At the end of a long and lonely dim hall was a tiny little cell; one where a party of ragged children lay among grime and gore. Criminals received more care, for the only acknowledgement of the children’s presence were two knights of fierce and dark night right outside their barred door. These armors were silent, as were the dirty children, as was the forgotten hallway.


    The children were all in various positions on the dirty stone floor; their empty eyes cast downward and gone of any tears. Yet, wet marks remained, no sounds emerged, no scuffles or plays. Footsteps echoed throughout and surely reached the children’s ears, yet the children remained still; as one does not look at the bright sun, one does not look at the fearful dark.


    The corners of their eyes saw enough already. A lone silhouette with a deep black fur cloak draping over his shoulders, down his back, and ending just above the ground. One that somehow hid his gigantic frame. A fierce strut that paid no heed to watching eyes if there were any. Strong but weathered brown eyes and graying black hair that was tied behind his head. All in order, he marched to the cell and arrived at the pitiful children indifferently, and for what seemed like a long time, the man studied each child. Their eyes especially, that is what spoke to him the most. Though, of course, none of their eyes met his—or so he thought. The corners of his mouth slightly rose, and he started to speak.


    “Just as weapons are forged in harsh fire.” He slowly began from outside the bars. “You...You will be made born anew.” He dramatically snapped his fingers and on cue, the silent knight on his left moved to the cell door and swung it open. With his head held high, hands tied together behind his back, and shoulders broad; the man subtly entered the sad domain of the children. However, none…one of the children acknowledged his presence.


    “You all are… raw. Raw and unharnessed materials - potentials.” He motioned his hands around the room. ”This place is the only that will raise you high, have you reach up to your fate, your utmost limit, and then surpass it. Here you shall be—to become greater. The greatest your demons will ever have to face.”  He told them and continued, “I assume you know of your purpose here.” Now, several of the children trembled uncomfortably. “If not, do not fret...for you will learn, nonetheless. It matters not what you were. What you are and will be is my concern and your enemies.” His eyes sparked and his teeth shone in a broad smile.


    “Welcome Warkin. May you bask in blood.”


    An instructor cracked a whip on the ground, no doubt threatening the children. The two-dozens of them ran laps around a large grass field mere moments after leaving their cells, following the edge of it alongside a peach and clay wall. They still retained a harsh and dirty look, but now they were incredibly pitiable; bits of rags fluttered behind them as they attempted to sprint among grass that went up to their calves. Some couldn’t do so in their state and fell often. There were reasons for them to get up after such falls, however, they knew what became of those who fell behind or stopped.


    But this “motivator” was only to keep the children running. To excel, there was a need for a drive. This willpower, the instructor knew, was rarely found, yet there it was. A boy, no stronger and as dirty as the others, obtained a substantial lead and had held it for a long while. It wasn’t always this way though; another girl had more speed and easily obtained the first position early on. She was behind him now.


    This wasn’t due to an extraordinary endurance possessed by him, because the instructor recognized that wasn’t the case. At one point the child had run right by him, and there the instructor saw the tremors of his body that occurred in every step. How he bit his lip and caused blood to streak down onto his neck. This was an admirable trait to have, and not one usually seen in a child. The instructor furrowed his eyebrows at the state of the boy’s body but didn’t talk to the child. He knew this drive could carry the boy far if it remained. So, his focus went elsewhere.


    Half an hour passed and the instructor, who now stood in the middle of the field, watched the children’s movements with a hard gaze. Even he knew that they couldn’t be expected to run the field for so long, no matter their will anymore, their bodies would crumble. The master who retrieved the children from their cell in the stone keep, had guided them to the plain and ordered them to sprint.


    The instructor murmured a curse before walking back to the stone keep. He went through a set of large and opened wooden gates, traversed a series of passages to an overlook of the field. There was the master in his usual stance: standing with his wide shoulders relaxed and veiny hands tied together behind his back. A stance that could unleash unimaginable power. He studied the running children while the instructor mustered the courage to speak.


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    “Master Paladine. I wish to ask a question.” The instructor directed himself respectfully to the master, who turned his head and locked eyes with him for a moment or two, resulting in the instructor lowering his head promptly.


    “I grant it, Instructor Gideon. What is so urgent that it must take you from our pupils?” The master, now satisfied with the instructor’s due respect, questioned. Gideon bashed but continued.


    “Why do we run these children already? They could not even walk well on the way here.” The instructor confided with his head still down. “They are too weak; I doubt they’ll take much more of this without the need of significant recovery.” The master didn’t respond immediately, and instead turned his head back to the field with a smile.


