Underneath nature and society hid a complex structure brimmed with small rooms, lives, and activity. Deep enough to elude natural light, lanterns stood as the only light source. A breeze traveled across the rocky passages, undaunted by the darkness.

  In one room spacious enough for a basket and cot, Quin was lain low in slumber. A sharp ringing noise suddenly pierced his ears and woke him out of his dreams. He knew his day had begun.

  “Up. Up. Uuup!” yelled a woman in a blue cloak with a bell in hand. Her voice echoed throughout the cavern-like halls.

  Several people including Quin raced to a basket at the end of their cots. In their sparsely lit corners of the dungeon, they slipped into black pants and boots, then they covered their torsos with a white shirt followed by a black cloak and finally, they placed a mask across their faces.

  Within seconds of the echo, everybody cloaked themselves up and stood beside the lady in blue.

  Everybody but Quin, who gazed at his mask. He never made it to the festival that fateful evening, in fact, he never made it home.

  With a destroyed statue and no means to pay for it, he was forced to offset his transgression with service among the cloaks. He still couldn’t believe his eyes as he stared at his mask, his mask.

  “Old Man!” the lady in blue yelled. “Old Man!”

  The blue cloak slid on her toes to Quin’s entrance and leaned against the opening. “We call you Old Man because of your hair, not because you’re slow as shit. Get your ass in formation!”

  “Yes, Ner. Arelis,” Quin said as he planted on his new face then rushed out through the open space. His body ached with every step, a regular morning occurrence lately.

  Even as a Sentar’i, Quin still felt unnerved by the blue cloaked Cosondera. They wore the same black boots and tight black pants but instead of white shirts, theirs were a lighter blue than their cloaks.

  They all had a title, Neraviv. They stood a rank above the regular cloaked Cosondere called Tyroviv, the fifth and lowest rank in the hierarchy.

  He understood that since they were stronger, it’d be best to avoid them and their bad side as best as possible. For a few days, the strategy stood as solid before it utterly collapsed along with his standing.

  “This isn’t the first day anymore people,” said Arelis as she ran in place, intensity on face. “When the day begins, we begin. Now let’s gooo!” She beckoned her juniors as she bolted to a sprint.

  Quin and the near dozen Sentar’i under her care followed behind. They charged from their quarters and entered the main area.

  Colloquially called the Pit, the complex comprised of a series of dark narrow halls wide enough for two people; two directions. Quin’s group crossed paths with another led by a different blue cloak. All he could make out in the darkness were the row of masks that dashed by one after another.

  He had no qualms with the sprints, but the barely lit halls hindered his view. A few times already, he’d bump into or had been bumped by one of his peers whenever he lost track. He placed himself behind his peers this time. He only created more separation.

  “Old Maaaaan!” shrieked Arelis from a distance. “If I have to go back and find you, so help meee...”

  Everybody bore a nickname in the Pit. Since all the trainees wore masks and were shrouded in black, identity was based entirely on their outward appearance.

  Quin stumbled his way out of the narrows and into one of the rare spacious rooms to link back with his cohort. The lanterns cylindrical in design, covered the walls with an amber glow.

  “What did I tell you? Stop relying on your sight,” Arelis said, she covered her forehead with the purlicue of her hand. “If you can’t get that, then you won’t get anything.”

  Quin tucked his head down. Nearly a week had passed since he found himself in his new home. He barely experienced a Sentar’i life when the cloak life took over. Too much happened too soon. He struggled to keep up.

  Not like Arelis cared. Her method was to train until one smelled their sweat, then train even harder. She focused on endurance, footwork, and movement with full intent to outlast her trainees. She distinguished herself from the other trainers with her distinct walks, shrieked screams, and most of all, her big forehead.

  Her biggest impression on Quin and the others was her mantra to move with grace and speed. “Use your hips,” she would say with frequency. Nothing seemed more crucial to her than hip control.

  Arelis looked at her batch of trainees. One by one they received a stern glare.

  “Alright, we’re going to change things up a bit,” she said with hands on her hips. “No more exercises. Instead, we’re going to get into self-defense.

  “Every Sentar’i knows how to hit hard. A Cosondere has to learn how to evade, and strike back harder. So pair up and we’ll get started with some sparring sessions. The goal is evasion.”

  Odd in number, the cohort totaled nine Sentar’i. His latest deeds no different from last, Quin found himself left out fast. He had no choice but to pair up with the blue cloak. Arelis herself seemed less than thrilled.

  “Step on my toes, and I’ll step on your heart.” She pointed at her lifted foot. It looked like she would do it anyway.

  “I’ll...try my best not to, Ner. Arelis,” Quin replied.

