Zenon

The sight of the familiar forest drenched me in terror. No. Not again. But I was helpless as I watched twelve year old me trembling against the tree, my eyes shut as I tried to desperately hold on the only spell I could successfully cast without much effort at that age. A camouflage. 

I swallowed hard as one of the enforcers came so close to my face it's a wonder they could not see me. I do not know if this is an accurate recollection. I do not remember much about that day in my waking moments, but I have had these dreams enough to know what happens next. The men finally turn and leave. Twelve year old me stood trembling for a long time before I finally dared to move.

Twelve year old, and dream me moves through the forest, finally retracing the way the soldiers went. The house was quiet when I reached it. A pressing kind of silence. I looked up at the moon guaging the time, but it wasn't that late. Our minders usually had a hard time getting everyone to settle and go to bed. Little me took small hesitant steps forward, like he already knew something was wrong, and maybe he did.

Pushing the door open, the smell hit me first. So strong it overpowered even the potpourri that Mrs Ndako sometimes hung around the house and I was not sure what I was smelling. Little me came to an abrupt stop when he saw the first person. He was laying in an angle so unnatural there was no way he survived that. Then he saw Mrs Ndako. She was on the floor, her face almost as peaceful as it always was when she would sneak him an extra cookie when the other children were being mean. Pooled beneath her was a dark red liquid that could not be mistaken for nothing else but blood. A gasp got stuck in his throat and his hand flew to his mouth to curb a scream. 

He shuffled upstairs, being careful not to step in the blood incase the people came back. He made his way to the room he shared with Phileas. He opened the door and froze. His only friend was slumped in a kneeling position with neck twisted in an odd, like he had been pleading with someone. 

I shoved back from the door trembling, eyes blurred with tears as I stepped on the hand stretching out from the room opposite. I couldn't stop a whimper then. I just want to go home. Mother will make it better. Mother will know what to do. I did not realize I was running until I saw that I was almost home.

No. I knew where this was going, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not wake up. I threw the door open and rushed into the living room. The tears and my numb senses did not let me see till I was in the middle of the room. Then I noticed the walls. What an odd thing to notice first. The cream walls loomed like mother might have been trying to experiment with art again. But then, I realized it wasn't art the same time I saw father. His light blue shirt was soaked red. Then I saw mother, little baby Ailey wrapped in her arms, like she had tried to protect her from what was coming. Seeing mother's face so vacant and baby Ailey's pale body, I could not take it anymore. I fainted.

I knifed off my bed with a gasp, a ball of power already in my hands and eyes frantically searching for the danger in the room before I remember, it's just a dream. Might be a memory, or just my subconscious's rendition of what happened that day, but a dream none the less. I glanced outside and realize it's almost day break. Good. I do not think I can sleep anymore. 

I pick out stretchy breathable clothes and get ready to go train. I will keep moulding myself, and one day I will be strong enough. Then they'll be sorry. 

I stop at the beginning of the obstacle course I had personally designed to be as hard as I could make it following instructions from what I could decipher off the authobiography of some Zambinian military general. Being that shifters have more brutal strength, and I was no shifter, this course always kicks my ass, but I'll keep going at it until I can do it with ease.

I go through my stretches, then start off at a light jog round the course to warm up. I felt very limber and my head already getting clearer by the time I circled back to the entrance of the course and I grab the swinging rope to pull myself up onto the first obstacle. I pulled myself up and over the wooden climbing wall, every muscle in my arms and back straining with the effort. At the top, I lay on my back to catch my breath, gazing at the challenges ahead. 

The general was nothing if not creative. The next obstacle looked like a series of balance beams suspended above the ground, with spinning blades positioned between each one. One misstep would mean a painful fall, or worse. I rose and dusted myself off, assessing the task.

Taking a running start, I leapt onto the first narrow beam. I steadied myself and began carefully inching across. My arms were outstretched for balance as the beam swayed under my weight. Just ahead, a blade spun furiously. Waiting for an opening, I judged the timing and jumped, landing securely on the next beam. 

I continued like this, my concentration absolute, narrowly dodging the razor-sharp blades below. By the time I reached stable ground once more, I was drenched in sweat but injury-free.By the halfway mark, I am slightly panting and my head is clear of nothing but completing the next obstacle. I finally jump down off the wooden rack of the the last obstacle, dripping sweat and panting. I walked a little to walk off my momentum, then dropped to stretch again, before shutting my eyes and trying to center myself and assess my magic. A morroia's magic comes from their core unlike the Esperians. We only wield as much as our body can withstand, without totems and other external help. I push that internal flame steadily crackling at my core that I know is my magic, through to the surface of my hands then back to my core, hearing my instructor's voice. "Magic is like a muscle, work it as much as you work to strengthen your body to wield it." 

I slowly open my eyes, feeling more centered. Training always centered me because it meant I was taking a step towards fulfilling my vows. My fists clench involuntarily at the thought of my vows. The state of the newly arrived Ismene was not part of the plans. I expected a someone with immense power, instead I got someone so weak her energy could barely be felt and looks afraid of even her own shadow. Useless. Not when the decade countdown is coming around again. Not when so many lives are in danger. Weakness will not be tolerated. 

I check the time piece in my pocket, remembering that Rowund had charged me with assessing her initial aptitude this morning. I drop my time piece back with a scowl. She's slept long enough, time to get up and earn her keep here. I would whip her into shape even if I have to do it literally. There's too much at stake to take time with her. I got up, dusted off my clothes and marched decisively towards the room I know to be hers.