Chương 1: Chapter 0: Grey Night

Grey. So much grey. Torin coughed through smoke as he woke back up. The fire's heat pressed hard, even this far away. Wood crackled from the window where he had fallen from. Flames rose higher, spewing smoke into the night sky. Torin blinked at the stars. They twinkled back.

"Da?" Torin called out.

"Ma?" He rubbed his eyes and stared into the rest of Bairoy's Bog. His hamlet was a simple place, with a ring of homes along the edge, and one big longhouse in the center. That's where Uncle Vezmir ruled like his father, and his father's father, watching out from his giant chair covered with animal furs. He sometimes let Torin sit in that chair if he was good. But as Torin looked at the only home he had ever known, he didn't see Bairoy's Bog anymore. He only saw fire, and smoke, and shattered wood, and blood.

Blood, everywhere. He tried to stand, only to drop before getting to his knees. His arm still hurt from falling, and his leg had hit a rock on the way down. He rubbed hard, but the pain didn't go away.

"Da?!" Torin repeated, using his deeper, big-boy voice.

"Where are you?" The fires hissed louder, his father nowhere to be seen. Someone else came. Out of the smoke, a soldier walked closer. His white armor was clean like mountain snow, with bird wings poking out from his helmet. But then the flames grew behind, and it all turned orange, as if the bird had caught fire. Then the soldier stepped closer, and the light went away completely, and the bird became a bat in the night, ready to swallow Torin whole.

Firelight flickered across the soldier's visor, and Torin could see into his eyes. They stared boredly, like he didn't care about what was happening to Bairoy's Bog. Somehow, that made it all worse. The soldier approached Torin without making a sound, gripping his sword tightly. Torin's heart raced as he tried to crawl away, but he had forgotten the pain in his arm. He cried out the moment it hit the ground, only to cough harder halfway through. Tears formed as he struggled to go more than a few steps away.

The soldier closed in, blood dripping from his blade. He raised it high. A silvery shade knocked the soldier aside. They fell behind a wall, out of view. Torin could still see their shadows against the back of his neighbor's shed. The two shadows flew at each other, swords swinging, and Torin quickly lost track of who belonged to who. Whenever their shadows touched, he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Clang. Clang. Clang. Then one of the shadows pulled off its head, revealing a smaller one below.

He knocked his enemy over with it, then struck them in the head with his head. Again and again. The shadow on the ground stopped moving, and the other one leaned back. He muttered swear words to himself. Torin's heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice.

"Sir Galen?!" Torin called out. The shadow stiffened.

"Torin!" In a flash, his uncle was back around the corner, his sword in one hand and helmet in the other. Blood trickled down his helmet's bent surface, though he looked unharmed. Sir Galen tossed the ruined helmet aside and wrapped his arms around him.

"Where is Hilda and Thrain?" Sir Galen asked. Torin opened his mouth, but the words did not come.

"Your parents, boy," Sir Galen repeated.

"Where is my sister and your father?" He looked at the burning house where he had fallen from and closed his eyes. He knew that if he opened them, the tears would come out. Sir Galen hugged him close.

"It's okay, Torin. You don't have to speak of it." They sat for a long moment, with Torin's eyes closed and his uncle holding him tight. He did not want to open his eyes. He did not want to see Bairoy's Bog like this. He wanted to stay here in his uncle's arms where it was safe. Fire crackled elsewhere. The sound of wood snapped and fell. Sir Galen shifted.

"We have to go, Torin. We have to leave this place at once." Wordless, Torin was swept off the ground, his uncle carrying him over his shoulders.

"We have to get as far away as we can," Sir Galen said. Only now was Torin close enough to smell his breath. It had that yucky, bitter taste of wine again, the same that Sir Galen had every night and most days too. One time, Torin drank a little of his wine when no one was looking, but it made him sick and fuzzy, so he never drank it again. Torin liked being around Sir Galen, even if he didn't like the smell. He would get excited from his wine and start telling stories of a world outside Bairoy's Bog.

A world of kingdoms, and magic, and monsters. He would talk about how everyone got to use the System before the heavens broke. He would talk about how there were no good heroes left. The State had killed them all. But then the stories would always get hard to follow after too much wine. Sir Galen's words would stick together like they were covered in honey, and Uncle Vezmir would stop him and say it was time for bed. Torin hoped that happened now.

