Title: Ashes of a Name, Blades of Redemption

Perspective: Amira — Traitor's Daughter, Black Axe Initiate

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They shaved our heads.

Stripped us of clothes, identity, and weakness.

The Black Axe Auxiliary Corps didn't care if you were once noble, once educated, or once anything. In here, you were dirt—measured only by blood, bruises, and obedience.

There were hundreds of us. Children of disgraced officials. Abandoned cousins. Bastards of exiled warlords. All nameless.

We lived in underground barracks, barely lit, crawling with grit and cold steel. Each morning began with the same words, barked over loudspeakers:

> "If you are not Blackwood, you are nothing. And if you are nothing, you must become useful—or be erased."

Training was hell.

No breaks. No mercy. No food unless earned.

We fought with sticks, then knives. We ran until our legs gave out. Those who fell behind were beaten by the enforcers—bigger, masked versions of us. Failed initiates turned into monsters.

I almost quit on the tenth day when my ribs cracked under a baton. I couldn't breathe. I cried out, "I didn't ask to be born to a traitor!"

Someone kicked my face for speaking.

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Week 5:

We were introduced to real weapons—firearms, explosive kits, stun grenades. They taught us tactics: infiltration, assassination, sabotage. All while calling us maggots, shame-bearers, useless meat sacks.

One night, an enforcer pulled me aside. His voice was low.

> "You're Davrek's daughter, yeah?"

I flinched. I nodded.

He leaned in, whispering, "Emperor Chris knows. He asked for a list of initiates. Yours was on it. He marked your name with a red line."

> "Red… what does that mean?"

> "Means he's watching."

I didn't sleep that night. The Emperor—the God of Blackwood—knew I existed.

Was it to erase me personally? Or… did I still have a thread of hope?

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Week 9: Blood Trials

Every initiate had to face another to the death. No exceptions.

They said it was the only way to purge weakness and see who was worthy of the real unit: the Black Axe Men.

My opponent was a tall, muscled boy from Sector 14. He laughed when he saw me, cracked his knuckles.

> "You shouldn't be here," he said. "Little traitor."

I didn't respond. I simply adjusted my stance. My dagger ready.

The fight was brutal.

He broke my nose.

I stabbed his thigh.

He punched my shoulder out of socket.

I headbutted him till he bled.

When we fell, exhausted and shaking, I reached his throat first. I held the blade. My hands trembling.

He spat blood at me and whispered, "Do it… traitor."

And I did.

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Later that night:

They dragged me out of the arena. Cleaned me up. Gave me new gear. A black badge with silver stripes.

> "Initiate #0097 – Amira. You are now a candidate for frontline integration under direct evaluation of the Black Axe Supreme Commander."

My jaw clenched. My breath caught.

That meant only one thing.

> The Emperor had taken notice.

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Meanwhile, in the palace…

Chris sat in his war chamber, reports scattered across the table. One of his generals approached quietly and placed a file down.

> "Subject #0097. Female. 17. Survived Blood Trials. Daughter of Davrek."

Chris didn't speak for a long time. He flipped through the papers, then paused.

> "Davrek's blood," he muttered. "Tainted lineage… or potential redemption?"

He closed the file. Eyes cold.

> "Send her to Sector Omega. Let's see if she lives long enough to matter."

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