It had been a few months since Marcus died.  Ben and I were dating.  Everything was as good as it would get, it wouldn't be able to improve at all.  

"Listen up," Sara said, "there have been a few additions to the troupe, enough that you will no longer be classified as "minors".  You will be known as Seniors and move to the senior corridors.  You will follow me to the weapons room to select what your weapons will be until you... leave the troupe.  Choose wisely."

The break before she said "leave the troupe" implied that she meant "until you die", but of course she didn't say that.  Me, Ben, and Mary followed Sara into a room.  The walls and tables in the room held armour, weapons, and weapon-holders of all shapes and sizes.  

I chose some light chain mail as armour, light enough to move around in comfortably, and slipped it over my head to rest on my shoulders.  I moved to a few shelves that held boots and, after looking at a few, chose a black pair that had three loops in each, perfect for holding throwing knives and daggers.  I also put on a multi-strap double sword holder. 

I went to the wall that held swords and slipped two long ones with wickedly sharp edges into the holders.  I instantly was overcome with a memory.  I slipped books into my backpack, ready for school.  I stepped outside into the sunlit yard, Marcus by my side.  I blinked and it disappeared.  The backpack straps were attached to a sword-holder, my books turned into swords, my home-made sandals turned into army boots, my brother was not with me...  I shook off the memory and thought to myself, sadness doesn't help him.  But you can avenge him!  You can kill all the Chakans you can find!  And then the memories, instead of bringing sadness at the loss of Mom, Dad, and Marcus, brought anger.  As I placed daggers in the loops of my boots, I was fueled by anger.  My sad sluggishness was replaced by rage fueled energy.

And every night after that day, my nights were no longer filled with nightmares of Marcus dieting, but instead of victorious battles filled with dead Chakans.