“What’s happening tomorrow?” Farrah asked. She was lying down on the mat, tucked inside a thin blue blanket. Her eyelids were half-closed with sleep.

Zen was stretched out on the floor nearby, close to the cribs where the infants were sleeping. It had been around five months since the first time he’d come to the orphanage, and the two babes had grown rapidly right before his eyes. He tried to visit Farrah once or twice a week; it was an escape from the routine of training and a redress for his persistent guilt. Over time, the kids had gotten better at sleeping through the night, but he continued to visit nonetheless. He had also discovered a fondness for children he didn’t know he had. It was like making up for the time he had lost from his brother.

“There’s some ceremony the Sovereign Prince is holding to mark one year since the new law and the arrival of us new recruits. We had to memorize some drills and choreography for it,” Zen replied.

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“No,” he scoffed. “At least afterwards we’ll get a change in pace. Those who pass either written exams or physical testing can move on to specialized classes or working for the city.”

“And what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Zen sighed. “I’m only good at fighting, but I don’t want to join the guard.”

“Oh. Why not?” Farrah blinked at him curiously. Naturally, the guard held prestige in her eyes. They protected the realm, after all, and wouldn’t let just anyone into their ranks.

Zen didn’t want to explain his disgust towards the ranks, how they carried out injustices in cities and villages she had never heard by name. He only shrugged wordlessly and dropped his head to the ground. Farrah hummed softly and closed her eyes as well.

Zen woke up before dawn had broken over the horizon. While Farrah slept, he hurriedly prepared a savory porridge in the kitchen, tossing a variety of haphazardly-chopped vegetables into the pot. By the time Farrah and the older children had begun to awake, breakfast had been poured into a selection of mismatched bowls, fresh water had been retrieved from a well, and Zen had disappeared into the morning air.

Zen had no problem making it back in time for the recruits’ breakfast at the cafeteria. Ayue was already surrounded by other recruits Zen hadn’t bothered to learn by name when he arrived, so he ate his selection of cold cured meats and cabbage soup alone. They were reunited in the training grounds, milling about in wait for the arrival of the Sovereign Prince and his wife.

Zen had zoned out trying to pick a conversation to eavesdrop on. From behind, he heard the murmur of two people—a man and woman. He heard, “don’t worry, everything is set,” in a familiar voice. He frowned slightly, struggling to understand the feelings of disquiet and recognition that had stirred in his gut. However, when he turned around, he only saw Auring walking towards them. Oh no, he groaned internally, quickly spinning around before she mistook their eye contact for an invitation to converse.

By his side, Ayue was also trying to get his attention. “Oi, Zen, you’ve been so out of it recently. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out all the time!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied drily.

“Have you found a mistress or something? You can tell me, my lips are sealed!”

Zen choked, and he swore he heard someone wheeze in shock nearby. “No! Shut up! You’re talking so loud everyone can hear you. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then where do you go? Don’t you trust me?” Ayue was looking at him with those pair of puppy-dog eyes again. It’s not that I don’t trust you, per se, I just want to keep this to myself. He felt slightly guilty that the things he kept from his closest friend since childhood continued to pile up. He wasn’t sure why his explanations would melt in his mouth whenever Ayue questioned him.

“I…It’s not that.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Sovereign Prince and his entourage. Zen was close enough to get a good look at the ruler. He had light brown hair secured neatly in a bun. His face was soft, devoid of sharp lines and fierce expression. Looking at him was a test of Zen’s deadpan; he had always imagined all princes to be handsome, in a sort of militant way. This one couldn’t be further from those inventions. Besides the stupidly extravagant dress, he doesn’t look much like his cousin. Zen stopped that train of thought before he could ponder its implications.

Sovereign Prince Arlen stood in between two bodyguards. Behind him were three drummers, who commanded silence in the crowd with a few mere beats of their instruments. Ayue straightened up at Zen’s side to listen to the Sovereign Prince’s speech. Zen paid little attention to the fanciful words of the royal. He was uninterested in listening to empty words that waxed poetic about the importance of the new generation.

When he concluded his speech, the sword master took his place at the front of the crowd. Zen could see the beads of sweat on his forehead and, even at such a distance, the glare on his face as he begged internally for these youths to achieve perfection. Any mishap or sloppiness would only reflect poorly on his abilities. Luckily for him, the marching drills and choreographed sword performances went without a hitch. Hours upon hours of practice had paid off. Zen hadn’t even broken a sweat.

If only the same could be said of the duels.

Zen was looking forward to this segment of the ceremony. In recent weeks, he had progressed from standing his ground against the prince to occasionally winning in practice. He had learned to use his height advantage against Ito, who lagged behind Zen’s growth spurt by a few inches. Months of tireless drilling had also improved Zen’s stamina, so much so that he could maintain his aggressive posture almost as easily as the prince maintained his lithe, quick-footed stance. Moreover, the one intervening variable—their nerves—was equally unfavorable to both. Zen saw this as the opportunity to prove himself against the royalty he scorned. Ito faced the pressure of performing well in front of his cousin and demonstrating his worthiness as heir. Before this moment, they had never been so evenly matched.

After a minute of the teens scrambling to locate and stand by their sparring partner, the matches began. The sword master had placed the most impressive duels at the fore. Naturally, Zen and the prince were front and center—a fact that had boosted Zen’s ego, just a bit. Some older kids who hadn’t yet graduated from the introductory training were nearby, as well as Auring and an older girl, who were also at the top of the class. But Zen didn’t see them. He only needed to see his opponent.

