I lied then, and I knew it.
The Borderlands were a graveyard, a place where people were sent to die fighting monsters. Maybe that wasn't technically true, because those who died were weak, people like me. But isn't that the case anywhere in the Eternal Skies? The strong take, the weak get crushed.
I was done pretending to be strong. I was weak, and I accepted it. My father had sent me here knowing I'd get killed with my level of power, a mere Squire, hoping to fight monsters?
The metal cage dug into my side, and I didn't even bother shifting to avoid it. There wasn't really anywhere to move anyway. The carriage jolted over a rock, digging the metal deeper into my ribs.
Last night, after meeting with Cleir, a new guard had taken over and dragged me unceremoniously into a cage filled with other criminals being sent to the Borderlands.
The Borderlands had a history. They were the work of the Arcane Wizards, who created the Rifts. Now, monsters poured out of them constantly. The Borderlands were supposed to be a defense against that, but the Clans neglected it because closing the Rifts was too costly. People fought there to gather resources from the ruins, a death trap that dangled rewards in front of them like bait.
The Athrimir Clan sent their criminals to fight, but the Borderlands attracted outlaws and rogues just the same.
A sharp bang on the cage jerked my head up. One of the guards stood there, dressed in black with leather armor, his mouth curling in disgust. "Alright, come out."
We crawled out of the cage, me, an old man with a bloated chest, a boy of maybe thirteen, and a woman who kept mumbling to herself.
The carriage had stopped in a forest beside a river. The sun was still too bright, and I shielded my eyes with my hair, squinting until they adjusted.
The lead guard, a tall man with arms like tree branches, looked us over with flat eyes. His expression hardened when he realized the state we were in. "Congratulations. You have been accepted by Flagbearer Steelclaw of the Steelclaw Alliance."
He continued as if we couldn't understand, and maybe we didn't. "The Clan has graciously given you to us to contribute to the fight in the Borderlands. What this means is that you should shut up and do as you're told."
He turned, expecting no response. But the boy raised his hand. Short, covered in scars, his face swollen, yet his eyes had a light I recognized even if I could barely believe I had ever looked like that myself.
"Won't we be fighting monsters?" he asked.
The lead guard looked at him grimly. "Are you an official Knight? If not, forget it. You think you can fight monsters? Hope you never have to. Just do as you're told, and maybe you won't die early."
I saw it in the boy's eyes. He didn't believe him. Thought he was invincible. I had thought the same, once. But now I was here. Nadia was an official Knight. And I… wasn't.
We were stripped naked, scrubbed raw with rough sponges until our skin burned. Our hair was cut down to nearly nothing and rubbed with a stinging liquid that smelled of onions and pepper. Then we were given brown robes.
The lead guard nodded. "Good. Now we won't bring lice to our camp. I must admit, we are unlucky this time no fighter, no Knight among you. Not even a Squire. That saves me the trouble of chasing anyone for being stupid."
Not even a Squire? Well… I guess I wasn't really a Squire. I didn't even have any essence in my core. Wait… is my core even still there?
I spent the next few days in that cage trying to feel it out, but it was like trying to wiggle a tail. My core was there, but at the same time, it wasn't. I didn't think about it too much. Surviving without my hair seemed more urgent. I'd been so used to it falling between my eyes… without it, I felt exposed.
We traveled long distances, skirting towns and sticking to forests or open terrain. The Athrimir Clan's land was rocky, and the carriage jolted enough to bruise me against the cage.
During the first week, the old man with the bloated chest died. He coughed himself into what looked like a ruptured chest. The guards didn't bother removing him for a whole day, so I kept bumping into him.
We were fed twice a day. Slightly better than prison food, though not by much. Enough to fill the stomach and keep the body warm.
The boy tried talking to me, but when he saw the vacant look in my eyes, he gave up and went to pester the mumbling woman. Then he tried the guards and got slapped.
Three weeks later, my hair had grown back a little, and we reached the Borderlands. For the first time since this journey began, I felt something stir inside me.
I had reached my graveyard.