If he woke up sick and fuzzy because of Sir Galen's wine, then even if Ma and Da were angry, Torin would at least know they still waited for him. He resisted the urge to cry, the fires blurry again. A bright, golden light flashed far away, deep in the forest. Torin squeezed his uncle's shoulder as the ground began to shake. Sir Galen chuckled.

"So, the old bastard's still alive, is he?" He watched the distant explosion with a grin.

"Get as many of them as you can, Vezmir. Make the Doves pay for coming this far out." That was right. Vezmir had gone hunting the day before with a big group and even brought Pollo along. As much as Torin wanted to learn, his brother Pollo was seven years older and could use a bow, so they brought him to the hunts instead. Another blast rocked the earth. Torin had heard the stories, but he had never seen Vezmir fight with full strength before. He'd never seen anyone, for that matter. Bairoy's Bog was so quiet.

His eyes fixed on the explosions in the woods.

"Will Uncle Vezmir save us?" Sir Galen's grin dwindled, and he suddenly looked very tired.

"Best you not think of it, boy." Torin scrunched his face. His uncle was trying to be nice, but Torin could see through his lie. He didn't think that Uncle Vezmir stood a chance. How could that be possible? The golden explosions were so big, and the ground kept shaking beneath their feet. Who could beat that? Sir Galen stopped.

"Finally, some luck on our side." Pudding panted in the smoky night, but otherwise stayed calm, his tongue flapping out slowly. Torin grinned as Sir Galen placed him back on the ground, happy to see his favorite horse again. Sir Galen held his arm up.

"Stay where you are." Torin poked his head a little forward and saw two feet sticking out of the stable before Sir Galen nudged him back.

"I mean it, Torin," Sir Galen said.

"Do not move a muscle until I tell you otherwise." Torin gulped. Slowly and carefully, his uncle unwound their horse from his post. His mutters turned bitter as he went, musing that Pudding would be the only one to survive. Pudding watched Torin back. In the light of the fire, his dark eyes came alive, Torin's small body reflected in a field of fire. He blinked, warm mist flowing from his nostrils.

Even if Pudding got his name because he kept breaking free to eat Old Nan's pudding, he would always be Torin's favorite. Smaller than the other horses and with a cute white patch on his nose, Pudding had a better spirit than most. He needed his spirit now. The rope slipped free. Sir Galen mounted Pudding and held out a hand.

"Come here, Torin. It's time to leave." He followed, pain cutting as he twisted. Sir Galen hoisted Torin up before he had to move again. The three plopped through the empty path. Sir Galen moved Torin so that he leaned into his armor and then threw his cape over him like a blanket. He said it was to keep the smoke out of his eyes, but Torin knew the truth. He knew what he would see without the cape. But safe inside Sir Galen's cape, Torin could relax.

The greyness thinned, and he no longer tasted ash with each breath. Somewhere down the path, Pudding began to trot. The fires dwindled as they weaved back and forth through branches, gaining speed.

"Where are we going?" Torin asked, peering out of his hiding spot. His uncle stared onward.

"Somewhere far from this hamlet."

"What about the others?"

"They will have to find their own way." He exhaled.

"Your father forewarned of this, if only we heeded him sooner."

"He did?"

"You're a special boy, Torin. More special than you can know. The State will never stop hunting you if they know what you possess inside. It is far too dangerous for them to let you live." Torin shivered. His uncle only gleamed wider.

"Do not fear, boy. We planned for this possibility in case their latest Crusade ever reached Bairoy's Bog. It will be harder without Thrain and the journey more fierce, but I still have friends inside the Order of Hidden Blades. With any luck, we will reach them before the week is up. They will know what to do with you next." Pudding moved into a gallop, and Torin's heart raced. He didn't feel special, but if Da said so, then it must have been true. His father was the smartest man in the whole wide world.

He would never be wrong about that. Shaded under the trees, the world had gone completely dark, but Torin somehow smiled. He had never left Bairoy's Bog before or gone on an adventure. Maybe everything would be okay. Yeah, if he followed Sir Galen to safety, then it would all work out. He would be reunited with his family, and Uncle Vezmir, and Old Nan too. They just had to get far away from here first. His uncle suddenly twitched, warm liquid splattering across Torin's face. Some hit his lips.

