Damian stood behind my father like a shadow given form. A cigarette burned between his fingers, its ember the only color in the dark room. In his other hand he held a knife, blunt-tipped, no point, but the edge caught the faint light with a razor gleam.

  "Tell me, Oren." He took a slow drag. Smoke curled upward. "Did you know that this strapping young man," he grabbed my father's shoulders and gave them a shake, almost playful, "is quite the gambler?"

  He released my father, dragged a chair from across the room with a long, deliberate scrape, and sat down facing him. The knife rested across his thigh.

  "You must have him confused with someone."

  "Nope." Damian cut me off without looking at me. He sheathed the knife and pulled a folded document from his coat, smoothing it open with exaggerated care. The grin never left his face.

  "Let's see here. Lucas Leatherglove. Amount owed: forty-five thousand, seven hundred eighty-four gold for… a loan, it seems." He tilted the paper, squinting. "And another fifteen thousand, five hundred seventy-five for…"

  He paused. Looked up at my father.

  "Lucas. Prostitution? Really?"

  My father put his head down in shame. Damian laughed as he balled the paper up and tossed it at his head. My fists clenched as the note bounced off him.

  "I'll pay it back. Just don't hurt him," I said, my eyes trying to focus on his dark silhouette.

  Damian got up from his chair. I couldn't see him but I could tell he was staring daggers at me.

  "You're damn right you will. Oren, you have what most in the Society can only dream of. Shadow magick, a rare, almost nonexistent type of magick that hasn't been seen in years. Not in my lifetime, at least." He breathed before walking around behind my father, his cigarette still burning faintly in the dark. The smoke curled up and dissolved into the darkness itself.

  "You start tonight. Not a week from now. Not two days from now. Tonight." He paused. "Although your initiation starts now."

  His cigarette went out.

  A sharp slice. A thud.

  Complete darkness.

  Drops of warm liquid hit my face.

  "…D…Dad…" I said, my heart dropping. Tears formed in my eyes as I fell out of my chair and crawled over to him. The warm liquid pooled around my knees and palms as I leaned down. He was dead.

  I laid next to him. His blood seeping into my clothes. I didn't care. Not about my clothes or about the world.

  "Dad…" I croaked as I held onto his hand.

  I heard steps behind me. My eyesight went hazy as I leapt up and swung blindly in the darkness, only to be met by an arm around my throat.

  "Don't fight me, Oren. If I accidentally kill you, I'll never live it down."

  My body flopped and I kicked with all my might. I felt his grip tighten more. My breathing stumbled. My eyesight went completely dark.

  ? ? ?

  I woke up in a dimly lit room. The sounds of Riverdale were gone, replaced by the cranking of metal and the distant yelling of instructors issuing commands.

  I looked down and saw my clothes. Bloodstained.

  It all came rushing back. Father. Damian.

  "Oh gods…" My voice faltered as I fell back down in bed. My chest felt tight. He really was dead. I had hoped it was all a bad dream, but no such luck exists.

  "No… Father… please. You can't be gone. You can't."

  The door opened and in walked a woman. Blonde, long hair, light blue eyes.

  "You're awake, huh? Here, take this and meet us outside." She handed me a drink and walked back out.

  The drink looked muddy. A few leaves and something red. Medicine, perhaps. I had half the mind to throw it against the wall. But I was thirsty.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  My eyes dried as I looked at my surroundings for the first time. A normal hut. A bed, a table, a few swords hung on the wall. On top of the table sat a pile of folded clothes with a note.

  Fresh clothes. Get ready. Drink the medicine and meet the others. —Damian

  I swallowed the muddy drink. It tasted like dirt. Something slimy at the bottom touched my tongue and I gagged. I got dressed quickly and paused the moment I went to throw away my old clothes. I held them close. His blood had dried on them. My eyes welled up before I folded the shirt carefully and slid it under the bed.

  I'll come back for it.

  The new clothes fit surprisingly well. As if they were tailor made just for me. All coarse brown leather with padding at the shoulders and ribs. A single strap went across my chest and back, lined with various slots and pockets I didn't know the purpose of yet.

  I opened the door and saw four others standing in a semi-circle. The light nearly blinded me from being in the dark too long. The woman from before held a sword that sizzled with electricity. Her armor was a step above the rest, fitted steel plate, light enough to move in but solid enough to stop a blade. Electricity coursed through it in thin, crackling veins.

  "Hey guys—"

  I was cut off as a leg came up to my throat, pinning me back against the door I'd just walked out of. The tingling and stings of electricity coming off her were intense.

