To graduate from "Raw Ore" to "Acolyte," they had to perform their first Mark. Vane led them to a small, fledgling town at the base of the mountain. It was a place of mud and wooden scaffolding—the beginnings of a trade hub.
"There is a merchant," Vane instructed. "He is selling poisoned grain to the mountain tribes. He has three guards. Kill the merchant. Leave the guards. Do not be seen."
Kaelen and Lyra crouched on a thatched roof. Kaelen watched the merchant—a fat man laughing by a fire. In his old life, Arthur had never even been in a fistfight. Now, he was holding a cold iron blade.
"I'll take the roof, you take the window," Lyra whispered.
Kaelen nodded. He felt a strange detachment. His fifty-year-old mind knew this was murder, but his eight-year-old body was flooded with the training of the Nest. He dropped through the window like a leaf.
The merchant turned, his eyes widening. Kaelen didn't give him time to scream. He moved with the efficiency he had practiced. One strike. The carotid artery.
The man slumped. Kaelen felt the warm blood on his hands. It was heavy. It was real.
Lyra appeared beside him, her face pale.
They looked at each other over the body of their first kill. The innocence they had managed to keep was gone. They were no longer children playing at war. They were killers.