Eshan’s hand smashed down on the small device next to his bed three milliseconds after it started its angry buzzing. He’d already been awake for hours, before the suns had risen, before the moons and stars had set, he wasn’t exactly sure if he’d even been asleep to begin with. How could he have slept, just the idea of going to sleep was simply laughable.

  He rose, moving with practiced slowness and care. The room was small, and he must not wake his younger siblings before Mama was ready for them. Moving into the washroom, he quickly scrubbed his beard… scruff… whatever- his face and short, dark hair, before applying the dark brown and stark white paints he’d prepared the day before. Then he donned the tanned leather armor overtop his lighter clothes, tightening the straps just as he’d been taught. Last, he grabbed his boy and quiver, checking each of the four-and-twenty handmade arrows. They were perfect.

  Eshan took in his appearance in the looking glass one last time. He had grown well, though not quite as tall as his Papa, he towered over his Mama. Still, he couldn’t help but wish he had a bit more muscle to show for the years of work he’d put in in the fields. Regardless, his black hair and light skin were now covered in mottled patterns of white and brown. With his armor, bow and quiver over his shoulder, and paring knife strapped to his waist, he thought he actually looked like a hunter. Eshan couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. At last, he was ready. Finally, he wouldn’t be a kid anymore. Finally, he would swap out his lifeless dark eyes for the eyes of war.

  Papa was already waiting for Eshan outside, the morning fog not having yet dispersed and a slight chill nipping at his face the moment he felt it. The giant bear of a man was wearing similar armor to Eshan’s own, but of a noticeably higher quality. That, plus the thick woolen cloak over his broad shoulders, and Eshan thought he could pass for an actual bear if he wanted. His father’s deep maroon eyes roamed over Eshan, checking his armor, his paint, his preparations, everything. Without a word, Papa held out his hand and with equal silence but a lot more trepidation, Eshan handed over his bow and one of his arrows. For several minutes straight, Papa examined every inch of the bow. From the flexibility of the lacquered rosewood to the tension of the spun and oiled necrospider-silk string, then moved to the arrowhead and fletching. He held it at eye level to see if it curved unduly in any direction and finally held it to his nose and breathed in the scent of the wood. Papa even went so far as to inspect the knife at his hip, making Eshan grateful he’d jumped out of bed last night to give it a polish.

  Papa gave a single grunt of acknowledgement, sending Eshan’s heart soaring. He had been meticulous in caring for his bow and crafting his arrows but had still… still doubted. Still worried, still had that stab of trepidation in his heart. But no - No! He had made it. This last hurdle had been overcome, and now, now it was time.

  After slinging his bow and quiver back over his shoulder, Eshan looked at Papa and, fighting the roiling ocean that was rising in his chest, gave a carefully controlled nod. Looking back at Eshan, Papa nodded in return and then turned and took off into the snowy woods, not releasing a sound. Almost at once, Eshan was struggling to keep up. Papa wasn’t running, he was just moving so smoothly, so effortlessly that it was hard for Eshan to match his speed without making more noise than a drunken beast. Still, somehow, he managed, refusing to lose sight of Papa. The grueling march soon dispelled any sense of cold as Eshan’s back grew slick with sweat. The minutes eventually turned into hours as the twin suns moved high into the sky.

  Eventually, Papa came to a halt, his right fist going into the air before he crouched low against the frozen mud and patches of dirty snow. Panting heavily with shaking arms and trembling hands, Eshan reached out and picked up some of the snow and greedily shoved it into his mouth, savoring the refreshing icy cool that seared down his throat and into his stomach. Then he looked up and saw his Papa’s flinty gaze and the next swallow had to pass the newly formed lump of shame in his throat.

  However, he could see quite easily why they had stopped here in this shadowy expanse of wood. There ahead, no more than a few dozen body lengths away, was one of the most magnificent Warbucks Eshan had ever seen. It stood taller than Papa, with rippling scarlet fur and four eyes like shining sapphires. Its set of three crowning antlers were magnificent, lacquered black, the two large ones angling forwards in a multitude of cascading points, while the smaller one on its snout glowed at its peak with a sanguine light.

  Eshan couldn’t help it, his gradually slowing breaths all but redoubled at the sight, coming in rapid shallow whistles. Which only got worse when two smaller Warbucks and four does cantered up from the dense undergrowth.

  Fumbling for his bow, Eshan pulled the string tight aiming his shot but wasn’t hardly able to see straight through the shaking in his ar- and he forgot the arrow. Biting back a curse, Eshan reached his arm up for an arrow… when Papa caught his wrist and slowly brought it back down.

