The Training Begins

The Dominion did not allow weakness.

From the moment Elias and Lira were taken from their families, their bodies and minds no longer belonged to them. They belonged to something greater—something merciless. The facility where they were housed was not a school, not an orphanage, not a home. It was a machine, and every child within it was a raw material waiting to be shaped, refined, hardened.

For years, they had been fed, clothed, and monitored in the sterile halls of this place, conditioned to accept discipline before they were even old enough to understand what discipline meant. But today, for the first time in their lives, they were truly being thrown into the fire.

Because today, training began.

The First Day of Training

Elias was awake before the alarms sounded. He had learned, even at a young age, that anticipation was key. The Dominion rewarded those who were ready, punished those who were slow. Even in the half-light of the barracks, he could sense the tension that filled the air, the unspoken fear hanging between the other trainees who lay on their identical cots.

They were all the same age—five years old now—but no child here had the softness of youth. Five years in The Dominion's hands stripped away innocence before it could even fully form.

The moment the overhead lights blazed to life, the alarms followed—a shrill, piercing sound designed not to wake them, but to shock them into movement.

"Get up. Get up. Get up."

The voice was cold, mechanical, projected from unseen speakers embedded in the walls. Elias was already standing before the voice finished speaking. He glanced around, watching the slower ones scramble. A boy to his left hesitated a second too long, and before he could even lift himself from his cot, a trainer was there.

The trainers moved like shadows—silent, efficient, deadly. The child barely had time to register the presence of the figure before a thick baton cracked against his ribs.

"Too slow," the trainer murmured.

The boy didn't cry. He knew better. Crying brought only more pain. He forced himself to his feet, gasping for breath, but the lesson had already been made clear to the rest of them. Hesitation is punished. Delay is weakness.

Elias had learned these rules early. He didn't need to be taught them again.

The Divide

The training yards were vast, stretching endlessly beyond the facility walls, bordered by reinforced steel fences that hummed with electricity. Beyond the fences, there was nothing but wasteland—flat, barren land that stretched toward the horizon. A reminder that escape was futile. There was nowhere to go.

The children, now awake and dressed in standard gray training uniforms, were divided into groups. Boys on one side, girls on the other. Lira found herself among a sea of identical figures, each child's hair cut short, their expressions carefully neutral.

A voice rang out over the speakers:

"Today, you begin. You will run, you will fight, you will learn. You will succeed, or you will fall. The Dominion does not tolerate failure."

There was no introduction to their instructors, no kindness to ease them into their new reality. They had been brought here to endure, not to be comforted.

And then it began.

Breaking the Body

The first exercise was simple. Run.

And so they ran.

No instructions were given beyond that single word. No explanations. No guidance. The trainers stood along the track, silent, their visors reflecting the gray sky above them.

Some children hesitated. Some tried to ask questions. They were the first to fall.

Batons struck out, sending the hesitant ones sprawling onto the ground. By the time the second blow came, the message had been received: Run or suffer.

Elias did not need to be told twice. His legs burned as he pushed himself forward, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Around him, other children struggled, their smaller bodies not yet used to the strain.

Some fell. Some were forced back up. Some were left behind.

The Dominion was not interested in explanations. They were interested in results.

By the time the run ended, half the children lay gasping on the ground. Those who had collapsed were dragged away—where to, no one knew. No one dared to ask.

"Again," the voice from the speakers commanded.

And so they ran again.

And again.

And again.

Breaking the Mind

Physical training was only the first stage. The real test came afterward.

After hours of running, the children were led into a dimly lit room, bare except for a row of chairs facing a single, enormous screen. The moment they sat down, thick straps snapped over their wrists, locking them into place.

Lira barely had time to process what was happening before the screen flickered to life.

It started with colors. Flashes of bright, shifting light. Then patterns. Images. Sounds. They came in rapid, chaotic bursts—too fast to follow, too strange to understand.

And then came the voices.

"You are nothing."

"You belong to The Dominion."

"Pain is temporary. Obedience is eternal."

The images on the screen twisted and changed—scenes of people being punished, bodies crumpling under invisible weight, figures standing tall and unyielding. The weak suffered. The strong endured.

It was hypnotic, overwhelming. The flashing lights and sudden bursts of sound made it impossible to focus on any single thought for more than a moment.

Lira clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to fight the sensation of her mind slipping. But the voice on the screen was relentless.

"You will not fail."

"You will obey."

The training was more than physical. It was designed to break them, to strip away hesitation and self-doubt, to burn The Dominion's law into their very minds.

Elias sat in silence, his face unreadable, his hands gripping the chair's arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing was slow, steady. He did not let himself react.

Because he knew that was what they wanted.

Breaking the Soul

The final part of the day was the worst.

The sparring ring was simple—a circular pit lined with steel barriers. The rules were even simpler.

"Fight."

Lira was thrown into the pit before she even realized what was happening. Across from her, another girl of the same age stood trembling, her expression flickering between fear and determination.

The trainers did not explain the purpose of this exercise. They did not tell the children why they had to fight, only that they must.

Lira hesitated. The girl hesitated.

A low beep sounded from above.

The girl's collar—thin and metallic, barely noticeable—flashed red. An electric current pulsed through it.

She collapsed, writhing.

The voice from above was calm.

"Hesitation is failure."

Lira stared.

The girl struggled back to her feet, her breathing ragged, her body shaking. Her eyes flicked to Lira, wide and desperate.

Lira understood.

She lunged.

The fight was short, clumsy, fueled more by instinct than skill. But in the end, Lira was standing, and the other girl was on the ground, her lip split, her hands clutching at her bruised ribs.

"Winner."

A door opened. Lira was ushered out. The girl was dragged away.

She did not see her again.

The Beginning of the End

By the time the sun had set, Elias and Lira lay in their barracks, silent. Their bodies ached, their minds were clouded, but neither of them spoke.

Because they understood now.

There was no comfort in this place. No safety. No kindness.

There was only survival.

And from this moment forward, survival was all that mattered.