It didn't taste like water. Torin looked up and gasped. One of Sir Galen's eyes quivered as it watched the path in front, but the other had disappeared. A metal arrowhead stuck out where his eye was supposed to be! A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Pudding whinnied as Sir Galen's arms seized against the reins. Another twitch came a second later, and Pudding lost his balance too, tumbling into the ground.

Torin sucked in air as he flew out of Sir Galen's arms. The ground rushed for him. He cried out, his arm burning again like it had caught on fire. Torin writhed back and forth, but the pain wouldn't go away. White blurs appeared behind, marching slowly down the path. Their armored boots clunked against the mud in unison. The vision fell into focus, and Torin could no longer breathe. He recognized the shape of the armor on the soldiers closing in. They were the same as the man who tried to kill him.

But their banner had become visible under a torch's light. A white swan flapped its wings triumphantly in a sky turned blood red, basking in the pain it caused to ensure its own power. Bairoy's Bog was just another town for it to crush. Torin shook. He knew where this army came from. Everyone across Yertha recognized their flag. This was the Avinum State, and no one had ever beaten them before. Its soldiers marched at Torin now, but he could only sit and stare until one threw a bag over his head.

* The cage screeched to a halt. Torin could hear the other prisoners sobbing, but he still didn't know where they were. It had been days since the soldiers captured him, and they kept the bag on his head the whole time. The bag sat tight and stuffy, but at least it kept him warm. When they first brought him to the cage, Torin asked if anyone else came from Bairoy's Bog, but no one answered, and a soldier kicked him for shouting, so he didn't ask again. Now, they had stopped, and the cage opened up.

"Get out," a soldier ordered before the bag got ripped off. A hand pushed his shoulder roughly.

"Hurry up, kid." It took a moment to see through the blinding light of day, but everything came together as they pushed Torin out of the cage. His eyes fell to the distant mountains first, and then the thick forests below, and then the open field, with no more trees in sight. The field had been filled with giant white tents instead, protected by a wall of wooden spikes. More soldiers buzzed around like mosquitoes, their State flags flapping in the wind. Torin had no idea where he'd gone.

At least his pain had gone away. Sitting down for so long helped the bruises. But the further in he went, the more his heart raced. Another group of prisoners stood in their underwear, holding their hands behind their heads while men dug through a pile of clothes beside them. More hung from posts on the opposite end, dressed in gambesons and leather armor with a coat of arms Torin didn't recognize. Crossbow bolts poked out of their chests. As his group walked by, the State soldiers fired another volley.

One captive raised his head silently, still alive despite the bolts in his chest. Bodies had been thrown into a hole elsewhere, with more soldiers dragging them in as they passed. A soldier looked Torin in the eye and smiled. His own eyes looked as dead as the people he dragged. Other prisoners got pushed with Torin and his group. The smell of sweat and filth got worse as they clumped together like cows. Some burst into tears the more it wore on.

Torin knew he should be crying too, but he kept his head high and breathed easy, knowing he just had to be strong again. Uncle Vezmir was still out there and could save him. Then they turned another corner and passed a row of severed heads on spikes. His eyes followed the heads before falling on one. Uncle Vezmir watched back, tongue sticking out where the pike poked through.

"Oh," Torin said aloud. Uncle Vezmir's head grew fuzzy, and Torin turned away before the tears came. They reached another open area and were spread apart again, separated by the line of chains. The soldiers began reorganizing the groups, pushing them back and forth. His eyes went wide as he caught a familiar face amongst the crowd passing by.

"Pollo?!" Torin cried out. His older brother turned, his face dirty and hair matted.

"Torin, is that you?" The chain yanked him further on.

"Don't try to fight them. Just do what they say. I'll find you later!" Then, the distance split apart too much, and he lost sight of Pollo in the crowd. The soldiers seemed content with their work. They forced them to all sit down. A pair of officers strolled to the front, their armor brighter than the others. Ma used to read stories about princes, and the first man looked like that, with long chestnut hair and a chin that was smooth and hairless, like a boy.

His platemail reminded him of the books too, gemstones sparkling everywhere. But for some reason, Torin's skin tickled looking at this man, like ants were crawling all over, so he looked at the second officer instead. That man was the opposite. Short and stocky, with no hair at all, and wrinkles carved into his hardened flesh. His armor had no gemstones, instead just rows of solid plate. He watched the crowd with an icy gaze, a full head lower than those nearby. The first officer stepped forth.

