A week later at dawn, Frata’s carriages spread throughout Bial.

  Some people were already awake, carrying their tattered bags and waiting for the army personnel’s knock on their doors.

  Perhaps no one woke up with as much heaviness as Azar did before he opened his door. He truly hated these training months.

  A soldier wearing an Iron Hand emblem stood before Azar, holding his ground, while Azar glared at him with undisguised hatred.

  The soldier said, “Bring out everyone between fifteen and eighteen years old.”

  Azar replied mockingly, “Good soldier, why do you want our children tainted by the blood of the Lights? Don’t you have your own human children?”

  The soldier pulled out a sword-like weapon, resembling a white bone, and said, “I won’t repeat myself.”

  Azar sucked his teeth in anger and signaled his men to bring out the girls and boys from the house.

  When the soldier saw them, he said in a voice trembling with anger, “What have you done?”

  Azar lit his cigarette. “What, soldier? This is how we punish our children in Bial when they misbehave. We can’t let the spawn of Lights get too unruly, or what happened before could happen again, you know.”

  The soldier looked at them in horror. The some bore shallow but painful wounds—burns and cuts on their faces, bodies, and heads. Others were in worse shape; some were missing fingers or even limbs. All were so emaciated that their bones stuck out beneath bruised, dull skin.

  This was Azar’s method before the compulsory draft: ensuring none of his slaves were fit for the army so they would return to Bial eventually. The severity and depth of their wounds varied by their perceived “value.” If a girl or a boy was pretty, Azar would starve and exhaust their body but leave only minor wounds that healed easily once they were discharged. If they were “ugly,” the wounds and burns cut deeper, even reaching a limb.

  The soldier signaled them to enter one of the carriages without looking at them again. Then he turned to Azar, fury in his eyes. Azar smiled cruelly. “Don’t keep them for long.”

  The soldier left and climbed back into the carriage, seething, while Azar let out a nasty, sputtering laugh tainted by cigarette smoke and went back inside.

  The army’s carriages moved from house to house in Bial, collecting children ages fifteen to eighteen. There were few laws in Bial—you can do what ever you want in Bial, But one rule was absolute: every child of a Light descent had to be registered at birth, along with their place of residence. If, during a Frata army patrol, an unregistered child was discovered, the parents would be executed on the spot.

  That was what Nier’s mother was thinking as she sat on the couch, weeping. Which was worse? To be executed, or to watch her eldest son depart for Frata, possibly never seeing him again?

  Nier smiled gently. “What’s wrong, Mom? Don’t worry, I’ll come visit you often.”

  He looked at his two younger siblings, who were still sleeping, and said, “I’ll bring them the tastiest foods from Frata too!”

  She hugged him tightly. “You’ll really come visit?!”

  Nier hugged her back. “Of course, Mom!”

  They heard the carriage stop at their door, followed by a knock. Nier opened it, and his heart nearly jumped from his chest—not out of excitement or worry, but anger. There stood the man with the cigarette who had assaulted that girl, now in his official blue uniform bearing the Iron Hand emblem—a human soldier of Frata’s army.

  Nier’s anger matched the soldier’s. For a moment, Officer Ashi forgot who he was supposed to be and recalled that humiliating day—when that boy kicked him in the jaw and knocked out his friend. Consumed by rage, Ashi grabbed Nier by the collar.

  “You bastard!” Ashi hissed.

  Nier’s mother called out in alarm, “Nier, what’s going on?”

  Nier answered calmly, concealing his simmering fury, “Nothing, Mom.”

  He still remembered that girl’s screams—her hideous cries. How could this be a soldier of Frata’s army…?

  Ashi’s anger flared; he was about to strike Nier. “Where’s your friend to save you now, you bastard?”

  Nier spoke quietly, visibly annoyed. “Ha? My friend? Have you forgotten where you got that bruise on your jaw?”

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  The soldier who had visited Azar’s house poked his head out of the carriage. “Ashi! What’s taking so long? What’s going on?”

  Ashi stared at his hand clutching Nier’s collar, suddenly remembering who he was in that moment. He released Nier and said to the other soldier, “Nothing. I’m bringing him.”

  The soldier nodded and got back into the carriage. Ashi looked at Nier, blood boiling in his veins.

  Nier said, “See you in the army, Ashi.”

  How is it that I’m still so angry? Ashi wondered. I wanted to see that boy and his friend again for revenge, yet after seeing him, I’m even more enraged! Maybe it was the look in that boy’s eyes—infuriating!

