They hustled him into a building on the right and shoved him into a small white room, removing his handcuffs. Harsh, bright lights illuminated the entire room, adding to his distress. He had a bed, a toilet, and nothing else. The sterility reminded him of a hospital. Thankfully, a woman entered within moments.

“Hello,” she greeted him. “My name is Sister Margaret.”

“What am I doing here?” he asked her.

“I understand it’s a bit confusing right now,” the woman told him. “But I assure you, you are exactly where the Allfather intended you to be. We are a facility that helps gifted people such as yourself. Here, we help brilliant minds become the Allfather’s mightiest weapons against the world.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon.” He stared at the woman.

“Well, that’s okay.” Her uncanny smile didn’t waver. “You can always be a support clergy then—learning healing magic. There are lots of different roles here, and we only want the best for you.”

He doubted that.

“Now, we have to process you,” she told him. “I’ve brought your uniform, so we’ll need to cut your hair.”

“I can’t cut my hair.” He put his hand on his hat and held it down. He thought frantically for anything that would convince them. “Or remove my hat. It’s—it’s for religious reasons. I took a vow to the Allfather, to always keep my head covered. It’s… for his glory.”

“It’s a shame for a man to cover his head.” The woman gave him an odd look.

“I know,” he blurted out. “It’s a shame I must always bear. Please, I wouldn’t dare break my vow.”

She hesitated but smiled. “It’s fine. You can keep your hair then. It’s just like the vow Samos made to the Allfather. I’ll let you change. Just knock on the door when you’re done.”

He breathed a sigh of relief once she left and changed into the uniform. He had never seen this kind of uniform before—must be for trainees. It was charcoal grey, with yellow edging, pressed so tightly the creases in the pants stayed prominent even after he put them on. Wearing them felt like donning an imposter’s clothes. The sleeves were too long, and the pants dragged on the floor. The fabric completely swallowed his chest as he buttoned up his shirt. He pulled on the heavy leather boots the woman had brought and tucked the excess pant legs inside. They’d probably find him something that fit better tomorrow—if no one noticed the therian in their midst by then. He knocked on the door when he was done, and Sister Margaret opened it again.

“It’s late,” she said, “or rather, it’s early in the morning, so I’ll just show you to your bunk. You can get acquainted with everything tomorrow.” She led him down the barren white halls. He tried to ignore the guards stationed every few feet, but his eyes caught the glint of their spears. Weird—he thought military personnel seldom carried physical weapons. Apparently, these did, though. The woman finally stopped at an unmarked door that looked exactly like all the rest. She activated a rune, and it slid to the right. The room contained dozens of beds, and the people sleeping atop them stirred as the pair entered.

“This is you.” Sister Margaret stopped at an empty bottom bunk and motioned to it.

Illius moved forward but froze as he saw bright blue eyes sleepily peeking over the top bunk rail. Something about the eyes caught him—the wideness, the surprise, the… Was that pity? The blue-eyed man had messy, tousled hair, but Illius noticed his gaze sweeping over him, analyzing him. In a blink, the man’s expression turned to a glower, and he rolled over. “You better not snore.”

“Get some rest.” The sister turned to leave, and Illius laid down.

Why would it matter if he snored? Literally everyone else in the room did. At least for now, he was safe. How long will that last, though?

He didn’t sleep. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling, a horrible buzzer went off as the tiny sliver of dark sky visible through the square window at the back of the room turned grey.

Everyone leapt out of bed and started to dress and tie their shoes.

“Get going,” his bunkmate said, knocking on the wooden side of his bed and hopping down from the top to land lightly on his feet without using the ladder. He swept his sandy-blond hair back into a short ponytail, revealing a closely cropped side. With a swoosh, he pulled his loose bed shirt off, and Illius caught a glimpse of tight abs before averting his gaze.

He hadn’t undressed the night before, so he merely lined up with the rest of the recruits. The door opened and they filed through, the guards jeering as they walked by.

“Hey, Eric, see you got another pretty girl to join you!”

“Bet she’d look cute in a dress.” A guard reached for Illius’ hair.

“Bet you’d look cute in a dress, sweetheart.” Illius’ bunkmate—who he assumed was called Eric—grabbed the guard’s wrist before it could touch Illius’ hair and used his other hand to pat the man’s cheek familiarly.

“Fuck you!” The guard… blushed?

“Just ignore them.” The bunkmate blew them a kiss and grabbed Illius with his other hand. “And if you don’t want attention, cut your hair.”

