prison and called upon his magic, channeling it up his chest, through his shoulder, down his arm, and into his palm. He imagined moving the rock of the wall like he would plow a field. It was a small bit of magic that he had seen the Maman back home perform while sneaking around the village one night, so he knew what it should look like.

Instead of the earth moving though, it boiled. What should have been a small magic to allow him to press his hand into rock as if it was dirt turned into a crude mess as his magic hissed and popped as it ate into the stone. He wasn’t moving the rock, he was eating away at it, destroying it. Red magic seemed to seep from his hand like a sickly oil, stripping the rock of its texture, of its solidity, and allowing his hand to press through it like sand. It was disgusting.

Adan pulled his hand away from the wall, pulling his magic back with a sneer on his face. Looking at the imprint on the wall, it was a hand with rivulets and droplets hanging down beneath, as if he had bathed his hand in blood. Bits of rock had turned a rusty red along the edges of the imprint, iron having been pulled to the surface in areas. Adan just looked at it numbly, seeing what his magic had wrought.

His magic was powerful, of that there was no doubt. He wasn’t simply moving the elements, he was controlling it, suffocating it, destroying it. His magic snarled from within, a caged beast that wanted to unleash its rage on everything around it. He hated it. It was what they needed though… right?

As he turned away to go lay down for sleep, he clenched his hand in a mixture of determination and rage. He was still angry that they had forced this upon him. Now he had the power though, the power to save his people. He would do anything to keep them safe.

Joining back with his parents, he laid down on the floor next to them, the hard rock of their sleeping area pressing upon his back, the small snores and light breath of his village around him. Holding his hand up above him, he clenched his hand and pressed magic through his fist, causing blood red fire to drip from between his knuckles down his arm. He will be who they need. He will be the Grotz.