If I were to remember anything of the past five years, it would be the first time I held my sword. It was a glorious, radiant tool. My tool. In a way, I saw it as the answer to my prayers. An armored man standing before me placed the weapon in my hands, though as soon as I could grasp it, I swung wildly at the man. He smiled as if he had anticipated my pathetic defiance. I found it strange, yet somehow useful, how deeply it can grab the core of your soul when you give all your strength to a battle, only to see the enemy smile.

Young and ignorant, I swung several times, desperate to prove myself to be the creature I felt beneath my skin. My blood told me that I was ready, but my eager body was far too bruised and inexperienced to defeat even the weakest of enemies.

The armored man threw his fist into my skull, throwing me to the ground. It was well deserved. Though my actions were…justified, they would not be tolerated.

Again, I stood and foolishly raised my sword above my head. Before I could strike, the man thrust his foot into my abdomen, bringing me to my knees. My head was spinning as overwhelming shame caused me to beat my fist furiously to the ground. The pain could not compare to the disgust I felt in defeat. I never wanted to know that feeling again. I refused to.

Several nights later, the cloaked men neglected to take me to the chamber I had come to fear, and instead allowed me to sharpen my skills. I was left in a cold, desolate area of a Gaen forest with the same armored man who had beaten me. The air was heavy with rain, and the thunder above beckoned me as if the Gods themselves commanded me to draw my sword.

Before my hand could reach my weapon, the armored man quickly struck me with the back of his sword. With my vision now blurred, I could follow only the sound of his thunderous voice. He told me I was slow, weak. He demanded that I first practice my aim on an old tree stump. Angered, I poured my rage into my sword and destroyed the stump in three swift blows. What victory was this? Any dolt could conquer a piece of rotten wood. I wanted breath, flesh, blood. I wanted to claim a life.

My rebellious second attack on the man was faster; deadlier…the element of surprise was on my side. My small size and speed in the dark was my advantage. I twisted my body and seized the opportunity to slice open the man's leg. I laughed in delight at my small victory as he beat me to the ground. The pain was barely noticeable. As much as that controlling bastard tried to convince himself otherwise as he crushed my right arm, I had won. I had drawn his blood, and no amount of physical pain could take the sweetness of that victory away from me. Nothing else in the world mattered to me more than feeling such rapture again.

Every night I was sent to that forest. It was the only time I was allowed outside the fortress walls, I savored it. The moon's glow became the only light my skin had ever tasted.

One evening, barely before sunset, I crept out of my chamber and into the sweet fading light of day. I was taking heavy risks by leaving the fortress, but I'd heard multiple screams the night before. The cloaked men were occupied with other victims. I honestly didn't know whether or not I cared to be caught, what punishment could they give me worse than what I had already received?

Having been hidden for so long, I trusted that no one in the city would recognize me, especially in the dying sun. I roamed the city, filling my head with new sights and sounds. I suddenly approached an open area of such greatness, my mind was swimming in the dark echoes I heard of the countless workers in the underground caverns. The cold smell of metallic clockwork, the pounding of hammers, the pouring of liquid metal surrounded me, making my blood boil. The sun barely touched the magnificent giants that stood before me. They lived above the workers, looking down upon them. I could barely see their outline in the twilight, but they were there.

Larger than life itself, the fearful giants stood motionless, high above me, as if they were Gods of War, all to be worshipped. I carefully wrapped myself in a shadow, unseen to the workers below. The area was so large they would never notice someone like me among the darkness. The aching men below were their overworked creators. In the unforgiving heat and fire, they were tirelessly twisting and manipulating metal to form the gods themselves. I cautiously approached one of the giants and placed my small, insignificant hand on its foot. It was cold and unfeeling, brutal and sharp.

I knew this feeling well. I looked into the metal and suddenly saw my muddled reflection. I couldn't recall the last time I had seen my face. My skin was pale, almost as pale as my hair.

How long had my hair been white?

I took a moment to stare past my skin and hair. I looked deeply into my eyes seeing something I'd never dreamt to have been present in my meaningless glance.

A fire.

There was a fire in my eyes, burning through the edges of my stare. I didn't recognize that fire at all. I moved my hand away from the metal and touched my face. It was hard to feel the difference between the metal and my flesh. It was the spirit I had feared all along, connecting us both. I looked up into the face of the giant in awe.

I knew the machine's pain. I kneeled down before its foot and laid my head against its shining surface. For the first and last time in my life, I prayed.

My prayers slowly faded into an unfamiliar peaceful sleep.