  When it came to fighting, the Cosondera favored a defensive posture. Blocks or dodges followed by counters. A Cosondere could go on the offensive when it benefited them, but the point was to exhaust opponents and stop their offenses.

  Therefore, speed and reflexes were a must and when it came to Arelis, that also included grace.

  Quin had no chance to go on the offensive, so he stayed on the defensive. His chances marginally improved.

  “With grace Old Man!” Arelis instructed as she pummeled him with a rhythm of lefts and rights. “Every joint should be used with grace. That includes your wrists.”

  The wrist work helped Quin successfully redirect some punches, but he left himself open for others. All the while, he backed up to evade the flurry of strikes.

  He put so much focus on Arelis and her tenacious offense, that he realized the wall behind him too late. Arelis, fully aware of her advantage, thrust her fist and unleashed a deep right hook to the midsection. Quin slid down the wall to a seat. He favored his gut.

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  “Did I say we were done?” Arelis’ eyes zipped at the cohort.

  They ceased to be spectators and quickly resumed their routines.

  “Dodge or parry and also...” She looked back at the downed trainee. “Don’t back yourself into a corner.”

  The previous days more or less followed a similar pattern.

  All of them finished the exact same way, with Quin down on his cot in observation of a new bruise. He could no longer taste his blood every night, but lifted his spirits that didn’t. The murmurs of his peers ran parallel with whispers of the wind.

  It wasn’t much, but he liked his old home better. He missed his insignificant corner of the shoe shop. He missed Miro’s snappy retorts. He missed the vibrant and chaotic section of town he called home. He missed all of it; he would do practically anything to see them all again.

  Most of all, he missed Aesther and her bright smile. Usually, weeks would go by before their next encounter. Down in the Pit however, it felt like forever would pass by before he’d see her again. The uncertainty churned his heart more than anything else.

  Lain down on his cot, Quin surveyed his insignificant corner of the Pit. He wondered how much more he could handle. He knew the lessons taught would help him immensely as a Sentar’i, but he had no clue how far he could go as a cloak.

  “You there, Yerp. This is our sleeping quarters.” a voice said out of Quin’s view.

  “Ooh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know what room I was in,” another voice responded.

  “Well now you do, so relieve our eyes of your presence unsightly being.”

  In addition to the many cloaks that resided in the Pit, Yerps traveled the narrows as well. Relegated to the banal menial tasks, they kept things in order while the Sentar’i focused on their Cosondere activities.

  They barely spoke and mostly kept to themselves. Their appearance refreshed Quin at first since they weren’t in cloaks and represented the only sign of normalcy since he arrived. Their frightened faces forever changed that. Their presence constantly reminded him that he no longer stood among them, but among the cloaks.

  As he faded to sleep, Quin hoped for something, anything that led to a departure from his nightmare. The sooner, the better.

  In his imaginations, Quin found himself back in the city and in time for another festival. Beside him, his sister who grabbed his hand.

  “Hold on so we don’t get lost,” she said with a smile.

  “You’re the one who gets lost sis.” He smiled back.

  They traveled from block to block, as they maneuvered past the crowds. It seemed like people from all over the Sexené Bay showed up in attendance with naturally, the Sentar’i also in the mix.

  One man wowed a crowd with a performance that only involved water. With his own two hands, he controlled the water as if it were attached to him. He artfully changed the floating liquid into everyday items. He even fixed himself a cup of water made out of water.

  Much like his aquatic props, he had the audience in the palm of his hand.

  “Whoa! Look sis!” Quin pointed in shock as he yanked his sibling’s arm. “He’s not using conventional arts. Let me see it. Let me see it. Let me see it.”

  She looked on with concern but released her grip. Free to get a better view, Quin rushed over to the audience.

  Just when he had a chance to give his eyes a show, his ears heard a loud ring. It sounded really close yet nobody reacted, as if only Quin could hear it.

  He looked back to his sister but she disappeared. Another chime reached his ear, this one closer than the last. Quin tried to locate the source of the chimes as well as his sister, he found neither.

  In fact, he saw less and less. Even the water performer vanished and soon Quin found himself alone. Shocked and frightened, he turned around and around as he scanned his surroundings for anybody across the now open road.

  Suddenly, something smacked him on the head and the force knocked him to the ground. He heard a different ring as he tried to reorient himself. He looked over and saw an angry Arelis with a glare as noticeable as her forehead.

  Through gritted teeth, she growled, “Get. Up. Now!”

  At first, Quin didn’t know where he was but the sight of near darkness, his cot, and the morning bell next to it reminded him his day had begun.

