The wind was strong, rocking the boats and almost making Asher seasick as he stood on the edge, trying to keep his balance as he helped unload it. Fishermen had returned that morning with rather large catches, making for a long and busy day. By the time they finished unloading one boat, another would already be pulling into the dock.

His hands were stiff and cold from the ice blocks used to chill the sea creatures, forcing him to puff hot air into his palms when he had a spare moment. The Viarro Family, gifted elemental users, often used their abilities to cool the fish for transportation. He had no such gift; therefore, he felt about as stone-cold as the creature in his hands. Fish eyes stared back at him, making him feel even more queasy.

Asher sighed in relief as he stepped onto solid ground, easing his stomach. His nose scrunched in disgust as he stared down at his pruney hands, reeking of fish and seawater. He still wasn't sure how he felt about this job.

The sound of a motor caught his ear, and he groaned as he watched another large boat pull in, people running over to assist the crew in tying it up to wooden posts.

"Crowe!" a raspy voice called to him. The fishmonger, an older heavyset man, made his way over using a cane to steady himself.

"Sir?"

"You have a visitor, so you may as well leave early. That should be the last boat for the day anyway," he said, nodding over to the one pulling in.

"Visitor? Where?" he asked in confusion, wiping his palms on his damp jeans, a failed attempt to dry them.

"The official-looking fellow over there," he pointed over his shoulder towards the dock entrance, and Asher's stomach felt iffy again as he made contact with a familiar set of steely eyes.

"Great," he mumbled.

"What did you do, boy?" the old man whispered.

"Nothing, as far as I know, sir," Asher shrugged, patting the man's boney shoulder as walked passed him.

His boots landed heavily on the wooden dock, the faintest squishing noise could be heard from within them, his socks completely soaked. He was exhausted, and a second interaction with this man within less than two days was not his idea of time well spent.

He rolled his shoulders back and stood a little straighter, bringing himself out of his mental slump as he approached him. It was the same silver-haired official as before, Captain Ryker. In all his glory, he stood there to the brim in his well-tailored attire, the Garrick symbol flowing proudly on his billowing cloak. Asher thought if he were a different person, the sight would impress him, and maybe even inspire him.

"Can I help you?" Asher asked impatiently, crossing his arms as he came to a stop a few feet away.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Crowe," the man said, seeming to have snapped him out of a daze, "I was just admiring the boats, such a wonderful way to travel, is it not?"

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, ignoring the man's attempt at conversation, "I remember you from yesterday, raiding my home."

"Technically we didn't raid your apartment, we inspected it and left. We didn't take anything from you or your property, I assure you," the Captain said sternly.

Yes, how dare I accuse you of such an atrocity! Asher thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want?"

"My oh my, straight to the point hm? Alright then," Captain Ryker mumbled, reaching into a pouch attached to his belt. He pulled out an envelope and offered it to him.

Asher stared at it cautiously. It was a brown and made with thick, crisp paper. His name was written in a graceful script that wasn't done by a computer, but by hand. He reached out with a steady hand and took it, holding it gently in his hands, and admired it further. Turning it over, he breathed heavily through his nose as his eyes landed on the melted wax seal on the back. It was pressed with none other than the Garrick symbol itself.

He had seen letters that others had received from the Garrick or Capitol. They were official-looking, yes, but nothing of this magnitude. They were typed, printed, and mailed out to numerous people. There was no time to pay attention to such detail as handwritten names and wax seals. This was for him and only him.

"It won't bite," the Captain said, his face complete stone, "I'm afraid we are out of that type of paper as of late. Better luck next time."

Asher tried to keep his eye from twitching in irritation as he tore the letter open, reminding himself that there was nothing about this letter that was of real value to him. It was the Capitol, after all. Who cared if he ripped it to pieces? He would read it, pay whatever fine or do whatever task they asked of him, and then be done with it. Then hopefully, he'd never have to see this sarcastic prick of a Captain ever again.

However, when he unfolded the single-page letter and read the first line, he stopped breathing. The man in front of him watched in fascination as Asher's face quickly turned to the color of chalk, his brow rising in shock and pupils dilating as fear rose in his chest.

"Force... Forced..." he hesitated, brain stuttering, trying to bring himself out of a paused state as the words on the letter bounced around inside his skull.

"Yes, yes, you can do it, I believe in you," the Captain patronized him.

"Forced recruitment?!" Asher exploded, eyes fierce as they snapped up to meet the Captain's, daring him to confirm the information. His pulse was quickly becoming erratic, and even in his damp state, he could tell he was beginning to sweat.

"Yes," the man responded calmly, "Mr. Crowe, this is the official document so you do not have to simply take my word for it, but I have been sent to inform you of your status change from a nonparticipant of this year's Trial, to an active participant. Congratulations on being specifically selected by the Capitol and Garrick."

Asher stared at the paper in disbelief, looking for a sign that this was a mistake, a joke, or illegal. He carefully read through it, making a note of all the signatures from several people he assumed were Capitol or Garrick officials. If this paper came directly from there and straight to him, that meant there were a lot more eyes on him than he was aware of.

"This can't be happening," he mumbled, arms dropping to his sides and holding the paper loosely in his hand. He stared at the silver-haired man warily, eyes pleading with him to say it wasn't real, and that his life wasn't about to be ruined. Hoping that he wasn't going to have to leave home, he wasn't going to have to train, and he wasn't going to do it all just to die in the end.

"Please," he asked, "don't make me do this."

