Micah hesitated for several seconds before letting out a deep sigh. He put his shirt on and leaned back against the truck before saying, "There's a lot I haven't told you about the protectors, Alexis. You remember how I said we're chosen very young and only after an intense survival challenge?"

I nodded, thinking back to that time in the forest when he explained what protectors were. It felt like a year ago.

"Well, I left out what happens afterward. Once a child is chosen to be a protector, they must endure years of grueling 'training'. Basically... they have the crap beaten out of them on a regular basis," he said bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock, taken aback.

"The Council are responsible for creating strong protectors for the next generation of witches, and their methods are... unorthodox, to say the least," he continued. "They beat the humanity and emotions out of the children to make perfect little soldiers. The purpose is to make them strong, both physically and mentally, because the stronger we are, the less likely that we will fail.

"Protectors are trained, even as young children, to endure pain without complaint. We are taught to fight to the death in battle, and to persevere through all forms of torture if captured. From whippings and waterboarding, to solitary confinement and verbal ridicule, you name it, and odds are that each protector has experienced it," he said.

"Protectors are trained for the worst case scenario. We're told not to give our capturers the pleasure of hearing our screams, and they most certainly will never get information from us," he said, squaring his shoulders proudly. "The children are put through all forms of tests until they are able to bear the pain without blinking an eye."

"So, this is where your scars came from? Your 'trainings'?" I asked in a soft, disgusted voice.

"Yes. And I remember each and every one of them. This mark, for example, is from a blade," he explained, pointing to a long pink scar on his right ribcage. "They were starving us to teach us what true hunger felt like. I hadn't had a bite of food in five days. Several of the other boys had already passed out, but they wouldn't relent. I was so hungry. To this day, I still remember the gnawing feeling in my stomach, the empty hole that felt like it would never be filled.

"Eventually, I couldn't bear it anymore. Late one night, when everyone else was asleep, I snuck out of my bunk, and stole a biscuit from the cafeteria trashcan. It seemed harmless at the time- just one biscuit from that morning's breakfast was nothing. I didn't think they would even notice, but they knew. I hadn't even been able to take the first bite before they were on me.

"The Council took me into the Alium, which is what we call the building where they do the punishments. They tied me up against a wall and forced me to stand there for hours. That was the most excruciating part, waiting and wondering what punishment they were going to sentence me to.

"In the end, they decided that a knife would do the trick. They cut me across my ribs with an iron-hot sword, the blade ripping my skin slowly and painfully. I was kept in the Alium for several days as they reopened the wound continuously to prolong the healing process," Micah said.

My mouth dropped open in shock. I felt as if I might be sick. I pictured this in my mind and felt as though I might faint. These were children that were bearing such horrendous punishments, kids who should be playing and having fun, not succumbing to the pains of starvation and abuse. What kind of place allowed this treatment for their youth?

"I remember that the pain was so bad that I couldn't even muster a scream. In the end, it worked out for me. The Council took this as a sign of bravado, and decided to shorten my sentence because I seemed more precocious than my peers. In reality, I was just paralyzed from hunger and fear. But I'm thankful they didn't know that or the agony would have been much worse.

"I learned early on to keep my mouth shut- both inside the Alium and out- if I wanted to survive. The Council's methods are radical, but they are effective. To this day, I still won't eat a biscuit," Micah said with a tight smile.

"Some of my peers weren't as lucky as I was, though. A friend of mine had his hand cut off because he attacked a guard who was beating his twin sister. Another kid had his tongue cut in half to teach him to stop screaming when he was in the Alium. Others didn't make it through the training process alive," Micah murmured.

I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I began twisting my locket anxiously in an attempt to keep the liquid from pouring over. I couldn't cry; my emotions would only make the memories that much worse for Micah. He had been courageous enough to tell me his story, so the least I could do was be strong enough to listen.

"It wasn't just physical training, either," Micah continued. It was as if he was an open book now, eager to spill the secrets he'd been forced to hide for so long. "They really try to mess with your head in the Alium. One time, the Council somehow managed to get photos of each of our family members. They altered them to make it look as though each person had been tortured or killed. I'm not sure how they made the photos look so realistic. Maybe it's because we were so gullible at that age... or maybe they actually were real. I mean, I haven't seen my family since I was very young, so for all I know they really were murdered as part of my training," he said, looking off into space as an eerie silence filled the air.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself.

"The photos really affected a lot of people. Some of the kids had nervous breakdowns, and then were whipped for showing weakness.

"One guy in my level couldn't take it. He ended up hanging himself using a makeshift noose from his bed sheets. He was only eleven," Micah said sadly, as I let out a gasp. "We weren't even allowed to have a funeral for him because he was considered a coward, which is the biggest crime in the protector community. So we had to continue with our trainings, like it was just a normal day in our lives."

My heart went out to the young boy, to all the children who had to endure this pain. The hardest part was knowing that Micah was among those who had to undergo this torture.

