Chapter 9.5

He returned later that afternoon, with another bowl of creamy stuff, "It's just oats, see?" he ate a spoon full and offered the bowl to me. Reluctantly I took it. "It's not exactly the nicest thing to eat, but its food." My eyes drifted from the food back to Luke, and in that moment my stomach growled uncontrollably so I decided to trust him, just for now. Until I could think of something better. The oats were quite bland and sticky, but once I'd put one spoon full in my mouth, I wolfed it down.

"you must be pretty bored, so I brought you something." He placed a set a coloured sticks and paper on the table besides my bed. I didn't know what they were, but I thought that I was inspect them when he left.

He asked me more questions, but not about Dark Moon Squad. It seemed like he was purposefully avoiding the subject and I couldn't understand why.

"What do you remember of your family?"

"I don't remember them. I was brought up in an orphanage."

"Do you remember what the orphanage was called?"

I didn't. I couldn't give any details about the surroundings either, as the first time I'd left the orphanage was when I was sold to Garlantia.

"Do you know what country it was in?"

"Reagen."

He didn't seem surprised, but he did seem a little troubled. "Well since you're a Reagen citizen we can give you sanctuary, but there's no way to prove who you are if you don't even know your name."

"Sanctuary? What does that mean?"

"It means we can keep you safe from Garlantia."

Safe from Garlantia? Was there such thing? Why would they do that? Didn't they know I've killed people? Maybe even people he knew?

He glanced down at his wristwatch "Well I've got to get going now, but when you're feeling up for it, I would like to introduce you to some of the children here."

Children? Did they have child soldiers too? Did they want me to fight for them instead? After he left, my mind swum with different possibilities.

A few more days passed before Luke returned. I did get a bit bored, so I tried to figure out what the coloured sticks were- they didn't smell very good or taste very nice, but when I dropped them on the paper, it left a coloured mark. Did he want me to write something?

I wrote the name he gave me – Ezra and wondered if it could possibly be the name I was given at birth, expect it didn't feel right. But then I realised I wrote it in Garlantian, and I felt like I did something terribly wrong. I screwed up the paper and dropped it under my bed. I spend the rest of that day, staring up at the ceiling.