The man eyed him carefully for a moment, "I'm not making you do anything, the Capitol is. I'm simply the messenger."

Asher was silent. Just when he thought the Capitol system couldn't be worse, they pull the rug out from under him. They were indifferent, just like the Captain, uncaring that they put him flat on his back, that they knocked the air out of his chest, leaving him gasping for air, for normalcy.

His eyes traveled down the man's crisp, clean uniform to land on his belt where his weapon was sheathed, a sword.

"Don't even think about it, boy," he warned, placing his hand on the hilt, "that's not a game you want to play."

"It would get me out of this though, right?" he asked, dull brown eyes meeting the man's grey ones once again.

The Captain's facade cracked, a look of slight surprise crossing his features, only to be quickly covered by impassiveness once again, "are you that desperate?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you have two options," the man reasoned, settling his weight onto one leg and keeping his opposite hand on the hilt of his weapon, "attempt to take my weapon and be taken to the Capitol Correctional Center for the attempted murder of a Garrick Captain, or sign the paper and be on your way."

"It's not that simple. I'd be signing away my life!" he protested.

"Nothing in life is simple, Mr. Crowe, and the world won't stop turning just because you have to make a difficult choice, which means you're currently wasting my time with this pointless argument."

Asher's fists clenched, crumpling the paper in his hand. He could see in his mind's eye, taking the sword and slashing the man before him into a fleshy bloody mess, ending the conversation and making the letter go missing. Tossing it into the ocean never to be seen again, along with the Captain's body.

"Well?" the man pressed for an answer, tapping his finger on the metal of the sword's hilt impatiently.

"I have nothing to sign with," he said grimly, reluctantly loosening his hold on the letter and attempted to smooth out the crinkles he had caused.

The Captain stepped closer, holding a pen out, and Asher quickly snatched it from him.

He felt like prey signing away his life to a bunch of predators, or like that frozen fish, watching helplessly as he is thrown into a truck only to be eaten later. His chest tightened as he guided the tip of the pen to the paper, signing his name with a trembling hand.

"Why me?" he asked, handing the paper and pen back.

"What do you mean?"

"Forced recruitment only happens to the especially talented people who choose not to do the Trial, or when there is a war, and every person is needed. I can tell this was meant for just me," he explained, gesturing the paper, which was now back in the Captain's side pouch.

"Do you not view yourself as talented?" the man asked curiously.

"I don't know."

"You don't seem to know very much, Mr. Crowe."

"I know that the entire Capitol is full of a bunch of bullshit, liars, and cruel manipulators that gaslight the majority of the population," Asher snapped.

"Opinionated, aren't we?"

"Only a little," he replied sarcastically.

The Captain gave him a calculating stare, almost seeming to be searching for something. There was emotion playing behind his eyes that Asher couldn't place. The two were having a staredown in the middle of the pathway, those who walked by having to weave around them did so as quickly and quietly as possible, a sense of fearfulness left in their wake. Asher wasn't alone in his dislike of the Captain and his people.

Ignoring their surroundings, the man continued with his business: "By signing this letter, you acknowledge your recruitment and agree to work towards meeting the Trial, meaning training requirements," the Captain explained. "You will be contacted again soon to sort this out, for considering the time frame you are working with, you will need help training for it."

Asher tried his best to listen, continuously having to fight his instinct to run. It didn't matter if he ran, he was committed, and the only reason Asher was committed was that he had no choice. It was an endless circle spinning around in his mind, numbing him, dulling his senses and the sting that the man's words were leaving behind as they reached his ears. Every moment Asher spent standing there, interacting with this man, and discussing this horrible turn of events, he was going against everything he believed.

"Lastly, by signing, you have agreed to keep the fact you are training for the Trial, and taking part in it, to yourself. You are not to share this information with anyone in any way. You are to only discuss such things with members of the Capitol or the Garrick."

"Wait, what?" Asher asked in surprise, "I can't even tell people?"

"No," the man replied simply.

"Why? For what reason?"

"For reasons only the Capitol needs to know."

Asher growled in frustration, "Are you kidding me?!" he yelled.

"No jokes here. Unfortunately, people don't find me very funny when I do stand up," the Captain said with a blank face.

Asher stared at the man in disbelief.

"Reveal any of this information, and you will suffer punishment carried out by the Capitol. I can't tell you specifically what it would entail, but I think we can both agree it wouldn't be pleasant. Understood?"

"Do I have a choice besides saying yes?"

"You could say, yes sir," the Captain suggested.

"I'll stick to just a yes," he growled.

"Very well, good enough for me," the man shrugged and turned to walk away, "Be seeing you soon, Mr. Crowe. Enjoy your night," he called over his shoulder.

Asher watched the man leave, scowling at the Garrick symbol on his cloak until he disappeared into the bustling crowd of the market in the distance.

It truly scared him how much life could change, and how quickly. In mere seconds his entire life of disliking the Capitol and refusing to partake in their events fizzled out, leaving him with nothing but a future clad in the uniform he detests more than anything. He would likely die wearing it.

He shivered as the sun dipped behind the treeline, the chill he suffered from earlier still present in his core. Clenching his jaw in frustration, sadness, emotional agony, he walked away. He didn't know where he was going, but Asher knew he didn't want to see his friends. He didn't want to go home, where he would probably be found eventually when he didn't show up to see them as they had planned.

So he wandered around, quietly keeping to himself as he wove through the market crowd. Asher watched the pleasant faces of the villagers' smile and laugh with one another, and felt his heart sink as he realized he was no longer one of them.