  He shoved Nier into the carriage, which was already crowded with other boys and girls. Nier heard someone call his name eagerly, as if waiting for him.

  It was Seeta. A relieved smile appeared on Nier’s face. “You made it! That’s good…” He scratched his head, embarrassed. “Sorry, what was your name again?”

  He forgot my name?

  “Seeta!” she said.

  “Ah, Seeta!” Nier replied. Then his smile faded into shock. “Your face! I’m sorry, I didn’t know the wound would look like that…”

  Seeta quickly said, “No, not you! I—I…” She fell silent, embarrassed.

  Nier gently touched the wound. “That’s quite a wound… it must hurt. You’re a strong girl.”

  Seeta stared at him. What? strong? No one had ever called her “strong” before.

  A voice came from the back of the carriage: “Did you do that to her, blondie?”

  Nier blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and saw the speaker—a boy with long brown hair and narrow eyes, staring sharply, as though cutting through the darkness. He pulled out a knife, clearly angry. “Are you some kind of bad guy?”

  Nier waved his hands. “No, no! It’s not like that. Or maybe it is, but—”

  Seeta jumped in. “No, you misunderstood! I asked him to do it!”

  The boy burst into laughter. “What?! You’re into that kind of thing?” He grabbed her waist. “I prefer girls with long hair, but if you like that sort of stuff, you might interest me too!”

  Seeta looked at him in disgust. Another voice behind him shouted, “Mika! Sit down!”

  Still holding Seeta, Mika replied without looking back, “Ayk, don’t interfere! I’ve found my dream girl!”

  Seeta kicked Mika’s leg and shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!”

  Mika laughed loudly. “I already like you, girl! I’ve decided—I’ll marry you! What’s your name?”

  Ayk stood up, grabbed Mika by the shirt, and forced him to sit. “I said sit down!”, he said to seeta quietly, “I’m sorry”

  Mika grumbled, “Don’t interfere in my love life, brother!”

  He watched Seeta return to her seat—her unevenly cut short hair, her wound, her mismatched clothes… She really was beautiful, he thought.

  Just then, the carriage door opened again, admitting another group of children. One particular face ignited fury in someone sitting quietly at the back.

  There he was—Elir, the reason Inini suffered Azar’s 'army-prevention treatment,' as Azar called it. If not for him… If not for his victory… Inini would’ve been fine. Arlo would have freed her!

  Arlo sprang to his feet, standing before Elir, his voice trembling with rage. “Because of you, Inini got hurt! Because of you!”

  Elir lifted his head, and asked “Who are you?”

  He forgot me, Arlo thought. He forgot my crying and screaming. He forgot Inini, He forgot her so easily.

  Arlo’s eyes burned with anger. He grabbed Elir and shoved him against the carriage’s side. “I’ll kill you!”

  Nier stood up, trying to calm Arlo and said, “Hey! I don’t know what happened, but we don’t want anyone getting hurt in a carriage full of Frata’s soldiers, right?”

  Arlo didn’t look at Nier. His gaze was locked on Elir. He wouldn’t let him go this time. He’d restore Inini’s proud look! He would definitely win this time!

  Arlo screamed, “Stay out of it! He deserves to be hurt—this bastard!”

  Nier said calmly, “I’m not talking about Elir.”

  Arlo glared at Nier in pure anger, but then he saw her behind him—Inini. She was looking at him with that same fearful gaze. She used to feel protected and safe with him. All because of Elir… all because of him!

  Inini interrupted and shouted, “Arlo!”

  Mika murmured in surprise, “Girl… I thought you were a ghost. You scared me.”

  Arlo looked at Inini’s trembling voice and wounded face. She said, “It’s not his fault!”

  She couldn’t look Elir in the eye. Even though it wasn’t Elir’s fault Arlo lost, she still felt fear and dread whenever she saw him.

  Inini cupped Arlo’s face. “He is not the one who hurt me.”

  Arlo looked at her face but quickly looked away, struggling with immense sorrow. Inini’s once round, lovely face was now pale, bruised, and covered with painful (if shallow) wounds. This was why he had fought in Azar’s rings for six months, hoping to buy her freedom before her “treatment.”

  Because of him! Because of Elir, I lost… Arlo thought. Now look at her—thin, hungry, her face full of wounds.

  Nier pulled Elir’s hand off Arlo and moved him away.

  Arlo had wanted to fight him for Inini. But Inini stood there looking at him with that gaze. I wouldn’t have won, would I? he thought. She led him back to their seat, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at the scarred boy, as though the answer to restoring Inini’s proud, old gaze lay within him.