  "First rule. Speak only when spoken to." Her foot pressed deeper into my throat, then released. She strode away without looking back. I grabbed my throat and dropped to the ground, trying to breathe, air coming out in short ragged bursts. My fists balled and I felt an urge to fight back. I looked up at her hard.

  "Oh? You want to fight. Go ahead, I'll give you the first move." The blonde held out her chin, daring me to. I went to get up but suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of malice. A feeling of pure terror. I unclenched my hands.

  "No. I don't want to fight," I said calmly as I got up.

  "Good. Follow me," she ordered as she walked away from the group.

  I got up and looked at the others. They were probably my age, maybe older.

  The boy on the left had a look of war on his face. He'd been here a while.

  The girl in the middle held her head high. A bow and arrow sat strung across her back. She had marks on her gauntlet, too many to count, but my guess was kill counts.

  The boy on the right was the youngest of us. I wondered what his story was.

  I walked past them, ignoring their judging glares, and ran to catch up with her. I couldn't help but look around as I went. The Midnight Tower was more impressive up close, black stones stacked on top of each other stretching into the clouds. Balconies ringed it, each one manned by archers. Training yards and sparring rings lined the grounds, trainers commanding groups of fighters across every one.

  People trained with magick in ways I never thought possible. One man shaped fire into a spear that exploded on impact. Others used air magick to fly. One person stood out, training with a sword, but every time he struck, lightning shot from the tip and fried the target dummies.

  I ran to catch Charlotte. Even at my usual pace I could barely keep up.

  "You'll need a weapon. This is the only one you'll get until you pass your Grade 4 assessment, so take care of it."

  We walked through a gate where forges were running hot. The pounding and hammering of molten metal rang out loudly. Weapons of every kind hung on walls, swords, daggers, bows, axes, all of them razor sharp and ready for battle.

  "Well, well. Charlotte. Here to pay me my money or you gonna short me another month?" The blacksmith at the largest forge walked up. Sweat ran from his brow and his skin was covered in soot. His frame was larger than any man I'd ever seen. He looked down at me and smiled.

  "Here for a weapon, I'd reckon. Pick one that suits you and we'll talk about price and upkeep." He motioned toward the wall of arms.

  I walked up looking at the vast variety of weapons. Half of these I didn't even have a name for. The other half glowed with intense magick.

  "These two." I picked up two short swords. The blades themselves were black with no tip, but each had a razor's edge. I ran my hand across one trying to feel how sharp it was. My palm came open with a thick line of blood.

  "Sssss." I snatched my hand away quickly.

  The blacksmith laughed loudly. He took both blades from my hands.

  "Nice choice. A little too sharp for a new recruit, but they'll do. The price is steep though. In total with monthly upkeep, you're looking at five thousand gold."

  The look of disappointment fell across my face. How was I going to pay for this? I turned and started to walk away.

  "Boy, I wasn't done talking," the blacksmith said loudly, putting his hand on my shoulder and turning me around. He looked at me fondly. The first time anyone here had.

  "Something tells me that you're going to do great here, so I'll consider these a welcome gift." He smiled and handed me both weapons, now in sheathes, along with a new whetstone.

  I held them for a moment. They were heavier than I expected, a solid, honest weight that settled into my palms like they'd been waiting for hands to hold them. The leather grips were worn smooth from whoever had carried them before. I turned one over slowly. The black blade caught no light. It just absorbed it. I strapped them across my back and felt the weight shift and settle between my shoulder blades. It felt right. It felt like something I didn't deserve yet.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and huffed.

  We walked back toward the group. The others were already geared up and waiting. The war-torn boy, the one on the left, looked at the swords on my back and then at my face. His eyes were flat. Unimpressed.

  "Dual blades," he said. Not a question. "You ever held a sword before today?"

  "No," I said.

  He stared at me for a long second. Then he turned away and adjusted the strap on his own weapon, a single heavy blade, nicked and dull in places. It had seen work.

  "Stay behind me," he said without looking back. "And don't get in my way."

  I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

  "Everyone ready?" Charlotte said. No warmth. No encouragement. "This mission is simple. Infiltrate the bandit camp and kill the leader. The higher-ups want proof of the kill. Payout is six hundred and fifty gold."

  We walked toward the exit. My heart raced.

  Already? They expect me to kill someone today?

  I looked down at the cut on my palm. The blood had dried in a thin dark line. My other hand drifted to the hilt of one of the short swords and rested there. The weight of it was the only steady thing I had.