"I don't understand, Dad." I watched my father hurry around the small room like a whirlwind, picking up everything I had ever owned and tossing it all into an ancient-looking wooden chest. The heavy box looked like it had survived a few dozen wars, the lid and sides grooved and scored as if someone had taken an axe to the gold inlay, but the inside looked sturdy and solid. The large chest was now less than half full – I didn't have many earthly possessions after all – but that didn't explain why my stuff was being piled so unceremoniously inside by my father.

"It was your mother's," he told me, voice cracking over the words and as though that would explain everything. As if the mere mention of my biological mother, a woman I had never met and whom my father rarely spoke of, was enough of an explanation to negate the entire, bizarre scenario.

"But why?" I tried to raise my voice to catch my father's attention properly, in order to get a full ten words out of him in between the heart-breaking thunks that my precious book collection made as they were dumped into the chest one by one. My chest heaved and the dull sting in my throat made me wince, so instead the words came out as a soft whimper.

The latest punishment inflicted on me by my step-mother, vindictive woman that she was, had left me unable to speak above a whisper for nearly a week and, even now, it pained me to try to raise my voice. I was broken, silenced, just like the rest of my family wanted me to be. Not seen or heard, that had been the family motto for months now. Ever since that night!

"What?" My father had finally come to a stop, looking around for anything else he might have missed. Not that there was anything. He'd been thorough and the room was nothing more than that – an empty room – now. A bed frame, stripped free of sheets and bedding, a cleaned-out book shelf and a wardrobe with a few empty clothes hangers left swinging in the absence of their usual clothing. It had taken only a half hour, but it now looked like no-one had ever lived here.

Maybe that was the point?

"Why are you doing this?" I asked softly, and the distracted man locked eyes with mine for the first time since he'd burst through the door at three in the morning.

"Because I have to." I blinked and stared at him, confused and bewildered. My father had done some strange things before – leaving me alone to the whims of my step-mother and half-sister, Marie, for weeks on end, for a start – but this was erratic even for him. "I'm leaving, Sang," he told me plainly. There was little sign of emotion in this man's eyes; none of the man I knew. "I've found someone else, a wonderful woman with a family..."

He paused, a faint smile flitting across his face for a moment before it was gone again. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him smile. Before my step-mother had gotten ill, I was certain.

"I can't take you with me and she said you couldn't stay here, so I'm taking you to them." I didn't need to ask who 'she' was – the bitterness in my father's voice was testimony enough – but I didn't know what he meant by 'them'.

"To who?" I asked, but he just shook his head quickly and pulled the heavy lid of the chest closed. It crashed down with a loud creak of wood and bounced once before enveloping my entire life. Everything I knew, loved and believed in was in this room, and I had the dull, sinking feeling that I was about to lose the last thing left outside the chest, the only person I had ever had to depend on, for ever.

He didn't answer my question, even after I waited in silence for several long moments. He simply watched my face, the cool, detached mask of disinterest slipping over his features and removing the last trace of familial affection between us. He was no more than a stranger now. I felt the faintest trace of tears begin to prick at the corners of my eyes, but blinked them away with a ferocity that surprised me. This man hadn't been a father to me for years, not really, and I didn't need him. I had survived as the odd one out in this family for a long time, the unwanted child my father regretted having, and I didn't deserve any better. I was pathetic, useless, and alone. Just like I ought to be. Nobody wanted to get close to someone so broken and weak.

The car screeched to a stop in the middle of nowhere, or that was my best guess. The morning sun was just starting to rise beyond the horizon, bringing the shadows of a tangle of branches and trees into silhouette against the fading moonlight. The journey had taken a little over three hours, and it was still winter time, so our arrival – wherever here was – had coincided with that strange transitional time between morning and night, where the sun is just rising but the moon still hangs high in the sky. It was a bit creepy.

I shivered violently as my father pushed open the driver's side door and disappeared into the semi-darkness. The door swung shut seconds later, but the freezing wind whistling through the trees had already swirled into the car, chilling the interior temperature enough that it was uncomfortable to stay where I was.

"Dad?" I asked hesitantly as I gently pushed open my door and swung my bare legs out into the storm. The shorts and t-shirt I wore hadn't been my idea. He'd thrown them my way as he packed, insisting I dressed quickly and without waking the rest of the family. I'd done so, out of shock more than anything, and I regretted that decision now. I wished that I'd thought to snag a jacket or coat or something before they'd been piled into the chest, but three in the morning wasn't my favourite time of day and it had altogether slipped my mind.

"Sang!" I jumped as my father's voice echoed out of the fading darkness, then the man materialised in front of me. He was closer than I'd expected and I flinched back instinctively. Too many times, I'd been caught by surprise by my step-mother and been punished for it. The reaction was instantaneous. I leapt up out of the passenger seat and to my feet, holding my shivering frame as still and straight as I could. The woman would punish me if I moved, so I didn't. I'd learnt that lesson before I turned six.