  More heated reprimands from his trainer and more chilled contempt from his peers, another harsh day awaited Quin. Fate gave him a break with the addition of a new trainee. He paired up with a small kid named Baldy due to his natural lack of hair.

  The two engaged in a practice spar when an inattentive Quin got tripped up. Nobody batted an eye to the moment not even Arelis, but Baldy briefly cherished his minor victory. He already learned how to use his hips.

  “Not bad for a new guy huh?” Baldy claimed, his hand stuck out.

  “No. No you’re not bad at all,” a dejected Quin responded while pulled up. “Hey, I need to take a break real quick. I’ll be right back.”

  Quin entered the narrows with a haste in his step. He appeared to be in a hurry but had no destination in mind. He just had to move. He just had to do something.

  Before, Quin made it a habit to avoid the cloaks as much as possible. Now they appeared in every direction and worst of all, his own reflection.

  Of all the shifts and shocks of the past week, his new occupation unsettled him most of all. He wanted out. He kept on the move until he saw fewer and fewer cloaks and masks. Old habits died hard.

  What could he do, he wondered. He could get himself in an accident, he thought, but his whole ordeal began from an accident, he recalled. A breeze flew by that felt uncannily smooth. His left ear quivered from the whistles; he turned from the distraction and continued on.

  He could try to escape, he considered, but how far could he go, he pondered. He nearly tripped over a lip on the ground, every part of it had a crack.

  Maybe he should just die, he joked, but who would miss him...would anybody miss him?

  Quin’s travel came to a stop at the dead end of a narrow. The surrounding looked markedly different as everything appeared older and rustic. He nearly turned back when he noticed a double door beside him. He pushed one of them open and it dragged along the floor as he entered a circular room.

  A single throne stood at the center perched up by circular steps extended from the ground. In no time, Quin noted the silence as if echoes and the wind were banned from entrance.

  He took off his mask and the scent of dirt brought him as close to the outdoors as he had been in days. What refreshed Quin most of all were the beams of light that tilted toward the throne.

  It gave off an illusion of some figure above him seated firmly, he couldn’t let the stress play with his mind.

  As he sat on the steps, a warmth showered over Quin that almost felt foreign since his arrival underground.

  He gazed upon the ground and made out shapes of the cracks. He spotted a mark that looked like a circle-m, it reminded of the job he took from Lymon. So much of his past week stemmed from that moment.

  He wondered what he had done in his past life to deserve such misfortune.

  It should have been the best moment of his life when he became a Sentar’i but the cloaks quickly snuffed that moment out. He yearned for a new life with his powers, not more hardships. Then again, that was Quin’s whole life.

  A series of hardships with little moments of respite. It merely continued after he stood out.

  A line from Naim Noma popped into his head, “A spirit deprived the strikes of life is like a metal deprived the strikes of a smith. Both are unassuming clumps and neither can take their best shapes.”

  As much as the Pit bent his spirits, Quin couldn’t allow them to snap. He faced hardships before but he made do with the troubles. From his sister’s absence to his run in with Desmon, he still found ways to persevere.

  He raised his head and confidence at the thought. Newfound resolve coursed through his body. Quin became determined to get through this trial and emerge in his best shape.

  The door suddenly twitched.

  Quin snapped to his feet, anxiety replaced confidence. The door was still open so the sound came from the other side against the wall. He cautiously approached the old stone barrier. Before he could reveal the source, they rushed out from their hideaway.

  “Please! I’m sorry sir! I didn’t mean to slack off I swear!” cried a young kid on the floor, he messaged his legs.

  “Whoa! Wait! What!?” Quin blurted with surprise.

  The kid sported no obvious signs of a Cosondere. It clued Quin that he was one of the Yerps. He appeared banged up and in some discomfort as he massaged his leg, but that appeared to be the last thing on his mind.

  “Please don’t tell the Neravivs about this,” he pleaded with frightened eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Quin asked.

  “I’m fine. My legs’re cramped. I’ll get back to work as soon as it goes away. I swear.”

  Covered in bruises and fear, the boy’s eyes moistened. Quin couldn’t be more unsure of how to respond.

  He looked at the boy for a few seconds before he placed his mask on.

  “O-okay. Make sure you get looked at for those wounds,” he said.

  The kid nodded furiously. “Yes sir! I’ll do that.”

  Quin looked around the room one more time before he took his leave.

  He had no clue why they were there but after a second thought, it might have been for a similar reason. The sight of so many cloaks unsettled him like none other, he could only imagine the harsh experience endured by the Yerps.

  As hard as it was for him, the disheveled servants reminded him he wasn’t the only one who faced hardships.