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  Gently but firmly, Papa took the bow from Eshan’s hands and placed it on the forest floor. Then taking both of his hands, looked deep into his eyes.

  “Peace before War, son. Peace first.”

  After another long moment, Papa released Eshan’s hands. After another long moment, Eshan released his first and only arrow.

  ~ ~ ~

  That evening, as the suns brushed against the eastern mountains, the entire family gathered outside as Papa drew out the ritual circle. Mama held Sala, his baby sister, while Kurik and Vatha played in the dirt, occasionally hopping up and diving in between her legs with squeels of laughter.

  Eshan beamed at them all, and Mama beamed back at him. In his hands, Eshan clutched the freshly harvested, still faintly glowing antler of the Warbuck. He could feel it as he looked down, with each pulsing glow, his heart seemed to flutter. Eshan’s legs were ever so slightly trembling, he looked up again as Papa made another mark on the blackstone slab Eshan had helped him install last spring. The pattern was simplistic in design, but terribly complicated in execution. There were multiple circles all surrounding Eshan, six small, diamond shapes connected the concentric rings and in each one a rusty-red crystal was placed. Finally, symbols that had an intense, divine meaning were drawn all around the outermost ring. Thoush Eshan had learned his letters and numbers when he was younger, these were symbols he’d never seen before, but nevertheless felt he understood. They were symbols of power, of prayer, of purity, and of knowledge.

  With a slow, deliberate movement, Papa made the final mark, then took three steps back to survey his work. Eshan, hardly holding himself back from hopping up and down with all of his pent-up energy, let out a whoop when Papa nodded. Immediately he felt chagrinned, but his heart soared when he saw Papa’s faint grin. On his normally stoic face, the slight movement of his lips was like the suns peaking out from behind a cloud.

  Backing up fully and scooping up his two little brothers, Mama and Papa looked on with pride as Eshan began the ritual.

  He started softly, speaking with as much slow, careful enunciation as possible. What if he said one of the words wrong and ended up getting rejected? Or what if he said the wrong word, and somehow ended up with a worse class, like Life or Knowledge or something useless like that? No, that couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen.

  “Before there was time, before there were gods and monsters, there was the world. Before there were mountains, before there were oceans and seas, there was the war.”

  As he spoke, the lines around the circle bleed from a chalky white to a deep crimson. The crystals around the circle flared and then cracked as the wind died and a distinct… pressure came over the yard. The three kids, though they had no idea what was happening, seemed to sense it as they grew quiet and looked on with wide eyes.

  Eshan faltered his next sentence but kept going after he swallowed and took a deep breath. “To… To be alive is to fight, to be at peace is to prepare for war. I wish to be at peace. To prepare, to fight, to be alive. I wish to walk the path of War.”

  The small bone white piece of antler in his hands seemed to melt into his skin, and he felt an indescribable rush of power come over him and a small voice that he could barely hear whispered in his ear “welcome to path.”

  Eshan was about to call to Papa and Mama, when he suddenly doubled over clutching his left hand to his chest, before wincing and clawing at his eyes while dropping to his knees. For what felt like an eternity, Eshan felt like magma was poured into his skull while a red-hot brand was pressed into his hand. His mind was reeling as it suddenly expanded and stretched to become aware of more than it ever had before, and iron entered his limbs as strength he had always wished for but never had overcome him.

  Finally, blinking his eyes open, Eshan saw Papa’s maroon eyes staring as he stood over him, while Mama’s sky-blue eyes gazed down lovingly from where she held his head in her hands.

  “Did… did it work?”

  Beaming, Mama simply said “Yes boyo, take a look at your hand.”

  Raising his right hand, he flexed his fingers, feeling strength and-

  “Your other hand, lad.”

  Oh, right. A flush crept over Eshan's face as he sat up and looked at his left hand. The skin was red and raw, but there on the back of his hand was a… a… star? About the size of his thumb nail, it was the color of dried blood, with six points and what looked like the needles from a pine tree coming off in every direction, some thick, some thin. There were small diamonds and squares all along the pattern, and there at its core was a black void with a single red dot looking up at him.

  “What uh… what is it?”

  Mama cooed while Papa just nodded in satisfaction and stood to clean off the sticky black ashes that had fallen all around the ritual stone.

  “That, my dear Eshan, is a snowflake. You might walk the path of your father, but your crest is the same as mine. Peace and War indeed. Now then, come inside for dinner, you’re far too thin deary. Extra helpings tonight before you and Papa go off under the moons.”

  “Yes Mama.”