Chapter 1 - Episode 7 - Life as a Recruit

Finde soon discovered that the place called the Arena
had very little in common with an actual arena.
No stands, no spectators. Only sand, stone, and hard work.
The low buildings lining the training grounds housed the dormitories, kitchens, showers, infirmary, and storage rooms.

The first thing Oku ordered Finde to do upon entering was to report to the infirmary.
The doctor was a short creature, no more than one meter thirty tall,
covered in thick, sand-colored fur.
He had round black eyes, an elongated nose, and small hands with six fingers.

“You can call me Doctor”
he said, seating Finde in front of him.

Beside him stood a small metal box covered in lights and knobs.
He took out a gleaming cylinder and brought it close to Finde's face.
“It'll hurt a little, but the wound will heal instantly.
No stitches, no infections.”

Finde swallowed.
“The only part I understood was 'it'll hurt.'”

The doctor smiled.
“Just a little. Depends on how good you are at not screaming.
Some cry, others don't feel a thing.
One thing's certain, though: I've never treated a recruit before their training even began.”

A white beam emerged from the cylinder and slid along the wound.
The pain was sharp and burning, like an icy blade cutting into his soul.
Then the cut closed, leaving only a slight tingling sensation.

“Perfect!” the doctor exclaimed.
“Fit for duty. You'll only be left with a barely visible scar.”

He placed a sheet of paper covered in strange symbols in Finde's hand.
“Take this to Oku.Tell him you're ready to begin.”

Time didn't flow normally in the Arena.
Or perhaps it did, but no one noticed.
The days blurred together in a haze of training, bruises, and sand.

Months passed, and Finde no longer knew how much time had gone by since his arrival on Castore.

He soon realized that the Arena was a small village inhabited by former warriors, maimed in body or mind, who now served as cooks, doctors, or instructors.
It was a community of survivors.
Broken souls who had stopped fighting on Gommhon, but had never stopped fighting themselves.

Sometimes, during rare moments of peace, he remembered his father.
That group of young recruits reminded him of an orphanage forgotten by the gods, like those in Greentowne that Jeremi used to visit to treat sick children.
Outcasts, alone, lost.
And now he was one of them.

There were thirty-two recruits in total.
Young people from every corner of the universe.

One day, he asked Oku how they ended up there.
The instructor answered without looking up.
“Singularities appear everywhere.
When we go to clear them out, we find youngsters with an aptitude for using Ori.
That's how you become a recruit of Castore.”

Ori.

The word stayed with him, but he didn't understand what it meant.
He had tried asking more questions, but Oku wasn't a man who liked explaining things.
On his best days, he was merely gruff.
On his worst, he seemed to hate everything that breathed.

Finde was the furthest behind among the recruits.
Less strong, less fast, less skilled.
Especially compared to Gozen, the Arena's prodigy.
Tall and slender, with reddish hair pulled back by a leather tie and piercing green eyes, sharp as a honed blade.
Gozen won every duel, every race, every trial.
And he had found his favorite pastime in Finde.
He had given him the nickname “wretched white,” mocking him for where he came from.
A “White Planet” was synonymous with failure.

“Betting half a Rhun on you is like betting on a glob of snot from a sneeze”
Gozen had once told him, laughing with the other recruits.

Finde discovered that the Rhun was the currency of the galaxy.
Half a Rhun didn't exist.
In other words: he was worth less than nothing.

And yet, those humiliations fueled him.
Every insult became fuel.
His father had always told him:
No one can tell you what you can or cannot do. Only you can decide that.

Eight months passed, each one as long as an eternity.
Finde was no longer the same.
Adapting had been hellish.
Dense air, oppressive gravity, grueling training sessions.
But his body had begun to toughen.

He had chosen a short, double-edged sword as his training weapon.
Light, fast, perfect for him.
And above all, because his sword master was Oku.
Learning from him meant suffering three times as many injuries as the others, but also learning from the best.

There was always a line of recruits waiting for the doctor to cauterize their wounds.

The days began at dawn, with Galeo's first light.
Weapons training, followed by hand-to-hand combat.
Lunch.
An hour's break.
Then physical conditioning until sunset.
After dinner, saunas and steam baths.
If Oku was in a bad mood, there would be a third training session at night.

One afternoon, Finde noticed an unfamiliar boy.
He wasn't a recruit.
Finde had seen him before, more than once, sitting silently in the shade of the barracks.

This time, Finde decided to approach him.
The young man had light brown hair cut into a bob, and intense gray-blue eyes behind a pair of thin-framed glasses.
He looked fragile, almost sickly, but those eyes…
They seemed to contain the universe.

“Nice to meet you. My name is Spenser.”

“I'm Finde. I see you around here a lot.
Don't you train?”

Spenser smiled with quiet melancholy.
“Oh no, I'm not a warrior…
But tell me, Finde: why are you here?”

The question caught him off guard.
“I failed to keep a promise I made to my father.
I have nothing left.
I'm here to… try to make things right, I guess. What about you?”

“I want to know everything”
Spenser replied seriously.
“I want to be able to solve any mystery in the universe.
My dream is to become the greatest scientist who ever lived.”

Finde was taken aback.
A scientist? On Castore?
That planet was made of swords, not books.

He was about to ask for an explanation, but Spenser spoke first.
“What's your dream?”

Finde fell silent.
He had always thought about revenge. About the Gozhul.
But that wasn't an answer. It was a wound.
It certainly wasn't a dream.

“I don't know" he finally admitted.
“I need to think about it.”

Spenser smiled.
“Good. The depth of a person is measured by the dreams they nurture.”
He glanced at the display on his bracelet, similar to Gladyo's, then looked back at him.
“I have to go. It was a pleasure, Finde, and don't give up!”
After touching the display on his bracelet, he vanished into thin air.

That evening, Finde asked the other recruits if anyone knew Spenser.
None of them had ever heard of him.

When he asked Oku, the instructor merely muttered:
“He's Alset's protégé.”
And as always, no explanation.

Because Oku… never explained anything.

That evening, Oku needed a drink.
He was sprawled across the cushions in his quarters, a bottle of liquor beside him.
He didn't like getting drunk.
The discipline of Castorian warriors forbade it.
A clear mind, a body always ready.
Singularities were like misfortune: they appeared without warning and left nothing but destruction and pain in their wake.

But he was no longer on active duty.
And no one would have anything to say if, for one night, he allowed himself a drink.

He was about to pour himself a glass when he felt the air change.
An electrical rustle swept through the room.
The hairs on his arms stood on end.
A faint crackling broke the silence.

It was as though lightning had struck just a few centimeters away from him.

He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye.
He spun around.
He froze.
He immediately dropped to one knee.
“My lord…”

The figure stopped him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Please, my friend, there's no need for that.
Stand up.”