Castiel stared into the tiny fragment of broken glass that he had foraged from a marsh, slowly tracing his fingers down his now crimson tresses. The more he looked at them the more he hated his differences, and the more he hated his differences, the more he hated those who were all the same. The dropped the glass in anger and threw himself onto the pathetic excuse for a bed that was pushed up into a corner away from the other children who had not yet been sorted.

He hated it here. He hated the way they were woken up with the harsh mechanical sounds of grinding gears, he hated how he and hundreds of other young boys were crammed into a giant, dank fall to sleep through a night of bitter wind and scurrying rats. He placed his finger over the deep cut he had etched into the wall, tracing each word of his name as though it made him more important. He would never be important. Important people had two names, a first and a last, but he had only one. Only the aristocracy of Cyorrn, the beautiful, glamorous flickering souls of Cyorrn has a last name. He was not one of them.

Amidst the faint call of the persistent vultures out side and the spasmodic creaking of other bed, Castiel drifted into a troubled sleep, to indulge in his last slumber in the bed he had always known.

That night Castiel dreamed. Shadowy monsters were leaping from behind impossibly foreboding trees, waves crashed on rocky shores that he did not recognize. Terrifying images of Zoos and Marked and Fire and Death flashed, faster and faster. Accompanied by a symphony of crows, until the cacophony caused his mind to sting. Then suddenly all was silent. Somewhere in the backdrop of night and burning moon, a face appeared. She rose from the mist like a ghost ship. Her pale skin was flawless and almost translucent, with high cheek bones and a pointed chin, almost like a cat. Her nose had the same angular and feline appearance and was framed by hair so pale it could only be called white, that blew in waves over her face, billowing behind and around her. It fell easily below her hips and half way down her thighs. She was dressed in a white cloack the billowed like her hair, over what looked like a white tunic and white tights. The only colour in her whole image was her pale icy eyes that slanted slightly to give her a clever, cool look. The blue was startling against the backdrop of white, even those they them selves we so pale they could have been the eyes of the dead. An ink black cresent moon descended from below her left eye down her cheek, the size of the tip of a finger. Slowly, slowly, she raised her slender index finger to her mouth in a sign of hush, and somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind a whispered voice said

"Run"

The harsh mechanical song of the morning rang through the hall, causing the celestial images to vanish in a flash of morning light. Glacial water was thrown over Castiel and he was dragged from his bed before his eyes had fully adjusted to the light.

"This marked 'un needs be off to the Zoo" A gruff voice said out of the hussle. Castiel kicked at the unknown people, but a sack was stuffed over his head, obscuring his view and his aim. He felt tight ropes wound around him and the people pushed and pulled in hate. The usual daze had dissolved into loathing for what was different. Castiel had never seen somebody on the day of their Marking, and was not prepared for the ordeal. Something hit him over the head and his eyes were enveloped in blackness again.

Castiel woke in a cage. He was wearing a filthy cloth around his waist that barely covered him, and he had lost the feeling in his legs because of the cramped space. Eight other worn eyes stared at him through the iron bares. The youngest was easily in her mid 40's, the oldest so wretchedly thin he could not stand. Four other marked lived on Braken. Only four other Marked had stood up to the Seer and refused to conform. All the others had given in and either volunteered to conform or thrown themselves of a cliff. Castiel resolved he would not be one of them. The noise that had woken him caught his attention. One caged had been opened, the keeper was putting his key in the second. He opened the cage of the woman in her 40's, who stepped out to be shackled around the feet, to the first Marked. This happened again with the third marked, and finally it happened with Castiel. The old man was so decrepit he could not walk and was given the mercy of retirement. Instead he was to stand in his cage all through the day, for the Brakens to look at for entertainment. Sometimes they threw food at him, just to see him dance. But only on the good days.

Marked were used for the worst type of labour. This is why they were not killed. On Braken, which was a continent of education and fishing, Marked were used to wade through pools of rotting fish and guts in search of possibly valuable items. If one was found, that Marked was given two slices of bread for supper instead of one. Everyday that week Castiel waded, and every night he dreamed of the opalescent girl.

Two year had past since his marking, and the keeper arrived with an announcement.
"No fishing today, we's got something else," He said with a growl, uncaging and shackling each marked. A fire had burned down an education room, and the marked were being sent in across the still hot coals and think smog to retrieve what was still in tact. Debris was everywhere, and the keeper carried an axe to hack through any residual wood.

Somewhere around noon, the fire suddenly reignited. The keeper roared in surprise, dropping the axe. Castiel seized his chance. He grabbed his fallen savior, hitting the keeper into unconsciousness with the blunt end, and swinging it down over his shoulder to break the chains that linked him to his neighbor. He dashed past, releasing each one, and turned back as the flames burned higher. Through the smog her could see an angry crowd running towards the school room, some with spears, some with swinging first. The word echoed through his mind again.

Run, run, run, run…

Quickly thinking of the other Marked he turned to tell them it was time to leave. But they were already gone. So Castiel did the only thing he knew he could do. With out purpose, without goal, without any inhibition, Castiel ran.