My names Pax i have dark short hair until the beginning of my ear, i hate war ever since i was born, everyone acted as if fighting was fun but i was different.
Today's the day i join the Genarchion Order and work for a gen. I need to do this for my brother Lucan. He's not my brother in blood but he's still my brother.
"Pax. Enter the arena."
I step forward, my sword resting at my side, and cross into the sand. Waiting for me is the man I must kill if I want to be chosen by a house — red-haired, broad-shouldered, perhaps in his thirties.
"Kid, turn back while you still can," he says with a smile.
As if I'd ever turn back. I say to my self
I draw my sword, steadying my breath. I have the will to slash him in one strike, enough to kill him in one go"
I lunge forward, giving everything I have. His eyes widen in fear an instant before my blade slashing through his neck.
I stand over him and whisper, "You should've turned back instead of me. Rest in piece"
After the fight, I waited as they called each name, one by one. The others were chosen quickly, and I was the last to stand.
"Pax," they called. Maybe I wasn't good enough, I thought.
"You have been assigned to Gen Antiquen."
I exhaled in relief. Thank god.
I sat in the carriage, rumbling along the road toward camp. My thoughts kept circling back to my brother, Lucan.
Would he survive in Korvath, that vast city? He found someone to care for him, but I don't trust them. Not really.
I leaned back. Better to sleep than to stay awake.
One week later.
The wheels jolted to a stop, and we had reached camp.
"Pax, wake up."
A boy my age stood beside me, blonde hair catching the light, yellow eyes sharp. He didn't seem like the others. He seemed… kinder, a bit more different.
"Alright, I'll come out," I muttered, annoyed at how roughly he pushed me.
I climbed out of the carriage, brushing the dust from my clothes. "What's your name?" I asked.
"I'm Oron," he replied. A kind boy mabye he's different like me I thought.
Before I could say more, another boy appeared, about my age.
White hair fell over his sharp purple eyes, his expression unreadable. Behind him stood a man in his thirties, black hair streaked with gray, a trimmed beard framing his stern face.
"My name is Ares Antiquen and this is Viktor"
"You will be trained here to become weapons for Gen Antiquen," Ares announced.
"There will be fights. I expect you to be eager."
The others cheered. I stayed silent. Oron didn't cheer either — he smiled. Maybe he isn't like me, I thought.
The next day, we ran drills. The others were excited, but to me it was nothing but tedious, exhausting, pointless.
"Leave behind anyone who falls!" Ares shouted.
"They'll spend the night alone in this forest. If they survive, they survive."
Three hours later, the sun was sinking as we made our final run back to camp. Oron stumbled and fell, and others.
I hesitated. My chest burned, my legs ached — but the thought of leaving them there made me sick. I grabbed his arm and dragged him with me, step by step, until we staggered into camp dead last.
"Why did you do that?" Ares demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Why disobey my command?"
I met his gaze. My voice was flat. "You said to leave them. You never said we had to."
For a long moment, silence hung between us. Then Ares smiled faintly and muttered, "What an odd one"
That night, the camp gathered for duels. One after another, boys fought under Ares's watchful eye.
I saw Oron in the ring, smiling as if the fight were a game.
Maybe he isn't like me after all, I thought.
When his match ended, Oron walked over. "Do you want to duel?"
A memory stirred — a woman's voice, distant, from when I was an infant. Pax, you must learn to love war. Your brother Lucan… it won't be a problem for him.
Was that my mother? What did she mean? I still don't know.
"Fine," I muttered, standing. Every eye followed me as I stepped into the circle. Even Ares leaned forward.
I picked up a wooden sword, but Oron only smiled, disappointment in his eyes.
"That's no fun, Pax," someone shouted.
"Yeah!" others echoed.
Oron laughed — sharp, mocking. "So what is it? Do you want to play with a wooden sword… or a real one?"
Play? Is this fun to them?
"Fine," I said flatly. "I'll use my real sword."
The moment I drew it, Oron lunged — his blade flashing toward my hand. At the last instant he stopped.
"You almost lost a hand," he sneered. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Too fast to think, I unsheathed fully, my strike a breath from his skull. Oron froze.
"You almost lost a head," I said, my voice plain.
His smile faltered. He attacked with everything he had, his blows furious — but I blocked them all. Then, with one strike of my will, I cut clean through his blade.
Gasps erupted.
"What a strong will," Ares declared. His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Pax… have you filled your subcor?"
"…What is that?" I asked.
Oron's face twisted, humiliated. "You didn't even fill your subcor?" He barked a bitter laugh. "Hah." Then they all laughed
Ares raised his hand. "Enough. Great duel. Rest now."
The circle broke apart, but Oron still sat on the ground, furious.
That night, I lay in my bed inside the crowded tent. Oron was already asleep, his breathing steady. Across from me, a girl named Lenrya rested quietly, while another boy, Malakon, shifted in his sleep.
But I couldn't close my eyes. My thoughts circled back again and again.
What is a subcor? Why does everyone know about it—except me?