Jericho’s heart pounded as he stood silently from his stool, the dictionary placed gently on the carpet. A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by another three knocks. He stared at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall, facing the dinner table, the hour hand read exactly twelve midnight.

Strolling cautiously to the door, he unlatched the lock and opened it. A blast of cold wind hit him as a hail of rain poured through the tiny opening. Jericho took a glance outside, his hair was wet almost immediately.

A man stared back at him.

“Are you Blaise Armstrong of the Buck Village?” the man asked, expressionless. He was bald and he could see the moonlight reflected off the raindrops that fell relentlessly on his scalp.

Jericho took a second to understand what he had just said before shaking his head.

“Sorry, I’m not. Do you mind coming in? It’s harsh out here,” Jericho asked boldly for the man did not show any signs of hostility. He was rather proud of speaking his first sentence in the Gaiana tongue though he had no idea what rain was so he guessed he had probably said “Do you mind coming in? I am very wet concerned.”

The man raised his eyebrow but accepted Jericho’s offer, murmuring a word of thanks. He took a leg off the ladder and stepped in and his body came into full view. He was in the exact same attire like the sergeant Jericho had seen in the illustration, however, he was completely drenched from head to toe and his belt was missing with several buttons unbuttoned revealing a white singlet from underneath. Jericho assumed his attire was navy blue, but was so wet it had turned a much darker shade.

“So… do you know if Blaise Armstrong is present right now?” the man asked, unbuttoning his military coat and hanging it on his forearm.

Jericho considered this for a moment before realising why the name had sounded so familiar. A few days prior, on his third visit to the well, a frail woman was murmuring about Blaise. He could not understand what she was saying but he could roughly recall it about wishing Blaise was there to assist her.

“No. What is this for?” Jericho asked curiously. He was getting more and more familiar with the language but the words still came out slow.

“The Praetorian Trials. He had submitted an appeal form after passing the physical exam to attempt the trials in which we have approved. I am sure your town is very proud of him, we have not assessed any who have passed the exam from Buck Village in years ,” the man replied gruffly.

Jericho had seen the word Praetori in the dictionary, under the military section. He remembered using the definition for practice: A Praetori or Praetorian is a high ranking asset of the Gaesus Empire. They specialise in various fields to assist the military and the Parliament. Only the strongest of men are qualified for the Praetorian belt. They take a gruelling trial before being deemed worthy of the title.

“Right, so why are you here?” Jericho questioned but he knew the answer before the man had replied. It was simple: he was living in Blaise’s hut.

The man frowned and rummaged through his pockets for a crumpled piece of paper. The ink was blotched from the rain but Jericho could roughly read the words “Locate” followed by something scribbled in messy handwriting: Tatcher Lane, Tree (there was something Jericho could not recognise), Buck Village.

“This not Tatcher Lane?” the man asked as he strolled towards the window and pointed at the road outside. An automobile was parked right outside, its headlights switched off.

What could he say? Jericho was dumbfounded, he could not just tell the man that he was living in Blaise’s hut. If what he saw was correct, that guy is someone that should not be messed with.

“Yeah.. I am his…” Jericho stuttered, “friend,” He grinned foolishly and the man’s eyebrows shot to his forehead.

The man replied but Jericho could only understand a single phrase “Pass the form to Blaise”. Jericho took it.

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The next day, someone knocked again. It was the woman Jericho had seen beside the well. She looked much weaker than he had seen her. Jericho had to catch her before she almost slipped and let go of the ladder.

“Well, hello… what is i-”

The woman gave a sudden cry of anguish and began sobbing uncontrollably.

“What’s wrong?” Jericho asked, alarmed.

The woman said something unrecognisable and began sobbing again.

“Blaise’s wake is near the fields of his house, come if you want,” the woman whimpered at last. The woman added that they were ready to spread something Jericho could not recognise.

“What happened to Blaise?” Jericho questioned innocently, it was an extremely foolish question to begin with but he could not stop himself.

Expectedly, the woman began wailing at the top of her lungs. “He’s dead! It’s time you get out of your stupid house and stop doing whatever the (an unrecognisable word Jericho assumed was something extremely offensive) you are doing in the woods!” She was hyperventilating this time and her eyes were so tragically filled with grief it was hard to watch.

Something nagged in Jericho’s mind: So this was not Blaise’s house, but why was his hut the registered location of the Praetorian Trials?

“You are extremely polite today. You take joy in his death do you? You cruel (the same curse Jericho would assume meant “Fuck”)” she said, seething with anger as she descended back down, her hands shaking as she did so.

Wow so you are a real jerk, Jericho thought, talking to his new body, leaping off the treehouse and landing onto a pile of leaves next to the old woman. They walked for a while, crossing the wide tarred road and soon found themselves in a small hamlet of huts. What was Blaise thinking of when he wrote the address of his house, what could Blaise have anything to do with him if Jericho was always in his house or presumably in the woods?

A few people who were also dressed in the same black clothing as the old lady greeted her as they walked solemnly by, Jericho assumed they were mourning attire for Blaise who seemed to be extremely popular in the hamlet for the entire place was deserted. On the contrary, Jericho was not even given a slight glance though he had sworn a boy had shot him a look of pure terror before ducking behind his mother’s skirt.

They reached a small stream where a large crowd of people stood near it, clearing the way for an opening where a small wooden casket was placed. A small picture of a grinning man who had blonde hair tied into a ponytail. He was extremely broad chested but Jericho could not see beyond that. The old lady had shifted next to the table and cleared her throat weakly. Jericho dove straight for the back of the crowd, evidently aware of his supposed bad reputation. The murmuring crowd stopped talking instantly.

“Thank you. Thank you all for coming today. For Blaise was the (unidentifiable word) man Buck Village would ever know. He was the pride of all of us, the first ever since old Barny to receive a Praetorian Trial (unidentifiable word Jericho guessed was invitation),” the woman said shakily as many noses were blown.

There was a gentle tap on Jericho’s shoulder and he spun around, coming face to face with a tall boy slightly taller and older than Jericho’s body. He had eyes similar to Jericho’s, cold and seemingly bored looking. His hair was jet black and trimmed neat, stretching beyond his shoulder and out of sight. Despite the sweltering heat, the man was in a travelling cloak, a single button fastened around his neck.

“We leave by dusk, you have his invitation, correct?” the boy spoke in a bare whisper, his voice completely expressionless.

“Wha-” Jericho asked loudly and the boy gripped Jericho around the shoulder and dragged him away from the crowd. No one was there to notice this happen as they walked towards a nearby field behind a particularly tall plant with flowers that sprouted thorns from the tip of its petals.

"Too loud." the boy whispered simply.

“You have it. Give it to me and we will pack and leave by dusk,” the boy said, his voice a little louder this time.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Jericho replied, perplexed but playing along for he knew, as he winced from the sharp pain on his shoulder from where the boy had gripped him to the claw like nails which he knew he had saw that he was in terrible company.