I took my seat at the back, keeping my eyes low, trying to appear smaller, less noticeable. The room was filled with kids from every corner of the Empire—pale-skinned, golden-haired children with accents that clipped the words like they were biting off chunks of ice; dark-skinned boys and girls from the southern deserts, their faces set in hard lines, already calculating their odds of making it through this nightmare alive. We were a patchwork of stolen youth, collected from every war front and every backwater village.
I glanced around at my fellow captives—some looked intrigued, while others wore expressions of barely contained dread. It was clear that we were all trying to navigate the thin line between curiosity and survival.
Kel slumped into a seat nearby,I could see the twitch in his hand as he absently traced the edge of the desk. He wasn't the only one uneasy—Meris sat to my left, her eyes vacant, lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line. She only spoken three times to me since we've been captured, and now her silence felt heavier than the tension hanging in the air.
The teacher stood there, smiling that perfect, practiced smile as the rest of us shuffled into our seats like cattle being herded into a pen. The lecture hall wasn't massive, but it was big enough to fit fifty people comfortably. Rows of desks lined the room, all facing the front where our teacher stood, a massive blackboard looming behind him like a slab of darkness waiting to swallow us whole.
"My name is Ian Blake," he began, waving a hand at the blackboard behind him. The chalk sprang to life, scratching out neat, tidy letters that made my skin crawl. "You can call me... Professor Ian."
Professor Ian, a fitting name for a harbinger of doom. He exudes confidence like a man who has never tasted failure. There was something wrong about him like everything about him was a façade.
"Knowledge is power," he continued, pacing the front of the lecture hall like a predator toying with its prey. "And in these walls, knowledge will be your lifeblood. You will learn not only the art of combat but the subtleties of manipulation, the intricacies of strategy, and the necessity of sacrifice."
His words twisted in the air, each syllable designed to seduce and ensnare. I could already see how it was working—eyes lighting up with fervor as visions of glory and power danced in their minds. It was a trap, a carefully laid snare, and part of me screamed to resist, to run, while another part whispered seductively, What if?
Power, he says? Tempting. I can almost hear the cries of the disillusioned already. "I'm the strongest" they'll chant, while their spirits wither under the weight of obedience. Brilliant! Maybe I should write a self-help book and become a motivational speaker myself. The Empire could use a little pep talk.
"You may find yourselves questioning the methods we employ," he said, leaning forward, his smile growing wider, though his eyes remained as cold as ever. "But remember, the road to strength is paved with hardship. Some may call it indoctrination; we prefer to think of it as enlightenment. Your pasts are no longer your own. Here, you will be reborn—each of you a tool to be sharpened and perfected."
With that he gestured and the chalk danced across the black board, creating a map, depicting the fractured lands we had traversed. "Look upon this map. Each region you see represents not just a kingdom, but a lesson. Each line, each border, is a reminder of the blood that was spilled to carve out dominion. You will learn the histories of these lands, not as stories, but as cautionary tales. The weak perish; the strong survive. And you are destined to be strong, aren't you?"
The weak perish; the strong survive. He's certainly not wrong there, though he neglects to mention how often the strong become weak when the winds shift.
His gaze swept across the room, settling on me for a heartbeat longer than the rest. I felt exposed, laid bare under his scrutiny. What did he see in me?
"Some of you were chosen to be here, some of you had no choice but to come here, and some of you may even hate the Empire. But let me tell you this: your past is the Empire. Your future is the Empire."
The instructor's voice dripped with conviction, as if he were casting a spell rather than imparting information. Each word was a weight, pressing down on us, demanding our compliance.
"Here, you will learn the truth of loyalty," he continued, pacing with a predatory grace. "Loyalty to the Empire is not merely a duty; it is your salvation. Those who cling to old grievances will find only despair. The Empire offers you purpose, a chance to become something greater than yourselves. Think of it: you could wield power, command respect. You could be part of a legacy that shapes the very fabric of this world."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a thick fog, watching as we processed this twisted vision of nobility. The glimmer of hope he dangled before us felt like a poison slowly seeping into our veins, and I could see some of my fellow students leaning forward, entranced.
"Now, forget your old lives—forget the pain, the loss, the betrayal. It is all irrelevant." He smiled, that chilling smile that promised both opportunity and threat.
