Two years before the brilliance.

Zahara stared at the wooden plane before her, tracing the ripples of age rings with her eyes. She rested her back on the bottom of a bunk. A banig cradled her, but sleep evaded her mind.

She'd had glimpses of rest through the night, but she was awake now.

The room around her was dark, the quarters filled with rows of bunks. Some of the other children twisted and turned in their beds. Deep slumber was an elusive prey for them to catch.

Through the open windows, she could see the sky, the pitch black calling for dawn as she waited with nervous anticipation.

She thought of Arana on the top of the bunk, wanting to whisper the girl's name, to call to her and ask if she felt the fear too. But as she stared, the wooden plane was still and quiet, with no creaks of movement, no murmurs of exhausted breaths. Arana was asleep, and Zahara was grateful that at least one of them caught some rest.

A few more minutes went by before the door to the barracks slammed open, and someone started to shout.

"Get up! Get up! Let's go! Fix your bunks right now!" A tall man in a green livery entered the room and began pacing between the beds, his boots heavy on the wooden floors. "Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"

Zahara shot up and sat. Everyone else—the children—did the same.

Another man with a clean-shaven head, younger, wearing the same uniform—a neat green suit with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and dark green pants—entered and shouted too. He walked to Zahara's row and eyed each of those still lying on their beds. "Get up! Get up and roll your banig!" He glanced at her, "Get up!" and continued to walk down the row.

Arana hung her head over the edge of the top bunk, hair falling toward the ground as she peeked at Zahara. Her Dakawa eyes were wide with confusion. "What's happening?" she asked.

Zahara had always thought those eyes were absorbing, especially the blue one, but there was no time to appreciate them now.

The older man in a green suit paced to their row. "Line up on the aisle in front of your bunks! Line up! Come on!"

Why do they sound so angry?

The other children had already jumped off their beds and rushed to stand on the aisle. Arana did the same, scrambling to get in line. "Come on!" she called.

Zahara rushed to stand beside her. She looked at the other children; all of them were older and taller than her. Even Arana had at least a thumb length over her, though they were the same age, only two years over their first decade.

They were all barefoot, wearing the same light moss shirt and pants—a uniform they received when they arrived on the island. They were forced to throw away their belongings. Everything they had and wore before they came to Bickra was gone.

The younger man with the shaved head came back to their row. He slowed his pace, studying their unmade beds, and he stopped and shook his head before facing a boy with a birthmark on his cheek who stood with the other children on the aisle—a boy at least five years over his first decade.

"What did I tell you to do!" The man asked.

The boy with the birthmark flinched. "Line up?" he answered, shoulders hunching with fear.

"I told you to fix your bed!" The man shouted, his face only inches away from the boy's. "Is your bed fixed?"

The boy lowered his gaze, and his answer came out in a whimper. "No."

Zahara looked over her shoulder, her banig was unmade, and she had the urge to reach out and roll it quickly, but another shout snapped her back.

The man turned to the walkway and stood where he could see everyone. "Tomorrow, when I come in to wake you up, you're going to do as you're told!" he shouted. "Do I make myself clear?"

The children nodded, and some whispered, "Yes."

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes," they all said in unison, but they only sounded like the boy with the birthmark, whimpering with fear and confusion.

The older man in livery, sleeves unfolded to his wrists, returned to their row, and took over. "We are your drill sergeants." His tone calmed, but the superiority in it stayed evident. "You will address us as Sarhento. Do you understand?"

"Yes," everyone answered.

"From now on, you will answer us only with these words, yes, Sarhento, or no, Sarhento. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sarhento."

"From now on, you're going to obey our commands. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sarhento." The responses sounded louder.

"Here's what's going to happen now. You're going to follow your drill sergeant in an orderly fashion, and you'll get out of these barracks in two minutes." He waved his hand at Zahara's row. "This line is going first, and when the last person in this line goes—" he waved his hand to the next row, "—this line will follow, starting with the first person at the end. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sarhento."

The younger man walked to the door. "Let's go!" he called without turning to anyone.

For a moment, the children looked confused. Some tried to put on shoes or slippers, but the older drill sergeant glared at them with frustration and pointed at the first child, a girl, in Zahara's row. "Go!" he shouted, and she scrambled to follow out the door.

