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The air stank of blood and rusted iron. Ren stirred slowly, groaning as his back pressed against the jagged surface of a stone floor. A faint torch glowed above, swaying in rhythm with the damp wind that slipped through cracked rock walls. He wasn't alone. The low hum of whispers, soft breaths, and the occasional cough made it clear—there were others in this place.
He sat up, vision blurred and head throbbing. Around him, boys and girls roughly his age huddled in corners, some unconscious, others awake but unresponsive. One of them—a small boy with sharp eyes and shaggy hair—looked up and met Ren's gaze. Neither spoke.
Chains clinked somewhere beyond the darkness. A door groaned open.
Torchlight bloomed, casting elongated shadows as a tall, masked figure entered. His presence made the temperature drop. Clad in black armor stitched with silver lining, his mask bore the design of an eyeless crow. His voice scraped the walls as he spoke:
"Welcome, Batch Three."
Silence followed.
"From today, you are no longer sons or daughters of your past. You are blades waiting to be sharpened—or shattered."
The masked figure turned. Behind him entered two more people. A woman with a bone-white staff and cold eyes, and a man with wild red hair tied in a knot, carrying what looked like a twisted wooden baton.
"I am Keeper Veylak. You may call me death if that helps you remember me. The one beside me is Lady Mirael. The other... is irrelevant unless you're dying."
Whispers rippled through the batch. Ren didn't speak. His mind was still torn between the fire—the attack—and the flood of memories that surfaced just before he passed out. Another life. Another version of himself. He hadn't begun to understand it.
Not yet.
"Stand."
The command cracked like a whip. All children stood. Ren stood slowly, noticing Kael a few feet away. The boy was bruised but alert. He gave Ren a barely-there nod. Ren returned it. There was also a girl watching them both. Her hair was ink-black, her expression unreadable. She looked like someone who had already killed.
Keeper Veylak raised a hand, and a small circle of dirt opened in the stone floor, revealing a pit.
"Trial by shadow begins. One minute. Survive against your elder batch. Fail, and you are discarded."
Before anyone could protest, a boy was dragged forward—Ren didn't know his name. He screamed as he was tossed into the pit. A taller, older teen dropped in after him.
A bell rang.
The older boy didn't hesitate. He broke two of the younger one's fingers with a quick step and slammed his fist into the boy's throat. It was brutal, precise. The minute hadn't passed before the boy was curled on the ground, unconscious.
"Pass."
Keeper Veylak moved on.
One by one, the recruits were tested. Some managed to dodge, others were beaten quickly. The pit was soaked in dust, blood, and humiliation.
Then: "Ren."
He stepped forward. Not with pride. But not with fear either.
He dropped into the pit.
His opponent: a well-built teen with scars over both knuckles. Tyel, someone muttered. A favorite from Batch One.
The bell rang.
Tyel came fast, low stance, sweeping punch. Ren bent backward. A breath away from contact. Instinct—not training—moved his body. Tyel followed up, kicking high. Ren blocked with his forearm, pain crackling through his bones. He didn't step back.
Tyel grinned. "You're not frozen. That's good. Means I can go all out."
He spun, elbow aimed at Ren's jaw. Ren ducked, grabbed the edge of Tyel's tunic, and slammed his knee into the other boy's side. Tyel winced, staggered, then smiled wider.
The room's noise dulled. Ren felt something ancient bubbling in him—his body moving with knowledge he shouldn't possess. He parried Tyel's next punch, twisted, and elbowed the older boy in the chin. The crowd gasped.
But Tyel wasn't down. He tackled Ren, slamming them both into the dirt. His hands closed around Ren's throat.
Time slowed.
Ren's eyes widened, past and present overlapping. He saw a battlefield. A palace. His hands drenched in blood.
He reacted.
Not with desperation.
With precision.
Ren bent his leg upward, hooked Tyel's ribs, twisted his hips, and flipped the boy off. Then, grabbing a handful of dirt, he flung it into Tyel's eyes.
Tyel roared.
The bell rang.
"Pass."
Ren didn't move. He stared at Tyel, still crouched and breathing hard. Tyel, wiping his eyes, gave a low chuckle. "You're going to be fun."
---
Back in the holding hall, Mirael watched from the shadows. "That one... he fights like he's already died once."
Veylak didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on Ren.
Kael fought next. His battle was shorter, but he surprised everyone with a sudden burst of speed, stabbing his opponent's leg with a concealed shard of bone. Clever. Dirty. Effective.
---
Later, the children were marched through a stone hallway lit by lanterns that didn't burn with fire—but with trapped blue mist.
They passed cages. Whispers echoed.
They reached a room with beds made of hay, iron walls, and no windows.
"Rest. Tomorrow, the Cull begins," said Mirael. "Only twenty may remain."
Out of thirty-two.
Ren sat beside Kael. The boy was pale but excited. "You flipped him," Kael whispered. "That was crazy."
Ren gave a tired smile. "Yeah. I think I scared myself."
Across the room, the girl with black hair watched him again. Her eyes didn't blink. She said nothing.
That night, Ren dreamed of fire again. Not just the village.
But an empire burning.
And his own name carved into stone.
---