It made me sick to think about this poor, green-eyed little boy being forced from his family and home to be trained to protect witches like me. No wonder Micah was so detached sometimes. It broke my heart to think that he never had a proper childhood, that he had to live in fear of his own thoughts and feelings.

In fact, it made me furious. What right did the Council have to let this go on? What kind of psychopaths were they to think of these extreme training methods to could mentally and physically break children?

"Why is this allowed?" I spit, the images still flashing in my mind. "These are people's children, siblings, grandchildren. Why doesn't someone stand up and stop them!"

I could feel the magic flowing through my arms and to my fingertips, propelled by my anger. I had to take several deep breaths to slow my heart rate and clear my mind. The last thing we needed was for me to accidentally use my magic. We didn't want a repeat of the previous day.

"The Council convinces the people that the trainings are for our the protectors' own good- that it will make us stronger and will help us survive battle and protect the next generation of witches," Micah explained. "Most people believe them, many thinking that they really do have our best interests at heart."

"What about those who disagree?" I asked. "Surely there are people who see this for the preposterous and absurd practice that it is!"

Micah shook his head. "Anyone who disagrees knows to keep their mouths shut. The protectors are revered in Kapanathy. Without us, there would be no protection, no one to enforce the laws and keep the peace. People don't want to risk infuriating the Council.

"Besides, the people of Kapanathy would immediately ostracize anyone who spoke out against the protectors. The protectors are respected in our world, viewed as though we are Gods. Everyone wants their children to either be a protector or to marry one. They won't go against our ways."

"That's ridiculous," I said, rolling my eyes. "What's the point in having a voice if you don't use it to stand up against injustice and cruelty? I don't agree with these 'trainings' methods, and I know there are others out there who don't either. I mean, I'm sure you don't like them much either, after everything you've been through?"

Micah sat quietly for a few seconds, contemplating the question.

"I'm not sure," he said, causing my mouth to drop open in astonishment. "I know the methods are unconventional, but they are effective."

"Yes, effective at brainwashing children into thinking they're not allowed to acknowledge pain or show emotion!" I shrieked. "What kind of life is that?"

"In our job, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good," Micah said. "This sometimes means offering up our own life in the process. Weakness gets in the way of our ability to do this. It's human nature to shy away from pain, away from the things that scare us. So the Council tries to make us tougher, to ensure our natural instincts won't interfere with our ability to protect our charges.

"I admit that some of the tactics are extreme," he said in response to my appalled look. "But if that's the difference in being able to save your life and the lives of those in Kapanathy, well, then it was all worth it."

Through my irritation, my heart warmed at this thought. Underneath this tough, intimidating façade, was a truly caring man. I knew Micah would do anything within his power to keep me safe; I knew it before we had even officially met. But I hated what he'd had to endure to get there.

I liked this version of Micah, the one who confided in me the darkest secrets of Tueri, the man who would sacrifice his life for mine. The thought of some unknown entity trying to suppress this part of him only intensified my anger. They scarred his perfect skin with their physical torture and jaded him psychologically, all the while telling him that it was for his own good.

"Well, no matter what you or anyone else says, I think it's wrong," I persisted. "These children are dragged away from their homes with no say in the matter, and are punished for being upset about it. Being a child is already hard enough without having to go through years of torment on top of it."

Micah rolled his eyes. "There's no point in getting worked up about it. This is just the way things are in our world. It's been like this for centuries, and probably always will be. The only reason I even brought it up was because things can get... intense... in Tueri," Micah said, his gaze falling on Fletcher's. "Things are different in Tueri than what you're used to, so we wanted to give you the heads up."

"Well, maybe there's something I can do to change things," I said, racking my brain for new ideas. "Perhaps they just an outsiders perspective. Just because something has been a certain way for a long time, doesn't mean there's not room for improvement."

Micah's face became grave. "Absolutely not," he said. "Whatever you do, you cannot interfere with the training methods when we get there. That's essential, Alexis. It's one of the few conditions of your being able to stay in Tueri."

"I'm not making any promises," I muttered, crossing my arms defiantly. I wasn't sure I could stand idly by if innocent children were being beaten or hurt in front of me.

"Alexis," Micah said in a serious voice. He leaned forward so that his face was only inches away from mine. His deep green eyes look intently into my hazels searching, pleading, for me to understand. His hands gripped my shoulders, causing my breathing to hitch in my throat.

"This is extremely important," he emphasized. "I need you to set aside your feelings about this while we are in Tueri. I had to practically beg them to let you stay there to begin with. If they force us to leave, there will be no safe place for you. That means that King Casimir will inevitably find you, will eventually find us," he said, gesturing between Fletcher and himself.

"Not to mention that this could cause friction with the Council, forcing us to lose powerful allies. The protectors aren't a forgiving group of people," Micah said, stealing a glance at Fletcher. "If we don't have the protectors on our side, we're in serious trouble.

