I was ten years old when the soldiers murdered my parents in the city square.

I was eleven when they took me in and trained me to become one of theirs.

I was fifteen when I was forced to kill my first victim.

I never forgave them for what they turned me into...

I could go on and on about all the things and people I have lost, but I would just be wasting my breath. I have built myself upon these events since then. They have shaped my life and made me who I am today, the most feared "recruit in training" in my country. I only got so far up the pecking order because I act like I should—a fearless, cold-hearted murderer. Weakness gets you killed here. Since the soldiers took me from my home and claimed to have saved my worthless life, I have been surrounded by killers wearing masks everywhere I go. I live in a place where one mistake can get you silenced forever.

There are others like me—other lost souls who were taken in as children and trained just like me.

But I'm different from them all. I am, I tell myself that every night. Because unlike them, I have every intent of walking away from all this someday. Even if I have to fight my way out of this hell until I have to crawl the last few steps I will leave this behind me someday—

"Vesna!" The warning comes too late. A crack and a thud and I'm staring at the cloud-filled sky. I ignore the blood dribbling down my chin from my nose and roll away from the kick I know is coming.

Light as a panther, I jump to my feet, hands already in fists as I lash out with blinding speed. A cry of pain and my sparring partner is on the ground in turn, blinking dazedly up at the barren trees overhead.

Three solid claps echo off the cliff sides around and above us. Footsteps sound as our trainer, Zymor, approaches the chalk-drawn ring, one hand on the hilt of his dagger as usual.

In a monotone voice: "You lost focus."

"I know," I reply. Say no more. I'm distinctly aware of my sparring partner stepping down and away from us.

"Why?"

"...I have no excuse."

"I know," he answered. I expect a swift punch, or a harangue at the least, but Zymor nods once and turns his attention back towards the rest of the recruits nearing "initiation."

"That's all for today. Sleep early, for those of you without one, you choose your hunting animals tomorrow."