"You will learn to excel, to rise above those weaknesses. You will be taught to suppress emotions, to embrace the void where compassion once thrived. Only then can you become true soldiers of the Empire."
As he spoke, I felt the walls of the room close in tighter, suffocating. This wasn't just a lesson; it was brainwashing, a systematic dismantling of our identities.
"Your training will be rigorous, your tests unyielding. But fear not; I assure you, the rewards are great for those who persevere." His gaze flicked around the room, lingering on the faces of the weary students before him. "You will be molded into agents of the Empire, equipped to crush dissent and uphold order. Imagine the thrill of wielding power—power that can bend the very will of others. How exhilarating it will be to reshape the world in our image."
My stomach churned as he spoke. The image he painted was enticing, yet the truth behind it was grotesque. The choice was stark: become a weapon for a corrupt Empire or drown in the bitterness of my past. The very thought of it made me recoil.
"And now, you will start your training. Welcome to your new life—welcome to the Accord. Your transformation begins today."
With a dramatic flourish, Ian waved his arms towards the blackboard. The chalk leapt back into action, moving with a vigor that sent a fresh shiver down my spine. It scrawled the next word with manic enthusiasm: RULES. Oh, good. Rules. As if we needed another set of those.
Ian turned back to us, his voice smooth as ever, as if we were all gathered around for a cozy fireside chat. The chalk danced in sync with his words, scratching out the first of what I was sure would be many cheerful little commandments. "Rule number one," Ian began, his tone dripping with mock kindness.
The chalk skidded to a halt, underlining the first rule with a violent slash:
"Obey without question."
The words loomed large on the board, stark and unyielding, a decree etched in chalk that felt more like a brand upon our souls than a simple guideline.
"Ah, but don't fret!" Ian exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face like a predator's. "This rule is for your own benefit, really. After all, the Empire has made it very clear that individuality is a recipe for chaos." He paused, letting the words settle over us like a thick fog. "Chaos is what we seek to eliminate here. To flourish within the Accord, one must relinquish the burden of critical thought. Embrace the simplicity of blind obedience, and life will be much easier for you."
I could feel the tension in the room, a mixture of disbelief and resignation. Some of my fellow students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others seemed captivated by Ian's fervor. It was as if he were casting a spell, binding us to the very rules designed to strip away our humanity.
"Now, rule number two," he continued, gesturing grandly as the chalk obeyed with a fervor that made my skin crawl. "Never question authority." The words slashed across the board with a flourish, as if to underline the absolute nature of this command.
"Questions, my dear students, lead to doubt. Doubt leads to dissent. And dissent leads to… well, let's not dwell on the unpleasant consequences, shall we?" His smile remained fixed, yet there was a chilling edge to his words that hinted at the horrors that awaited those who dared to stray from the path.
The chalk paused again, giving us a moment to absorb the gravity of what was being demanded. I glanced around the room, searching for any glimmer of rebellion in my peers' eyes, but all I found were echoes of uncertainty mirrored back at me.
"Rule number three," Ian said, his voice growing more theatrical, "Your loyalty belongs to the Empire above all else." He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with a fervor that was almost manic. "Here, we redefine the meaning of family. Your comrades will be your brothers and sisters in arms, but remember, should your loyalties ever come into conflict… well, I trust you can imagine the repercussions."
A collective shudder passed through the room as that ominous warning hung in the air. The chalk flared to life again, eagerly scratching out the next rule, each letter a reminder of the shackles tightening around us.
"Forget your past." The words were written with a vigor that felt almost mocking. "Leave behind your grievances, your failures, your memories. They serve no purpose here. You are not defined by what you once were, but by what you will become."
The implication was clear: our identities were being stripped away, replaced with something far more malleable—something that could be molded and shaped into the perfect instruments of the Empire.
"Lastly, rule number five," Ian proclaimed, as the chalk finished its manic dance. "You are here to serve." The words echoed through the hall, a mantra that resonated with a terrifying finality. "Your purpose is to become weapons of the Empire, tools of its will. And in serving, you shall find your true worth."
Ian's eyes locked onto mine, a flicker of something dark and amused behind those cold, calculating irises. He saw defiance, and I saw the challenge.