Rumble!
The roof of the hall slid open, bathing the scene in moonlight and a cool, night breeze.
Dozens of small objects flew in, landing neatly in front of each child.
"These are your identity tokens," declared the man who was once the Purple Owl-Mask.
"Your team number is inscribed upon it. From this moment, you are candidates on the path of Sadhana. The ring will allow you to understand all languages spoken here."
Ashan picked up his token.
It was bronze, featuring a complex 7-pointed star, each point resembling a fang or a tail.
At its center was a black spiral eye. The lines seemed made of smoky, molten ink—but his were a distinct, rusted gold.
'My sin's color.'
He turned it over. The number 7 was etched into the back.
'Team Seven. So these six are my squad now. My fantasy training arc begins.' A dark smirk touched his lips.
The ring was a simple band of brass. He slid it onto the index finger of his right hand.
A faint hum settled in his mind, a sense of comprehension he couldn't explain.
The leaders left the platform, and a new voice, booming and brutal, took over.
"Listen well, maggots! Form straight lines in front of the dwelling huts! Now!"
The candidates scrambled, forming seven ragged rows.
"I am Ress Aklim of the House of Wrath, Tiger Faction. Your head combat instructor. When I call your team number, step forward, state your name, and collect your supplies."
The man was intimidating, with a sharp jawline marred by a deep scar running along his chin. A scarlet cloak was draped over his shoulder.
"Team 1!"
"Yes, Sir!" seven voices chorused. The military conditioning had already begun.
'Just as I thought. Brutal discipline.'
"Team 7!"
"Yes, Sir!" Ashan and his six tablemates stepped forward.
They called out their names in order: "Dris!" "Rodric!" "Ballio!" "Helma!" "Damara!" "Imla!"
"Ashan!" He kept his expression rigid, his new eyes noting every detail of the instructor's fearsome posture.
One by one, they collected a bundle wrapped in black cloth from an attendant. Ashan's was surprisingly heavy.
'Oof. What's in here, rocks?' He hefted it and returned to his place in line, his legs already protesting the wait.
***
In a candlelit room far from the yard, seven figures sat around a round table. Their masks lay before them.
"Did you all sense it?" asked Zarah, the former Purple Owl-Mask, his voice low.
"Dovin," said an elegant man with a silver peacock mask, "surely even you felt it during the baptism."
The fierce man with the scarlet tiger mask—Dovin—scowled. "Felt what?"
"A candidate unlocked an Anupamah Siddhi," stated an alluring woman, her crimson fox mask glinting. Her voice was like a melody.
The room fell into a stunned silence.
'There... were... fluctuations...' a raspy, slow voice came from the man with the gray bear mask. He seemed half-asleep. '...Only... when... Mahanada... speaks... at the... unlocking.'
"Impossible!" Dovin slammed a hand on the table. "One of these dregs?"
"It is not impossible," rebutted a sharp-faced woman with a green spider mask. "Extreme trauma is a known catalyst."
"Zarah, any idea who it was?" asked the final member, a calm man with a golden serpent mask.
"You know we cannot know," Zarah shook his head. "The 'Great Voice' whispers only to the chosen. We merely sense the aftermath."
"A fascinating development," the Fox-Mask lady mused, a light laugh escaping her lips. "Given our... strained circumstances, a candidate with a Siddhi could be a significant asset."
Dovin snorted. "We don't even know what it does!"
"The candidate is untrained. Their power is a flicker. It will reveal itself in time, once their Sadhana begins," said the Spider-Mask woman.
"And if they hide it?" asked the Serpent-Mask man.
"Then they hide it. Forcing the issue is pointless. We watch. We do not inform the instructors; we report only to the House Leaders. Let the candidate feel secure enough to make a mistake."
Zarah nodded. "I will oversee this. The rest of you return to your posts. The warmongers in the north are on the move again."
"Whose fault is that?" the peacock-masked man, Dureel, said with disdain, looking at Dovin.
"Dureel, you bastard! You want to taste my fire?!" Dovin roared, rising from his seat.
The air crackled with tension.
"Dureel. Dovin." The Fox-Mask lady's voice cut through, sweet yet deadly.
"Have you forgotten the treaty? The seven houses are allied. We are the 'House of Sins' now. Break the peace, and you answer to your leaders."
Dovin clicked his tongue and sat back down, fuming.
"This meeting is concluded," Zarah said. "We must remain covert. The four kingdoms are already hunting our influence on the mainland."
***
"Team 30, forward!" Instructor Aklim's voice echoed, finally calling the last group.
'Finally. My legs are jelly.'
"Listen up, maggots! Your supplies contain a uniform and a rulebook." The instructor paused, his scar twitching.
"Three bell chimes will sound before sunrise. That is your wake-up call. Fail to rise, and you will regret it. Bathhouses and washrooms are to the north and south.
Your schedule is in the book—not that any of you maggots can read!"
His furious boom made every candidate flinch.
"There are ten wells with pulleys at the front of the hut area. Draw your own water.
I will explain this only once!
You have fifteen minutes after waking to perform your morning chores and assemble here in these lines. Understood?!"
"UNDERSTOOD, SIR!" The reply was a unified shout.
"Now get to your assigned huts! Move, or I'll add a hundred laps to your first day!"
Ashan hefted his heavy bundle.
'So much for a peaceful life. Then again, peaceful was never a word that applied to me.'