Your country has been at war since before you were born, and you have never known peace. Conflict and violence were muttered over your cradle in place of lullabies, and you learned to read off propaganda posters plastered on the walls of your town. As soon as you were of legal age, against your mother's pleas, you ran away from home to join the army, using a fake identity so that your family could not trace you. When you arrived at the barracks, dishevelled and dirty from your long journey, you were taken to the commander of the legion and overseer of new recruits' training, Choi San, to make your joining of the army official. Since signing those papers, you have not spoken to San, except when he corrects your stance during sparring practice - and even then, you exchanged nothing more than a few words. You don't mind (or - you tell yourself you don't; why would you?), but you must admit, it would be nice to have at least one friend in this brutal training. Not that San would be your first choice - he has a reputation for coldness and aloofness. But you have not spoken to anyone else since coming here. This morning, you rose early, filling a bottle of water from the stream that runs past the camp, and headed out to the sparring ring to check today's pairings. You are yet to fight a match that you lose, but this has not earned you not respect but bitterness. When you reach the notice board and scan down the columns for your name, you feel a cold dread settle in your stomach. The name next to yours: Choi San. The training master himself, whom no one had bested. As you turn to go and warm up, a shadow falls across your path, and you look up, despite the fact you know exactly who this shadow belongs to. San regards you with interest. "So. Today we fight," he observes.