"Greetings. I am the Marquis-Eagle of Vrisgard, Gaius Maro. I hereby declare that as a result of the 137th Crusade of the Avinum State across Yertha, you have all been liberated from your barbarous ways. As non-combatants, you will each be integrated into our society and become permanent workers." A hush fell across the crowd. Gaius smiled warmly, as if that made his words any less awful. Even Torin knew what he meant. They were all becoming slaves.

"You bastard!" a burly prisoner shouted. With a flex of his wrist, the prisoner snapped his chains. He dove forth before anyone could stop him, straight for Gaius. Torin gasped. The stocky officer stepped in front, and before anyone could blink, it was over. The burly prisoner suddenly split in four, a giant X appearing across his torso. Blood and guts exploded out as the chunks tumbled apart. The stocky officer quietly cleaned his sword before sheathing it. Torin had never even seen him draw it.

"Consider this an opportunity," Gaius continued, not acknowledging what had happened.

"You Fringelings understand neither order nor discipline, but through the State, you will learn both.

"Your first lesson will begin today. Follow instructions while our officers process your status. Answer their questions truthfully and without hesitation." Only then did he glance at the dead prisoner's bloody chunks.

"You will not like the alternative." Again, people sobbed, but Torin could not take his eyes off the stocky officer. How had he gotten so strong? Not even Uncle Vezmir moved that fast. Again, his eyes got blurry, remembering what had happened. The processing went slowly. Another officer wrote notes at a desk while he interrogated the prisoners, one by one. At the end, he would either nod left or right, with more soldiers dragging them away.

Others fought back every time he nodded to the left, but they weren't happy with the right either. Torin kept looking for Pollo, but he had disappeared in another line, and Torin had no idea whether he went left or right. Finally, his turn came.

"Name and level," the officer said, not looking up.

"Torin." He fidgeted.

"What's a level?"

"How old are you, boy?" Torin held up six fingers. Three on one hand, three on the other. Three and three made six.

"Where are your parents?" He shook his head. Torin really didn't know, which was strange. The sound of the warning bell remained fresh in his mind, along with Da pulling him inside. He could even remember waking up outside the house afterwards. But what happened during the attack? He saw only darkness.

"I see," the soldier continued, writing down some notes.

"Your status should be available for viewing, at least. Bring it up."

"What's a status?" He grumbled.

"Fringelings." With a wave of his hand, something strange appeared before his eyes. A giant blue box glowed softly in the air, no matter which way Torin turned. And it had letters and numbers split across columns, too. Torin hadn't learned to read more than a few words, but he still understood what it said. Name: Torin Level: 1 Class: Locked Strength: 10 Dexterity: 10 Constitution: 10 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 10 Perception: 10 Trait: There were other parts.

One said "Experience," and it looked like a round jar with a golden liquid inside. Only a tiny amount swirled around the bottom. Another jar said "Mana," and it was completely empty. Was this the System? How could he see it? The adults all told him it had stopped working when the State conquered everyone.

"Hm, that's odd," the soldier said, his eyes tracing the air as if he could read the magic box too. He waved at another desk.

"Hey, Simmion, get over here, will you?" Another walked over. This soldier wore the same white colors as everyone else in camp, but a mask shrouded his face with goggles and a long beak-thing. Torin saw this mask once before on a traveling plague doctor when Old Nan got sick.

"What is it, Augustus?" the plague doctor asked.

"Check out this kid's status. His Trait section is empty, but it should at least say 'None.' Never seen it blank before."

"Oh, I know this trick," Simmion said.

"A lot of Fringelings think that they can suppress Traits from State inquiry with an illusory spell. I don't know the exact incantation, but it is trivial to remove. I already had one such case today, from a teenage boy, no less." He placed a hand on Torin's head and muttered. The air lightened, and his throat grew clear, and Torin felt a giant weight lift off his back. Except not really. That wasn't how this felt at all. Simmion paused.

"Hm, that is odd."

"What?" Augustus asked.

"I removed the illusion, but there is still some interference." Torin could see it too. Trait: Hidden Augustus raised his eyebrow.

"What in the hell does 'Hidden' mean? How can it be hidden?" Simmion shrugged.

"I don't know. I'd say it is an extra layer of magical defense, but I'm detecting no mana and he has not developed a core. The System itself is choosing not to interpret his Trait." He stroked his beak-thing.

"Perhaps this condition is psychosomatic. If we can't see it, then neither can he."