"I can't let that happen," he said, shaking his head. "I want nothing more than to keep you safe, no matter the cost. You're too important for me to let anything happen to you. So can you work with me here? Can you try to keep it together while we're in Tueri, for your sake, as well as ours? Please?"

I let out a hesitant sigh. Although it panged me to think of the kids who could be tortured while I stood by, able to stop it, but allowing it to happen anyway, I knew that I couldn't do that to Micah. He didn't ask for much, so how could I deny him this one request?

"I promise I'll mind my own business while we're there. For you," I said reluctantly, giving him a shy smile.

Micah and Fletcher took turns showing me their scars and telling stories of their time in the Alium. The more information they divulged, the more disgusted I became with the Council and their methods of "education".

The only good I found from the process was that it seemed therapeutic for Micah and Fletcher to speak of their time in training. I suspected protectors didn't usually share their histories with people, even other protectors.

After several hours of the show and tell game, Micah stifled a yawn. He looked down at his watch, his eyes widening in surprise at how late it was getting.

"We should probably call it a night and get some rest. Tomorrow we have to start traveling again," he said with a sigh.

I remembered that the truck was on its last leg. My body ached at the thought of the amounts of walking we would eventually have to endure.

Though I was exhausted, my mind reeled. I fought against my heavy eyelids, a part of me fearing a repeat of my last dream. I didn't want to see anyone tortured again, even if they were Malin who had attacked me first. I had endured enough of other people's pain for one day.

After a few hours of fitful sleep, I was woken up by hushed voices. Micah and Fletcher were having an intense conversation.

"You have to tell her the truth, Micah. Don't make the same mistakes that I did. Being a protector is just a job at the end of the day. Don't let them take away from you the things that actually matter in life," Fletcher whispered.

"It might interfere with my ability to keep her safe. I could never do that. Not to the Council, not to Kapanathy, and definitely not to Alexis," Micah murmured.

"And what about you? What about what you want from life?"

Micah sighed. "I'm a protector. I don't have the luxury of thinking about myself."

"But what if it's what she wanted too? Isn't it your job to make her happy?"

"No. My job is to keep her safe. Not to put everyone in danger."

"You can't deny that there's something there. Don't be a fool, Micah."

"It's not going to happen, Fletcher, so just stop. I'll never be more than a protector to Alexis, and that's final. I appreciate where you're coming from. Truly, I do. But this is none of your damn business. Now go to sleep."

Fletcher let out a frustrated sigh, but didn't argue. Instead, he does as Micah suggested and lied down, pulling a blanket over himself.

My stomach gave an agitated tumble. Although I had tried from day one to deny it, I knew that I had feelings for Micah. There was some unknown connection that I had felt from the moment he had saved me in the woods, even in my nearly cataleptic state. Sure, he wasn't the most amiable guy I had ever met, but I knew this was a smokescreen formed from decades of emotional manipulation. Deep down, there was more to our relationship than this professional witch and protector duo.

At least, I had thought there was. But Micah had now made it clear that he didn't feel the same way; that we could never be more than colleagues, despite what I might have thought. I felt as though I had been pierced in the heart as I comprehended that I had been fooling myself all along into believing he could ever have feelings for me.

Feeling a since of numbness, I forced myself to fall back to sleep, trying to ignore the throbbing pain of losing what was never mine to lose.

I found myself sitting on a throne in the midst of the stone room, surrounded by strange men in uniform. They formed an impenetrable line around me, as though protecting me from unknown dangers.

A family knelt before me at the foot of the throne, shaking in fright.

"Where is she?" a deep voice asked; I was surprised to find that the voice came from my own mouth.

"We d-don't know, King Casimir," a middle-aged man stuttered.

He was standing in a defensive position in front of his wife and two young children, their eyes dilated in fear.

An eerie quiet stretched through the room as I tapped the index finger of my right hand on the arm of the throne. A bright gold ring with a scarlet stone caught my eye, reflected in the light of the candle burning next to me. I twisted the ring thoughtfully around my finger.

"Bring me the boy," my masculine voice said.

"No... please! Please!" the woman screamed, trying to shield her son from the approaching guardsmen.

They pushed her aside with ease, as one of the men grabbed the shrieking boy, swinging him under their arm.

They approached the throne and set the redheaded boy in front of me. He knelt on his hands and knees, terrified sobs wrenching his body. There was a large stain on the front of his pants where he had soiled himself.

"Tell me, boy, where is the one they call 'The Redeemer'?" I asked him. The boy gave a terrified shrug and continued to cry. "I will not ask you again," I told the family.

The boy's parents tried to push through the guardsmen, desperate to get to their son, but the soldiers held an impassable barrier before them. They continued to tell me that they didn't know, continued to beg for mercy, but I simply waved them away with my hand and muttered, "Vos Mortem."

A loud snap echoes through the chamber as the young boy's neck broke, and he fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. I let out a deep, joyful laugh as the family screams echoed in the background.

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© Dawn Norwell