There was no pain, no sudden gasps or rude awakening. The boy, Nair, opened his eyes and after a few blinks everything shifted into focus. Against all expectations, he felt rested and at ease. Another might have thought himself to be dead, but Nair was convinced he was alive and well.

He was in a small tent, one that would barely shelter a single grown man. The rough canvas above his head a pale hue of light brown or beige. He was lying on what felt like a cot made of a wooden frame and leather straps. Someone had laid a heavy woolen blanket on him. Someone had removed his shirt and boots, but he still had his pants.

As to how much time could have passed, Nair could not tell. What now, he thought. Nair simply lay there, his fingers playing with the coarse texture of his woolen blanket.

Thoughts flew through his mind at the speed of light. He could not grasp them, could not shape them into something cohesive. The emotions and experiences of at least two souls fought inside Nair, shattering his thoughts into pieces.

The boy cried and wished to disappear, pleaded for whoever to help him, for his parents to come and take him away. The man was much more stoic. Find out where you are, see if you can hide, run, survive. Defend yourself, if you must.

Hide.

Run.

There is little stopping you.

Nair suddenly realised he was not bound in any way. As a nasty suspicion took root in his mind, Nair swiftly threw off the heavy woolen blanket, slid off the low cot and crawled out of the tent. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed a sea of such small tents surrounding him, and other, larger ones dotted in between.

But what caught his attention was the large tattoo seared into his torso. A spiral pattern covered his heart, his left shoulder, and several vines ran down his left arm, stopping at his wrist. It was difficult to discern the crest in the middle of the spiral, but there was one. He had been given the brand of a slave.

In response, the soundless memories of the boy inside him wailed, filling Nair with fear and despair. The man simply pondered in silence at this new piece of information as such brands and slavery were foreign to him.

"Finally awake, I see." A familiar voice thundered nearby. Nair's gaze easily found the woman clad in the armour of the hawk.

He said nothing, but observed the woman. There was beauty underneath the scars on her face and neck and underneath the visible signs of exhaustion in her face. When Nair had first seen her, her jet black hair had been in a tight bun, now it hung loosely over one shoulder. He could not tell how old she really was. Younger than the boar-helmed man, definitely.

"Quit gawping!" She barked in the same imperious voice she had addressed him as they first met.

Unperturbed, Nair simply averted his gaze at the armour the woman was wearing. The colours almost made her look like a peacock's tail-feathers. The woman was armed, he noticed. A short sword and a dagger hung on her right hip, and an ornate bow was visible over her left shoulder.

"Your name was Nair? An apt name."

Nair nodded slowly.

"A recruit opens their mouth and replies with a clear voice!" The woman barked.

The memories of the boy whimpered and wanted to run. The man kept his silence. And so, Nair could only mumble, unable to think for himself. "Whysmanameap?"

"Excuse me?"

Nair shook his head and slapped his cheeks, sighing in exasperation. "Why is my name apt?" He finally asked with a stiff jaw.

"A recruit only answers, they do not question." The woman said with the same imperious tone.

For a little while neither of them said anything, and for all Nair cared only the two of them might have existed in this moment. The sea of tents vanished and all Nair could see was her. She was not that tall, he realised. He was almost as tall as she was.

The woman suddenly blushed, took a step back and shattered this illusion. Looking away, she sighed and in a much softer voice this time, addressed Nair again. "It is apt, for it is the name of the God of War."

"Where am..." Nair began, but the woman cut him off.

"Get dressed." She pointed to a pile of clothes and grey leather and mail armour next to the tent. Next to those was the same dull green sword he had won from the officer and a backpack. "Take your weapon and the backpack and follow me."

Realising it was best to save the questions for later, Nair did as he was told and soon enough was trailing the woman through the sea of tents. In the distance, he could see the ramparts and curtain walls of a vaguely familiar city. She was moving at a brisk pace, with long strides, and Nair had to jog a few times to keep up.

"You place the flat of the blade on your shoulder, the tip pointing up and behind you when it is not in a sheathe." The woman suddenly said and stopped after she had glanced over her shoulder. "That's what that groove in your shoulder pad is for."

Nair stared in a stupor as the woman gently took his sword arm with the blade and placed it where she said it ought to be. Without saying anything else, she then adjusted the single-strap backpack on his other shoulder, tightened a few belts on his armour and after a long look into his eyes, she finally stepped away.

They resumed their walk, but Nair could not have felt any more awkward in his body as he did right now.

"You are now a slave to war." Saying that, she grunted a laugh. "You, me and everyone else on this cursed continent. Like me, you are now battle-slave to Toldarad, the boar of the season unending. We are a mercenary company called the Pact."

She fell silent for a moment, seemingly mulling over her own thoughts.

"I am not good at these kinds of speeches." She sighed and continued. "We are both slaves, but for now I am to teach and train you. You can consider me your master, mentor, whatever you like. But all I can give you is a chance to survive."

At those words the memories of the man inside him suddenly lit up, completely drowning the confused whimpering of the boy. It's not as if the man had such an experience before, but he understood a part of it. And this understanding slowly seeped into Nair.

Whatever it may cost.