“Up! Everyone up!” the cry went through the dormitory.

Tine stirred, slipping from a most pleasant dream as consciousness returned with the movement of other bodies around him.   Once he was more or less awake, he attempted to sit up, but something was wrong.  When he drew a breath, he gasped in pain and lay back on his mattress.

His best friend, Aiden, turned to him, his eyes widened in shock, “Tine, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” he rasped out, his voice sounding odd. Tine closed his eyes and focused on not hurting as he ached from the top of his blond head to the soles of his lightly bronzed feet and had no clue as to why.   

“Tine, lay back down; I’m going to go get someone.”  

Tine did not argue.  His head swam whenever he opened his eyes.  The other boys had dressed and headed down to morning exercise in the courtyard where he could hear the morning drills beginning through the open window. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before Aiden came back with Deven, a year-nine instructor, in tow.

“He woke up like this,” Aiden whispered. “He was fine last night.”

“Hello, Tine,” Deven said as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Tine opened his eyes.  The pale green orbs glistened with unshed tears.  There appeared to be bruises under his eyes, but Deven knew it was just one sign of many the boy would be exhibiting if what he thought happened to him had happened. Deven smiled and stroked Tine’s forehead. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Aiden asked.

“Nothing that time can not repair, Aiden, leave us.”

Aiden bobbed his head then left the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hurt, confused,” Tine managed to rasp out.

Deven frowned at him, “You were not ready, but you woke up this morning, so you will survive.  Although before it’s over, you may wish you hadn’t.  Come on and get out of bed, the fresh air will do you good.”  Deven spotted the expected twin prick marks on the boy’s left thigh almost immediately when he tossed the blanket back.  Now having his explanation, he gave the rest of the boy a cursory look.    Tine’s limbs were long, straight, well muscled with a light dusting of hair sprouting where it should be.  His torso was lean, his rib cage prominent, but he didn’t appear to be malnourished, nor had his growth been stunted or hindered in any way. He was small though, almost too small. Deven frowned and tugged Tine into a sitting position, and then opened his clothing chest to toss clothing at him.  A very short time later, Deven led a pouting Tine down the stairs and into the courtyard. 

“Go join your year,” he said as he indicated the year-eights who were doing their morning exercises, “I’ll see you later to make sure you are still alive.”

Tine nodded and stumbled toward them, his body behaving as if it were still not quite under his own control.

Deven watched Tine and his year-mates for a while to be satisfied the boy was truly unharmed, then turned and went back inside the building.  He climbed the stairs to the top floor turning over the morning’s events in his mind trying to determine which of the young Imperials would dare to taste the blood of one so young. 

Striding back and forth on the landing at the top of the stairs, Bra-Neche waited. He looked as if he had left his room in a hurry as he was scantly-dressed with just a pair of low-hanging, loose pants covering his tall, lanky body, and he had not finished combing his waist-length, raven-black hair. 

Deven nodded at him to acknowledge his presence, then turned to go to his rooms, which were along the inner corridor.  Bra-Neche followed, his dark irises swirling with worry.

“Is there a problem, Bra-Neche?” Deven asked the boy.   

Bra-Neche looked back down the hall toward the stairs, and then back at his uncle, who frowned as he studied his nephew’s flushed face and his glow of good health. Bra-Neche took a deep breath, which caused his well-muscled chest and broad shoulders to rise and fall. Then Bra-Neche managed to screw up enough courage to ask,  “Will he live?”

Deven stared at his sister’s son, the question unanswered.  The realization slowly dawned on him as to who was to blame for Tine’s condition this morning.  He forced himself to be casual, non-caring even, “What of it?  If he lives, he will bond.  If he does not live… well some do not.” Deven shrugged, then turned to open his door.

“I would prefer if he lived…” Bra-Neche said softly.

“It might be better if he does not, Bra-Neche.” Deven told his nephew, “He is too young.  You are too young.  Neither of you should be thinking about bonding yet, especially you.”

“Isn’t that what they sent me here to learn about?” Bra-Neche reached out and grabbed his uncle’s shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’ve been sitting in with the others?  To learn how to choose a mate?”

Deven narrowed his eyes and allowed his voice to carry a bit of a growl, “You are here to learn, not to do.  No one gave you permission to court any of the boys here, much less a very young and very impressionable year-eight.” Deven stepped into his room, “You have your studies, get to them. I will not see you outside your room except for meals until further notice.”

Bra-Neche bowed his head, “Yes, Uncle.”

“And, Bra-Neche, if the boy dies, his death will be on your soul.”

Bra-Neche blanched, swallowed hard, backed up two steps, and then turned to flee down the hall to his appointed room.