They all marched barefoot out of the barracks in a sloppy line, and Zahara paced to walk beside Arana. "Where are we going?" she asked, ignoring the rough stones and dirt that cut into her heels.

"I don't know, but you should get back in line," Arana whispered, face focused on their path—a passage fenced by narra trees with tiny yellow flowers starting to bloom in the early summer. Torches that hung on trunks guided their way.

Zahara stepped back behind Arana without another word as the men in uniform led them to a clearing where no grass grew—the ground was all dirt and rocks. The distant sound of rolling waves crashed on a nearby shore, and along came a blast of humid air with the scent of the salty sea.

Three more men in the same green livery—neatly tucked shirts and high black boots—stood at the center of the clearing, their hands clasped at their backs and poised with equal stances, strong legs apart.

Zahara's gaze lingered over the man in the middle, whose eyes were a brilliant blue. White tattoo lines crossed his high cheekbones like whiskers.

"Let's go! Single line!" The younger drill sergeant stopped before the three men, greeting them with a quick salute. Then he directed the children to stand in the clearing, waving at them and pointing to those who couldn't understand what to do.

Zahara stayed with Arana, standing beside the other girl when they all settled.

Last night when they arrived on the island, she guessed there were about thirty children with them. But now, as she watched everyone enter a file, their number looked less. Under the glow of twilight, she could almost count not more than twenty.

A drill sergeant, the older one, positioned himself in front of the line. "You kids came here to train to become soldiers. Do you understand?" he explained.

"Yes, Sarhento," the children answered.

"In the next couple of months, we expect you to be disciplined, obedient and focused. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sarhento."

The man with the white tattoos on his cheeks stepped forward and strode in front of the line, starting from one end and making his way to the other. He looked at each of the children's faces. When he passed by Zahara, their eyes met briefly, and she thought she saw something bitter in them. He finished his examination, walked back, and stood where they could see him.

"I am Kapitan Garvan," he said with a slow and calm voice, but like the drill sergeants, the authority in his tone came perceivable. "From now on, you will only answer me with yes, Kapitan or no, Kapitan. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Kapitan," the line answered.

"From now on, you will be under my company. We will deploy you to your designated platoons under Tenyente Kumar to my right for the first platoon." He waved at one of the men who flanked him, then to the other, "And Tenyente Zikaro to my left for the second platoon. The first platoon will camp and train in the west barracks, while the second will be in the east. When you hear your name, you will step forward and line up beside the lieutenant who called you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Kapitan." Zahara glanced at Arana, worried. Deployment between two platoons could separate them, and that shouldn't happen.

They were willing to come to Bickra when they left Kata, but they hadn't had much choice then. The best thing they could have done with their lives was to come here and take the opportunity to get off the streets and become someone—become soldiers. They left little behind and only held onto a promise that they would stay together.

Arana focused on the captain, half her face hidden under the fall of her dark hair, its length cascading to her flat chest. The blue of her exposed eye glittered. She didn't return Zahara's gaze, but her brows furrowed with fear and concern.

Some children looked around at each other, and they began to whisper. Hushed words traveled through the air, muffled by the sound of crashing waves.

"Focus! Eyes forward!" Kapitan Garvan's voice rose, and they all snapped back to look at him.

Daybreak's light rose on the horizon, where it first lit the gray sea before touching the dark cloudy sky in the distance. Watching the warm colors bleed felt like hope to Zahara. She and Arana could still be in the same barracks, and they could still be together.

The lieutenants began calling out names in alternating order. One by one, the children walked and lined up at their designated platoons.

When they called Arana, she finally looked at Zahara, her face steady, a look that told Zahara that things would be alright.

Arana settled in the line behind Tenyente Zikaro, the second platoon, and kept an encouraging gaze on Zahara.

Zahara clenched her teeth, muscles tensed with the wish to join her friend, but when Tenyente Kumar called her name, the tension released, and disappointment took its place.

Arana's face became a mirror, lips parted, and brows wrinkled with disbelief.

Zahara wanted to say no, refuse, and demand that she also be in Tenyente Zikaro's platoon. She took a deep breath, about to do just that, but Arana gave her a slight shake of her head, and her lips traced out the words, "It's alright."

"Zahara!" Tenyente Kumar called again. This time, Zahara cooperated, surrendering. She stepped forward and walked to his side.

.