A roll of the drums kicked off the show. Zen struck the first blow. Be aggressive at the start. It was an overhand cleave. The prince easily blocked it, but the wince that flashed across his face for a mere half-second betrayed the energy that parry had demanded. Zen aimed another strike, this time towards the stomach. Ito dodged and launched a series of quick strikes in retaliation. These were all blocked as well. At this point, both boys were panting, open-mouthed, not even sure if the Sovereign Prince were witnessing the performance they were pouring everything into.

Zen slowed down his offensive. He had sufficiently tired out his opponent, but he didn’t want to lose too much momentum. He allowed himself to take note of his surroundings. Arlen had drawn close to the first row. His gaze flickered from the two boys to the other duels nearby, revealing nothing. His bodyguards stuck to his side, glancing about the block, on edge. As if there could be a threat with this much security. We’re using toy weapons, and we’re surrounded by guards! The crown’s paranoia was almost amusing.

He focused his attention back to the battle at hand. Ito was biting his lip as he parried and struck. His teeth had pierced skin, and a droplet of blood was slowly erupting to the surface. His sleek up-do had loosened, stray hairs sticking to his temples. Zen, too, showed signs of wear. His jaw was aching, as he alternated between gritting his teeth and letting them clatter together upon impact in turn. He could feel the curls at the nape of his neck clinging to his damp skin. He could feel himself lose control over his heightened senses. Though his eyes wouldn’t stray from the two swords, from the wheezing prince, ever graceful in his movements, his ears would pick up on random sounds from outside their bubble. A shout. Perhaps someone had accidentally injured their partn—opponent. A sharp intake of breath. Maybe someone had lost their footing, had fumbled their riposte.

Zen didn’t have to speculate about the noise that followed.

“All hail the Sovereign Prince!” someone shrieked nearby. The woman’s voice rasped from the effort of the shout.

Both Zen and Ito were startled, their swords only weakly clanging against each other. When they jumped back, neither initiated the next attack. Their illusion had been shattered. Curiosity—and perhaps a pinch of dread—had strangled their concentration.

The next few seconds crawled by.

Zen inclined his head to the right, where the voice came from. A girl was standing still, her mouth open in shock. One weapon was in her hand, another at her feet. Another girl was rushing forward, one hand reaching into the robes of her plain gray trainees’ outfit. It was...Auring?

She was headed for the Sovereign Prince. There was only a meter between the two. When she ignored one bodyguard’s warning to stop where she was, the two guards stepped forward to block her way. She quickly leapt to the side and threw whatever it was she had pulled out at the three men.

There was a shattering sound as one guard swiped the object out of the air with his sword. They were all immediately doused in thick liquid. It was clear and slick, without fragrance.

“NOW!” she shouted, spinning around to look behind her. A smile lingered on her face, which was otherwise contorted with effort.

Amidst the confusion, the trainees had all stopped their duels. There was no metallic sound of metal on metal to disguise the twang of a bowstring.

Auring threw herself at the nearest bodyguard, knocking him away from the Sovereign Prince. The guard cursed and swung his weapon at her. She didn’t dodge, didn’t duck. Her eyes were fearless as the blade sliced through her neck. Her body crumpled to the ground, her head barely attached to the rest of her body. It lolled to the side, exposing the flesh and bones of her throat, letting forth a burst of blood onto the guard’s boots.

At the same time, the other guard stepped in front of Arlen, weapon raised in an attempt to block the arrow whistling through the air. He missed, the sound of a sword slicing through thin air abundantly obvious. The arrow lodged into his shoulder. A shout escaped from his lips as he fell to his knees, his uniform bursting into flame.

Oil. She’d thrown oil at the Sovereign Prince. The bodyguard had only just blocked the flaming arrow from piercing Arlen, except with his body instead of his sword. The fire had spread across the rest of his clothing and skin in seconds, flames lapping at limbs, singeing his hair. His screams were overpowered by the commotion as the guards surrounding the block moved forth to seize the archer and secure the area.

“Who is this?” the bodyguard standing above Auring’s dead body was shouting at the bewildered teens.

Zen was frozen, his eyes locked onto the girl’s corpse. Vague memories were flitting through his mind. A woman’s voice, saying ‘everything is set’ to a stranger. Auring peppering Prince Ito with questions about him and his cousin. Intentions masked with girlish innocence. A woman and man discussing something vague in a forest outside the capital. ‘I’ll help you.’

She had been planning this for months. And she’d failed, she’d martyred herself for the sake of one nameless bodyguard who would writhe on the ground as he boiled alive, overlooked in the chaos that ensued.

Zen glanced up to see Prince Ito being dragged away by his own bodyguards. He was struggling in their grip, something akin to panic blazing in his eyes as he tried to look behind him, in Zen’s direction.

“—the southerners! They may be her accomplices!” Arlen’s remaining bodyguard was yelling.

Arlen had stepped forward, eerily calm. He glanced down at the bodyguard’s feet. “You didn’t have to kill her,” he chastised. “Now we won’t be able to interrogate her.”

“Sir,” he replied breathily. “We will find those responsible. No threat to Your Highness will go unpunished.”

“See that you do.”

Zen felt a foot on his back. He stumbled to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees. When he tried to turn around, the foot forced him all the way to the ground, the rough stone street scraping at his cheek and neck. A hiss escaped through his teeth.

“What are you doing?” he heard a boy shout as someone grabbed his hands, looping them in something rough and scratchy.

She failed. All she’s done is implicate the rest of us, Zen thought as he felt a hand chop at the back of his neck. The jolt of pain gave way to red and black dots.