The Chrysalis Mark

Chapter 1- The Man Clad in Red

Silas Sharpe found himself reading and rereading over the dossier Kelra had given him. Sure, join the Kelra army; what could go wrong? What a joke. This was his fifth assignment this quarter alone, and now he was going to have to be away for who knows how long.
With an exasperated sigh, Silas threw the dossier towards his bed. Rereading the dossier over and over again wouldn't change his assignment. With Kelra, there is rarely any room to negotiate. The bed wasn't able to be negotiated; his attire was not subject to negotiation. Kelra was known throughout the factions for their heavy-hitting tactics and for what they did to those who didn't follow their law, Silas was no exception.
Silas let his head drop onto his desk, not caring about the migraine that he knew would follow. His whole body ached from the constant stress of his muscles and, of course, from the scars that littered his body. An arrow wound in the shoulder, a slash across the chest, a really sharp rock that pierced through a foot, and then the brand that seared his neck, but that didn't count, did it?
Every member of the Kelraion army got the brand to signify their loyalty to their nation, whether they be at the bottom of the chain or along the top with the sovereign's court, no one was exempt. At the time Silas thought it was the greatest honor one could achieve, now it just laid there as a grim reminder.
Silas opened an eye and spared a glance toward the open closet. Torn uniforms layed there, casually tucked under a spare blanket, just barely out of sight. Kelra forbade taking trophies or even keeping your suits as mementos to mourn, but Silas listened to enough of their rules; he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, so hiding it was the next best option. He would never forget his past assignments or his fallen comrades as they lay silently in his mind.
What would they think of him now, would they be proud of him, or would they be disappointed? The second option was much more likely he supposed. After all, a majority of his comrades had died in battle with the n-, nope he couldn't even say their name, it was just a folk tale that they would come for you if you spoke their name. Silas didn't much believe in fairy tales but better to be safe than sorry. It was almost time for him to join the others for the debriefing but knowing how they usually went, he needed a stiff drink before being berated again.
As he walked out of his room and down the narrow hallway, he couldn't hear the roar of people as they walked past him talking nonsense about girls, boys, and missions. The focus of his mind was on one thing and one thing only. Some damn food would be great right about now. He turned down another hallway slowly making his way to the kitchen to steal a pastry before they all disappeared to the commissary.
Finally, within sight of his goal, he slipped into a narrow passageway in the wall that only a handful of officers knew about. Of course, he wasn't an officer but that didn't stop him from stealing all their dirty tricks. It was a tight squeeze to make it through the passageway, one that even with him sucking in his gut, left abrasions over his chest. On the other side, victory awaited and it smelled utterly delicious. Now came the hard part, convincing Kenric to part with his precious baked treats. That or just swiping them from under his nose. Silas decided to go with the fun option.
Putting on his most serious face, he approached the door and knocked. Once. Twice. The door opened and a stout man with a pudgy face came into view. "Ah dear Sharpe, why do you continue to vex me," said the man as he crossed his arms. "I thought that you had learned your lesson the last time I caught you sulking about back here.
"Kenric" he waited a minute and then continued unsure of if this was the right call. "I was only heading this way to warn you, I knew if I came this way, I'd be able to get to you faster than the common rabble"
"Warn me? Please, you wouldn't warn a man just out of the kindness of your heart"
"You wound me, but I digress, I guess you fancy a night in the west wing. Good luck" With that said, Silas turned and started slowly walking back towards the passageway he entered from, trying to give Pudgy a chance to take the bait. He heard the sigh first followed by a muttered wait from Kenrics lips. Success.
"What would you be warning me about" muttered the baker with a slight hint of annoyance.
"Oh nothing too important, just you know the usual, oh, and the slight tip I got from an officer about some higher members of the sovereigns court coming to inspect our unit," Silas saw the color drain from the man's cheeks and he knew that he had fallen for the ruse, Why would one of the court ever come to this broken down fort far away from the field of battle. The only use this unit had was that they are to be reinforcements for the Chrysalis Isles, a prison system located off the Kelra coast. Just thinking about it filled him with a sense of dread, especially considering that the place he was being assigned to was none other than those infamous isles.
"You're lying," stuttered Kenric. "Why would a member of the court ever come here? We aren't on their radar at all"
Silas leaned against the wall trying to figure out where these pastries were. "Well you didn't hear this from me, but apparently there's a turncoat in our midst." He knew the ruse would work because he based it off of the truth. His truth. The word his mind kept repeating. Traitor.
The fear in Kenrics' eyes almost made Silas feel for him. Almost. "Now I came here to warn you because I don't fancy my pastry maker being sent to the west wing, And because I know about the rations you slip into your own pockets," This is wrong. No, necessary. "I would suggest you run along to your quarters and bring those rations back before they start to notice the missing inventory ." Silas shot Kenric a menacing smirk. A smirk that was sharp enough to cut.
"You..you..." Kenric stopped and then ran off presumably to his room. The door was left wide open as if it was inviting him in to taste its sweets. With a stone faced expression, He strode through the open door and right to where the pastries were hidden. His mouth longed to just take each of those pastries and scarf it down but if one too many went missing, the officers would catch onto the scent.
Grabbing a pastry and bottle of mead and quickly hiding them both in his pockets, Silas left just as quickly as he arrived and squeezed himself back through that tiny passageway. As he excited, he felt a chill breeze caress the back of his spine. Wait. The shirt. He must have torn it in the passageway. Damnit.
Running back to his room like a madman, he was determined to get a new shirt. No way was he letting any officer see him all dusty and scratched, he just couldn't risk it. He swung around the corner and made a beeline straight for his room. Good, no other soldiers. That's a bit odd he thought but the time to dwell on it was gone. Racing into his room and shutting the door behind him, he got out a new uniform, one that wasn't torn to shreds. Quickly putting it on, He checked the mirror to see if everything was in the right position
The uniform was on right, although it fit quite tightly around his shoulders. A new uniform is needed but for now, the tight fitting one will have to do. Silas swung open the door and sprinted down the fort. Left. Right. This fort had too many damn hallways. The meeting room was still open. He still had a chance.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Silas patted down his maroon and ivory colored suit, getting rid of the creases that he made himself while rushing to the meeting room. He slicked back his auburn hair and wiped off the tad bit of sugar he still had around his lips. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the meeting room and heard the door lock behind him.
"Oh how kind of you to join us Mr.Sharpe," said a booming voice from across the room. "Take.Your.Seat"
Giving no argument, Silas took his seat and turned his attention to the dossier placed in front of him and only him. There were no other soldiers in here nor were there any officers. In every meeting he had been privy to, Five or more officers were always present to make sure that no common soldier wandered too close to the meeting taking place.
A memory tugged at the back of his mind and as Silas pulled that invisible thread, it suddenly made sense as to why it was just him in that room. He had gotten too cocky and they were going to send him to the west wing. Yes. That had to be it, they were going to murder him for his crimes. Snapping back to the gruesome reality he now face, Silas looked up and realized just who the man he faced was.
He was staring straight at a member of the sovereigns court.