Illius didn’t want to cut his hair, but he also didn’t want attention. He opted for not making a response.

“Are you mute?” Eric asked him, narrowing his eyes.

Illius shook his head, then flushed slightly, realizing this probably didn’t help with Eric’s assumption.

“Are you sure about that?” Eric tried to catch his eye.

“No.” He looked up at Eric and paused for just a moment. Beautiful blue eyes filled with obvious concern. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Eric’s lips curled into a slightly amused smile. “I get it. Everything’s new. I promise, this place doesn’t suck so bad once you get used to it.”

He really, really hoped Eric was right about that.

Eric kept talking as they walked. “It’s just a routine—not hard once you get used to it. We’ll go for a run this morning and then have breakfast. Indoctrination is the rest of the morning until lunch, and training’s in the afternoon.”

“What kind of training?” Illius asked, blurting the words as panic coursed through him.

“Combat.” Eric paused. “So, uh—how come you got a hat?”

“It’s for religious reasons.” Illius’ panic rose.

“Religious purposes, huh?” Eric reached up to pull it off, but Illius clamped it down.

“P-please, don’t,” he begged. “I took a vow.”

“Alright, alright.”

Another door opened, and the fresh air of the compound surrounded them.

“Let’s go, ladies!” a voice bellowed. They all started to run in a straight line. “The whole way, Eric.”

“Only if you come with me, gorgeous,” his bunkmate responded, almost automatically.

“Seems like you’re popular,” Illius said, trying to take his mind off his panic.

The man grinned. “Someone’s gotta keep ’em on their toes.”

“What’s your name?” Illius asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew.

“The one and only Eric Vagamon,” Eric said. “You?”

“Illius.”

Eric broke into a jog, and Illius followed suit. Immediately, his lungs started burning. He walked all the time, sure, but he never made a habit of running. The compound seemed to stretch out forever, but after they rounded the first two corners Eric slowed to a walk. “They can’t see how fast we’re going out here,” he said, gasping in air. “Your name—are you Parthenian or something?”

“I don’t know,” Illius panted out. “My parents never really gave me an explanation. What about you? And your name?”

A smirk formed on Eric’s lips. “Eric needs no explanation.”

Illius pushed his hair out of his face. “Doesn’t Eric mean, like, ‘ox’ or something?”

“What?” the other man turned to walk backwards in front of him.

Illius shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m probably wrong. I don’t know why I thought that.”

“It means ‘ruler,’ to set the record straight.”

“This your kingdom?” Illius tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it came anyway.

“This shithole?” Eric snorted. “Nah, but someday. Maybe.”

“You wanna rise through the ranks or something?” Illius started re-thinking Eric’s friendly veneer.

“Something like that,” Eric said, and Illius sensed he’d left quite a bit unsaid. Eric, however, changed the subject. “So, you came in last night, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“Volunteer or… chosen?”

“Chosen.” Illius glared at the ground. “If you could call it that.”

“Yeah, that’s horseshit.” Eric stretched his arms out over his head. “No one chooses to get up at the ass-crack of dawn.”

Illius almost smiled.

They finished their run and had breakfast—plain biscuits with a few hardboiled eggs—before filing into a classroom. Illius took an empty seat next to Eric in the back.

“Today we will be going over the Allfather’s teachings on grace,” the sister announced.

“It’s always about grace,” Eric muttered under his breath as he flipped through his notebook. Illius caught sight of a drawing of what looked like the compound and a lot of doodles that were probably teachers. He opened it to a new page and wrote down a little message.

He pushed the page over to Illius.

“Where are you from?”

“Eric,” the teacher said, looking over at them. “What are you doing?”

“He’s new, so I thought I’d share my notes.” Eric smiled smoothly.

“Oh, well, that’s very nice of you.” The woman flushed slightly and continued with her lecture.

“Ravenmist,” Illius wrote back.

“Were you in a facility there, too?”

“No,” he wrote back.

Eric tapped the end of his pencil on his notebook several times.

“Is there a question?” The sister looked over at the noise Eric was making.

“Uh, no,” Eric said, ceasing his racket.

The sister continued teaching, but Illius tuned most of it out. Whatever grace the Allfather had, it never extended to him. He sat there for what felt like ages, watching Eric sketching runes and doodling until the lecture was over. It soothed him somehow, the steady strokes something to focus on against the anxiety pummeling his mind.

“Want lunch?” Eric stood up.

Illius quickly nodded and followed him out of the room.