"Don't!" my father sighed and frowned as he took in the rigid pose I'd taken, one he'd seen so many times but never done anything about, then pushed a pile of fabric towards me. I took it and shook it out, seeing that it was one of his old, well-worn fleece jackets. He kept it in the trunk of the car in case of breakdowns and emergencies and as a result it was a little damp and smelled of gasoline, but I appreciated the gesture. I shrugged it on and hugged it to myself as he stumbled back round towards the back of the car and started to try to heave the wooden chest out of the car.

I didn't make any effort to help, knowing that my tiny frame was as useful as a gust of wind in this situation, and instead wandered around the vehicle until I could watch the man at work. His movements were jerky and hurried, seeming to wish the job done as soon as possible. So he could leave for his new life, leave me behind, alone, I assumed. It was weird to think about, now that I'd allowed myself to spend the entire car journey coming to terms with the idea. I was pretty sure that my father wasn't about to leave me to die in the woods in a storm, or stab me to death or something, so I assumed that the mysterious 'they' were somewhere nearby. I didn't hope for much in that regard but I didn't think it could be much worse than where I'd come from. At least, I hoped that would be true.

With a last huff, my father finally heaved the chest to the ground and stood up, breathing heavily as he pushed the trunk closed and brushed his hands on his jeans. He ignored me as he pulled open the passenger door once more, rummaging through the glove compartment until he found his ancient Nokia cell phone. He stabbed it a few times to switch it on, dialled a number and waited, the phone clutched tightly to his ear.

"Hello?" He sounded uncertain for a second, glancing back at me for a moment before steeling himself to continue, as if somehow I had given him the courage to speak. He must be desperate to see me gone, I thought wryly. I hoped, in spite of everything, that his new family might make him happy.

"Yes, that's me... I have... On the road to the East... Yes... Thank you... I will." The one sided conversation didn't make a stitch of sense to me, but I could tell, as he hung up, that some kind of agreement had been reached. "I'll leave you here then," he told me perfunctorily.

"But," I gasped, glancing around at the mass of trees surrounding us on all sides. They were growing clearer with each passing moment as the sun rose higher in the sky, but I wasn't totally sure that I preferred that. Before, it had been dark, but now it was as if the bleak reality of loneliness was revealing itself with each new tree I could make out. I didn't want to be alone. I could fool myself into thinking I was okay by myself – that my father was no real dad to me – but that didn't make it easier. I wanted him to take me away with him.

"You'll be fine, Sang," he insisted, sliding behind the wheel and pulling the driver's door shut. I hadn't even seen him move. The passenger door was still open, and I reached out to touch it instinctively. If that door was still open, it wouldn't be final. He would still be here. He wouldn't have left me.

"Don't go," I whispered, and he fixed me with a stare so intense that I thought he might be staring into my soul. He held my gaze for a long time then looked away, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He spoke again without opening them, as if he couldn't bear to look up at me.

"They will look after you, Sang. This is where you belong. Never forget that, Sang. This is where you should be; where you deserve to be." He hit the ignition and leaned over, pulling the door shut. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"Dad," I whispered, but the wheels on the car spun in the muddy ground once and then he was gone.

I sat down on the lid of the wooden chest with a huff, curled my knees under my chin and started to sob.

"Shut up idiot!"

"You shut up."

"If you wake her..."

I woke to the gentle rocking sensation of being carried. Every few seconds, the world would pitch and turn a little, as if the ground that I was being carried over was rough and uneven, but I couldn't help but feel safe in the firm grip of my rescuer. At least, I hoped this man was taking me to my rescue and not to my doom. I flinched before I could stop my body reacting to my thoughts, and the arms pulled me closer to a warm chest.

I didn't dare open my eyes, in case I was in some kind of danger, but I made use of my other senses to try to determine what my situation was before I decided on a course of action. From the flat firm muscles I could feel against my arm and shoulder, where I rested against him, I concluded that I was being carried by a male; fairly young and strong – although I knew I weighed very little – and notably gentle.

He was making every effort to support my thighs and back using his forearms – a feat that I was sure couldn't have been comfortable for even the strongest of men – and his fists were balled loosely against the soft material of my borrowed jacket. He was trying not to touch me, I realised, although I wasn't sure why. The stories I'd heard from my step-mother had all emphasised how much men wanted to touch innocent little girls like me, especially if I wasn't able to fight back.

This man certainly wasn't doing that and for that I was grateful. I didn't know why he would be so careful to keep his distance, and a small part of me couldn't help but feel a little hurt by the disinterest, but that part was easily beaten out by the overwhelming sense of relief and reassurance his choice had given me.

"I think she's coming around," I heard a voice call from above me, as the man's chest vibrated softly. This voice belonged to my rescuer – I'd call him that until I had reason not to, or I discovered his name, I decided. His voice was masculine but not especially deep; kind, I thought, was the word for it. His voice fitted with the gentle image I had constructed for myself so far, and I decided that it was safe to open my eyes.

A pair of emerald green eyes, so clear I could have sworn that they were cut from crystal or precious stone, swam into focus and I blinked. They didn't disappear as I blinked so I allowed my eyes to drift to the rest of his face. There was nothing there. No face. Nothing but the eyes.

