The fire in the brazier had died again.
I sat by the far wall of the recruitment center; my back pressed to the cold stone and my knees pulled tightly to my chest. My cloak, if you could even call it that anymore, was just a rag that reeked of mold and piss. Every breath made my ribs ache like they were trying to snap through my skin.
The place always stank of sweat and desperation. Smoke from the brazier clung to the ceiling like a ghost, mixing with the scent of unwashed bodies and dried blood. The benches were warped from years of use, and the stones beneath our feet were stained dark from the boots of those who never came back.
The room was alive with noise. Young men packed the benches, some laughing, others too nervous to speak. A recruiter in bronze-plated armor paced between the rows. His boots clanged with every step across the cracked floor. Occasionally, he would stop, point at someone, and bark, "You. Step forward."
That was the dream. Get chosen, get tested, get accepted. Walk out in real gear with a clan's crest on your shoulder. Suddenly, your life had meaning. You mattered.
Me? I just stayed where I was. Watching. Waiting. Slowly wasting away.
I'd been there for weeks. Maybe longer. I'd stopped counting days.
No food. No bed. Not even a number anymore. They gave up on calling me after the first few times. I had become part of the floor, something they learned to step around.
A broad-shouldered boy stood near the front, a cocky smile on his face. He wore fur armor, still clean. The recruiter gave him a once-over, grunted approval, and waved him through. The boy turned and gave a wink to his friend before disappearing behind the archway.
His friend whooped and laughed like they'd already won a war.
I looked down at the rock in my palm. It wasn't a weapon. Too small, too smooth. Just something to hold onto. Something real. A reminder that I still existed, that I was still here.
One of the guards passed close. I felt his eyes on me. That usual look. Disgust mixed with confusion.
Why are you still here?
I could tell him. I could tell all of them. About the training I'd done on my own, in the forests outside Varrak. How I hunted rats and gutted them clean, same as I would a man. How I stole scrolls and studied every page I could before burning them for warmth. I knew tactics. I understood magic theory. I wasn't useless.
But I didn't say a word. I kept my mouth shut and stared at the floor.
Let them ignore me. Let them forget I exist.
Because when the day comes, when I'm standing over their broken bodies, I want them to remember exactly who they left behind.
Time passed. Another hour, maybe two. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I'd throw up nothing. The brazier stayed cold, and the wind creeping in through the high slats bit into my bones.
My stomach wasn't just empty. It was hollow, like it had forgotten how food even felt. Every noise in the room echoed louder than it should. My ears rang sometimes, especially when I stood up too fast. But I never passed out. Not once. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant I still had enough left in me to do something awful.
Then I heard a voice. Sharp, clear, and unfamiliar.
"Him. That one."
The entire room seemed to freeze. My eyes lifted slowly.
A new recruiter stood across the hall. Younger than the others. His beard was neatly oiled, his coat lined with silver trim. He had rings on every finger. Behind him stood two guards and a servant holding a scroll.
He looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot.
"You've been here how long?" he asked.
My lips were dry. I had to wet them before I could answer. "Long enough."
He let out a short laugh. "Stand up."
I rose, unsteady. My legs shook, and my head spun, but I managed. I kept the rock clenched in my hand.
The recruiter stepped closer, eyes scanning me up and down like I was a pile of rotten meat.
"You're skin and bones," he muttered. "And that smell… gods. You think showing up every day like some mangy dog makes you worthy of a clan? If I wanted someone weak, I'd hire a corpse."
The guards chuckled behind him.
"Why are you still here?" he asked.
Same damn question.
I met his eyes. "Because I've got nowhere else to go."
He stared at me for a second, then gave a dismissive scoff.
"Pitiful."
He turned his back on me and waved his hand.
"Leave him. Waste of breath."
They moved on. Their footsteps faded behind them.
I stayed standing, motionless, the cold rock digging into my palm hard enough to draw blood.
That was it then. Not even the new ones wanted me.
Slowly, I sank to my knees. My arms hung loose at my sides.
But I didn't cry. I didn't scream or beg or chase after them.
I just whispered the words I'd been repeating since the first time they turned me away.
"Someday, you'll beg me."
And when that day comes, I won't be smiling.
I'll be watching you bleed.
And I'll remember every name, every face, every laugh.
Even if they don't remember mine.