    “I suppose you don’t know since it’s your first-year teaching with us. Good of you to land a job in the favorable Warkin.” Master Paladine quietly chuckled. “Go back and instruct, Gideon. This is our initiation.” Gideon’s eyes opened wide, and he remembered where he was at. The Warkin and the gruesome - gloriful fates and tales that he had heard of them. Maybe they weren’t just tales. He pressed his fist in front of his heart in a sort of salute towards Master Paladine, who wasn’t even looking at him anymore and resumed his strict judging of the children. “I’ll end it when I feel it is right.” The master spoke resolutely.


    The sun fell and only one child remained in the field running, if barely; the one Instructor Gideon had noticed. He had lengthy light blonde hair and two very sharp brown eyes. His pale arms and legs were covered with scuffs and bruises and his chest kept pumping in and out rapidly to sustain himself, but it was failing. His body was clearly used of any vigor, yet he remained up and performing a vague resemblance of a run. Perhaps he noticed the fact that he was the last one running, the others long gone into the keep resting. Perhaps he did not notice but regardless, he kept on. Caught in a sweaty trance, he hadn’t seen the approaching man. One he would have recognized as the guide from the cell. The Master.


    The child’s eyes had been blurred for a long while, and he swore something tripped his leg, causing his arms to flail as he stumbled into the ground face first. When he struggled to get back up, he felt a single point of pressure on his back, a foot he thought, that forced him to remain down into the grass.


    The child heard a sigh. “You’ve done enough now boy. Don’t be clogging the infirmary for too long.” Just as the words released, he felt an impact on his head and the world fall away. Slipping away into the dark. Brokenly and faintly breathing until he, like the other children, was taken to rest in the keep.


    <hr>


    Vaner. Master Paladine sat on a chair in his office amidst many clutters of papers on his wooden desk. One of which he was holding in his hand and was about the peculiar child he had stopped from running.


    “So, Gideon, what do you think of the boy?” He asked Instructor Gideon while looking at the paper in his hands; Gideon sat across the desk in a wooden chair quietly, waiting to be spoken to.


    The man pondered for a time before replying. His finger tapping the desk rhythmically. “The white-haired? His movements weren’t the worst, not that a valuation means much this soon.” The master shook his head and then asked again.


    “No, not his performance. His personality. What do you see in him?” Paladine stared into the eyes of his subordinate.


    “His tenacity is much to admire, however insane. Don’t see much of that in our recruits.” Then in realization, Gideon quickly spoke again. “Well, we get quite a bit of that insanity ‘round here but not that drive he had. It’s like… like he’s trying to kill himself.”


    “That may be what we need for our Warkin at this point. They’ve been getting closer - struck his family.” Paladine motioned towards the paper, now sitting on his desk. “Says here that his entire family died, so he came to The Eye and then joined us willingly. You believe that? Willingly.” Gideon’s eyebrows raised and he picked up the report to view it himself.


    “He knows the way to The Eye and joined us of his own volition.” The instructor spoke with his mouth open in stupor. “Wait - what did his family die to?“ Master Paladine sighed and answered as if he had asked this question himself.


    “Our Warkin questioned the boy after he arrived, but who would try to interrogate into a child that wouldn’t speak. It isn’t likely them or at least the main troop so all’s well.”


    Gideon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you think we ought to get some more-”


    “No, leave it as it is Gideon. They weren’t even sighted by my great-grandfather, and I’ve only had a single encounter, farther out than you can imagine. Let alone trying to get word out of that child.” The master’s hand waved about in dismissal. “Why don’t you… make sure no one believes he has any more information on it.”


    In the infirmary of the stone keep, Vaner’s body was laying peacefully on a cot, recovering. His mind, however, was far into dark remembrance.


    Two weeks earlier, Vaner traversed a vast and mountainous forest; barely able to carry his sunken and small figure towards the one thing his parents had left him, a direction. He still felt his mother’s hand pressed on his back, pushing him onwards against his feelings. Yet, sounds grew closer relentlessly, and the memories of the horrors plagued his nights. Vaner stumbled through the expanse of trees.


    While his thoughts were broken and hazy, he could not forget what happened, he would not allow it. To remember his parents, his life, all that was gone and how it ended. The images flashed in his mind.


    His thoughts were broken and hazy, but he held conviction in one thing that kept him going. His sister survives. He was sure in this. She had to be alive, for his sake too.