I tensed and prepared to panic as I searched for other features besides the eyes, and the gentle rocking motion stopped abruptly, as the man began to notice my panic. I lifted a hand to push against his chest, trying to escape from the faceless monstrosity that my unconscious mind had conjured up. I had to be dreaming; a nightmare, and I needed to wake up right now.

"It's okay," the voice came again, and I noticed that it sounded a little muffled. I started to breathe heavier and pushed against his chest again. I felt his hands release the fleece of my jacket and the muscles in his forearms and chest flex as I was lowered to the ground. I stumbled back in an effort to get away from this nightmare, but my back impacted another body and I froze. I was trapped. I was going to die in my dreams again.

"Leave me alone," I whispered, then my eyes widened in surprise as the man in front of me stepped back to give me space, arms stretching wide in the universally understood gesture for submission. The large hands and pale wrists disappeared into black woollen sleeves, which covered his whole body from head to foot. Now that I was facing him, I could make out a black balaclava-type mask covering what must have been his face, concealing everything but his eyes.

"I'm not going to..." The voice paused, and the man raised his hands and quickly pulled the mask up and off his face. It framed his face from where it still covered his ears and much of his forehead, but it revealed a slim, pale face with high cheekbones and a friendly smile to compliment his striking green eyes. "I won't hurt you."

I don't know exactly why I did what I did next but I knew instinctively that this man, with his deep, expressive gaze, was not going to hurt me. Glancing about, I spotted two other, equally masked men. I wasn't sure about them, but him I couldn't help but trust.

"Okay," I told him, and relaxed my shoulders.

"Okay," he agreed. He held out a hand to me, smiling almost shyly. "I'm Kota."

"Sang," I offered in return, but kept my hands down by my sides. I knew I trusted this man – this boy, I realised as I continued to examine the smooth skin and slim figure before me, since he couldn't be more than a year older than me – but I had never shaken hands before and had no idea how to approach the situation without making my inexperience and poor social skills transparent.

His smile dimmed just a little as he paused, arm outstretched, then it grew to full force again as he let his arm drop and shrugged jovially. I couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort as his face fell, knowing it was my fault.

"Right, well," he mumbled, seeming a little less sure of himself all of a sudden. "It's..."

"Did you find her?" Another deeper voice interrupted whatever he had been about to say, and a fourth man came crashing through the undergrowth behind me. I spun around in time to see a huge guy in a leather jacket come smoothly to a stop next to us. His face, mercifully, wasn't covered, so I could see his surprise when he laid eyes on me. "Woah!"

"Hi Raven," Kota greeted him smoothly, and the two men exchanged a nod over my head. I peered up to see them engaging in some sort of silent exchange beside me and watched in fascination as the new, taller man grinned abruptly and nodded again.

"Got it," Raven said. "No competition here."

"Good," Kota replied, before he glanced back down at me. "Let's get inside."

Again, I had no idea what had just happened, but inside sounded great. The warmth of Kota's chest had started to seep out of me and I shivered again as the wind swirled around us, whipping my hair into a frenzy and biting into my exposed legs and face.

We had been walking in comfortable silence for less than ten minutes when the first buildings became visible over the crest of the shallow hill. Kota explained that I had been asleep when we had passed through the gates that surrounded the entire complex. When I had asked how big an area they surrounded, Raven had simply laughed.

"Big enough," had come the equally cryptic answer.

As we reached the peak of the hill, I gasped in shock at the sight that greeted me. The sun had risen enough for me to make out at least fifty low, sprawling buildings spiralling out from a vast central stone structure. It looked, if I wasn't mistaken, like a replica of the Parthenon – creamy-white, marble columns and ornate carvings and all. I thought I remembered it from one of the history textbooks my father had tossed into my mother's chest this morning. It looked like it ought to be out of place amongst the modern brick, wood and glass that surrounded it, but it didn't. It was perfectly at home here; an effortless juxtaposition of new and ancient, existing in harmony. It was beautiful.

"Cool, huh?" Raven nudged my shoulder with his elbow, and I fought the urge to flinch away. I took a small step toward Kota, without meaning to move, and Raven's cheek twitched. He almost looked sad for a moment, then the expression was gone. I nodded, flashing him a small smile as an apology for upsetting him somehow, and he swept an arm out in front of him, gesturing for me to take the lead as we would make our way down the path toward the buildings below. "Welcome to the Academy."

I glanced back at the other two men, still in their black masks, who waited behind us. They carried my mother's chest between them. Once I had checked that my life, packed away inside, was still behind me, I turned back to the steep path and took a deep breath. I had heard what Raven had said, despite having zero clue what he meant, but I had also caught the subtext behind them; the words he wasn't saying.

There was no turning back from this point. I had nothing to go back to, no-one to miss me on the outside of these gates. My old life was over. I didn't know where I was, why I was here or who I really was, but I knew I'd find out soon enough. I hoped it would be better. I hoped that, maybe, I'd be happy.

'Sang Sorenson, welcome to the rest of your life.'