"You're saying he's mentally blocked it out somehow?"

"I'm saying that there are a lot of strange occurrences along the Fringe due to their proximity to the Mire," Simmon explained.

"The rest is guesswork without further inquiry." Augustus scoffed.

"What do you suggest then? I can't leave the form blank, and there's no category for Hidden."

"I would put him on the Capital transport with the others and make a note. If the Cranes don't want to dissect him, I'm sure my fellow Crows will love an excuse."

"Crows or Cranes, it makes no difference to me."

"Could always spare the headache and send him straight to the pit…" The two kept going, but Torin could only watch, his mouth wide open. What were they talking about? He never did anything to make his Trait go away. He didn't even know he had one! How could they all see it now? Unless his family did know about it. His chest tightened. The plague doctor even said that a spell had been cast on him. How could that have happened unless someone did it back home? He'd never been anywhere else.

But why would the adults lie? Why would they try to hide the System from him? The soldiers kept deliberating. In the end, Augustus finally nodded his approval. He turned left. Torin kicked into the mud as others dragged him away. He still didn't know what the left meant, but he knew it was bad.

"Ahem." His captors paused and flew into attention. Even Augustus stood up just so he could bow back down.

"General!" they all said. Torin watched the stocky officer approach, the same who had cut the burly prisoner into quarters before. He looked even older up close.

"What is the meaning of this?" the general asked, his voice deep and grumbly, like gravel rolling down a hill.

"This boy has a problem with his Trait," Simmion explained.

"I apologize, General, but I cannot determine the cause."

"Show me." Their eyes all traced empty space again, and Torin chewed his lips.

"So it is," the general said at last.

"You would waste his potential with the Storks."

"What potential?" Simmion asked.

"We have no idea what this is. He could have a Mythic Trait, or he could have nothing of value. A System block is beyond our control." It is? Torin wondered, eyes wide. The general ignored Simmion, inspecting Torin himself. His face looked so much harder up close. Stretched yet crinkled, like it had been sculpted straight from stone.

"I am Cornelius Maximus," he said.

"Would you consider becoming a ward to my estate, Torin?" The soldiers looked nervously from one to the next.

"You'd adopt a young Fringeling as your ward, straight from the battlefield?" an officer dared to ask.

"The purest ore creates the strongest metal," Cornelius countered.

"This is my last Crusade. I am retiring after we return to Vrisgard, and I will need help to maintain my property."

"Still, sir…" He raised his brow.

"Do you expect me to hoist up some helpless maiden like others are so fond of doing? I would rather see if this youth can still flourish than wither and die because some bureaucrat didn't want to fill out a damn form." Augustus reddened, his head still bowed. The others didn't have a response either, but Torin only twiddled his toes.

"I want my parents," he said.

"You have no parents," Cornelius stated plainly.

"There is only the State." Torin went numb. He was no fool. He knew his parents had died during the raid, even if he didn't remember how. Yet, none of it became real until hearing those words out loud. No one would save him, not even Pollo. His older brother might have been tough, but he was just a kid like him. What could he do against this army of grown men? Nothing. Torin could only protect himself.

"Make your decision quickly," Cornelius said.

"Hesitation and impotence walk the same path." Torin straightened.

"What does it mean to be a ward? How is it different from a permanent worker?"

"You would work for me directly, very hard, far harder than most, but if you behave appropriately, then unlike the others here, you will be rewarded with full State citizenship once you become an adult. You might even advance through the System should you prove your worth."

"Does that mean I will grow strong like you?"

"Only if you serve the State." Torin frowned. He could never do that after what they did to Bairoy's Bog, but he had also now seen the power the System offered firsthand. Could he really throw this chance away? He didn't want to go to a worse situation out of stubbornness.

"I will be your ward," Torin decided, embracing Cornelius's hand. They changed direction, marching Torin to another cage on the right, this one bound for Vrisgard. Yet even as he entered a new prison, his heart relaxed. For all his life, Torin had been told that they had to hide because no one could beat the State. But that was not true. Some things were outside their control. The way they reacted to his hidden Trait proved it. The State bent to the System, not the other way around.

He just needed to learn how to use it. Yes, that was what Torin would do. As the cage rolled down the dusty path, he made a promise to himself. No matter what happened next, he would find a way to open up his hidden Trait and use it against the State. Then someone threw a blanket over his cage, and he saw nothing else of the outside world.