Nameless:
The Blazing Glory

Author: Keren Ziv
Disclaimer: I don't own DA
Rating: PG, because it's not G
Category: It isn't any shipper story
Author's Note: This is the first in a series

My story is a simple one. I was born, I lived, and I died, all the while remaining content with my place in the world. I suppose it is all that is in between that catches the real essence of my life. The question is, was my life worth living? And if it was, does that make it worth telling?

When I would wake, my eyes would stay closed as long as possible, as if I had some unconscious desire to keep the world at bay those few extra seconds. I would slowly rise out of bed and methodically begin to dress for the morning and the beginning of a new day.

Likewise, when I lay my head down at night, I would close my eyes immediately, silently begging for a sleep which would not come for many hours. I would listen as, slowly, one by one, all of my siblings would fall into a slumber marked by easy, rhythmic breathing. their peace at night comforted me when I would recall the tortures of their waking.

It was a day like so many others that changed my life so drastically that I feel it is worth telling you. I want to remind you here that I was happy. I woke, dressed, and ate. Then I began my exercises along with the rest of my group. We worked well; quickly and efficiently, we went through vigorous routines. Finally, we were presented with the day's objective and the goal that we were to reach. We fell into the familiarity and simplicity of it all. I led the group through the mock mission with everything I had given the day before and nothing more or less.

As always, I watched them, making personal assessments of their abilities and weaknesses. In my mind, I filed away information on each of them: which was a bit sluggish today and would be sent to sleep earlier; who it was that went forward that half-second too soon; which one worked exemplarily; and such other things as I had done every day beforehand.

After dinner and showers, we filled into our lines and began our march back to the barracks which we were occupying. Our footsteps echoed with a reverberating pulse as we walked; our eyes swept the shadows, discerning in them from where the light was cast.

I was settling down, my barrack door closed, and listening through the walls and down the hall to the sound of my brothers and sisters and their various nighttime sighs and murmurs when a bright flash and the loud noise of the door locking suddenly jarred me from sleep. I turned on my side.

The first thing I realized about it was the terrible heat which I felt. I could feel it almost immediately. The second thing I realized was the fact that the air was filled with screams. It wasn't filled with frantic cries and screeching; the screams were one, long trill and tone, almost all of them together. I stood and walked to my door.

There were flames outside the barrack doors. I could see them creeping down the hall and suddenly I understood why my kind was screaming. They were being burned alive. I tried the handle of the door and remembered it was locked; remembered that it had locked seconds before I had heard the screams.

They were killing us. I suppose I will have to tell you that the time I realized that they were killing us had already killed some, by the absence of some screams was the first time in my life that I was truly unhappy. I wasn't just discontented, though, I was confused. Why would they do it? Was I mistaken?

I closed my eyes and tried the door handle again, even though I knew that it was a futile attempt. I could see my siblings slamming their bodies against the doors, racing towards the clear plastic and ramming it, their faces bloody, and I knew fear for them.

Why? The fire was working its way stealthily towards me. I could see the flames licking at the doors of a barrack not four down from me and I could smell the scent of burning flesh and hair; I could smell the scent and I could taste it on my tongue. I tried the handle.

Why? I stared at the door across from my own barrack into the eyes of my sister. They were wide with fear and I knew that she was crying. I did not want to see her crying and I tried to reach out towards her, through the glass and any other distance between us, and comfort her, but I was blocked by the cruelties of my makers.

Why? I could hear the panicked screams of my siblings as the fire drew nearer and nearer to them. Suddenly, the doors all swung slowly open. Out of the barracks scrambled tens of children, up and down the corridor. They looked toward the western end of the corridor and saw the blaze. They looked towards the eastern end of the corridor and saw the empty wall that greeted them.

"Run through the fire," I commanded. They were not all my siblings under me, but I trusted that the authority in my voice would make them follow my directions. "Now! Are you soldiers or are you babies?"

I glanced up towards the security camera in the corner of the hallway and silently cursed. The red light was blinking, showing that we were being filmed. They knew we were down here. Help us. You opened the doors, now turn on the sprinklers. Please.

One stepped forward, towards the fire. He was tall and I could see a prominent nose on his face. He looked down the corridor towards me and nodded, then hurled himself through the fire.

"Now, before it is too late!" I told them. They raced forward, going in threes and fours at a time, wrist holding wrist, their faces clouded with fear. I realized that they were children children as I was and that we did not deserve this.

It was a malfunction of the door systems, I told myself over and over. They let us out. Why isn't the sprinkler system activating in this corridor? Why do I have to send these children out through a wall of inferno?

They were almost all gone and I could see the fire was almost too much for me to make, but if I went immediately, I would be able to withstand the heat; maybe. I turned, scanning the corridor for anyone who I might of missed, when I saw her.

She was staring at the fire with her mouth open slightly, her eyes rimmed red from crying. It my sister, who I had wanted to help before. I realized that the fire terrified her. I took a step towards her, reached out, and touched her arm. She turned her dark green eyes towards me and blinked.

"I can't," she told me. "I'm afraid."

"You don't have to be afraid," I said, leaning towards her. "I will be right behind you. You have to go."

"You don't understand. I've had nightmares ever since that mission where we were to work in the burning building and the structure collapsed almost immediately after I exited it." Her face betrayed the horror that she was feeling.

I masked my face, my emotions. "You have to go. Do you understand me? Are you a soldier?" I coughed on the smoke

She nodded. "Yes, sir, I am." She too seemed to be choking in the air. I crouched lower towards the ground, below the settling smoke, and had her do the same.

"Then what in the world are you waiting for? Move it, soldier!" I barked, noticing how slight and thin she was. She would make it. She had to. I pushed her forward. "Do I have to carry you?"

"No, sir," she told me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she raced forward. I knew that no matter how bad the heat was, she wouldn't scream. Not one of them had screamed, as there was hope in running and none in being trapped in a room. I wondered how many hadn't made it past the edge of fire.

There wasn't much time. I had to leave. I looked into the fire and suddenly realized that my fate was sealed. I couldn't make it. I couldn't even see a distant outline of the end of the corridor beyond the smoke and the flickering flames.

I was going to die. I knew that I wouldn't be the only casualty of the fire and I knew that I wouldn't be the last. I sat down slowly and crossed my legs. I waited calmly for the flames to claim me, for Manticore to win.

I didn't want them to win. No matter how much I had enjoyed my life, this was the thing that really counted. No matter how many little things had filled me with a sense of being, this one disastrous thing that they had whirled at us. It could not be forgiven.

I would be damned, though, if I were going to wait for them to take my life. I would go down swinging. I would go down in a fight that they would remember for years to come. I turned back towards the security camera and stared into it, bringing a mental image before my eyes of the director. She would remember me.

I turned towards the fire and ran, swiftly, into the flames. I didn't feel the heat, nor did I smell the burning of my hair and flesh. I only felt exhilaration.

I was wrong. I was the last death Manticore's fire claimed.