The Silent oath

Chapter 1: The Capture

My name is Zairalia. I was taken when I was six years old. The memories of that night are as vivid as the dreams that haunt me, never allowing me to forget the life that was stolen from me.

The Takers came under the cover of darkness, their light blue cloaks billowing like ghostly apparitions. I remember the sudden noise that shattered the quiet of our home, the clash of metal, the heavy thuds of boots, and my father's cry of pain. My mother's scream followed, desperate and filled with terror, as she tried to protect my baby brother. I hid under my bed, clutching the small wooden toy my father had carved for me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum of fear and desperation. The smell of smoke filled the air, stinging my eyes and burning my throat. Shadows moved in the flickering light of the flames that were consuming our home. Then they found me. Cold, cruel hands dragged me out from my hiding place. I kicked and screamed, but it was no use. They were too strong. I looked up and saw a face hidden in the shadows, a mask with no features, just empty eyes staring back at me. It was then that I realized the Takers were not like other people. They moved with a precision and purpose that was terrifying in its efficiency. I was taken outside, and that's when I saw them fully. The Takers moved like shadows, swift and silent, their light blue cloaks billowing in the night. They didn't speak, didn't show any emotion. They were like ghosts, coming to take me away from everything I had ever known. I tried to fight, to get back to my family, but the last thing I remember is the purple tree. The way its leaves seemed to reach out to me, glowing even brighter in the firelight, as if it were trying to protect me. But then everything went dark.

When I awoke, I was in a dimly lit room. The walls were made of stone, cold and unwelcoming. The only light came from a small, flickering candle on a table in the corner. I was no longer in my familiar world. I was in the underground headquarters of The Family.

The Family. That's what they called themselves. An underground organization that operated in the shadows, known only to those who had reason to fear or need their services. They were mercenaries, killers, spies, and thieves, all bound together by a code of loyalty and secrecy. The first thing they did was strip me of everything I had. My clothes were replaced with plain black robes, my hair was cut short, and they took away the small wooden toy I had clung to so desperately. I was branded on my back with the mark of The Family, a constant reminder of my new reality. I was placed in a dormitory with other children who had been taken, all of us dressed the same, our identities stripped away. The dormitory was a large, empty room with rows of cots. Each cot had a small box underneath it for a spare black robe. We had a shared bathroom, and there was no privacy. Everything was designed to break us down, to make us part of the collective, to erase who we were.

The days that followed were a blur of training and conditioning. We were taught to cook, clean, and fight. We were beaten for expressing emotions or disobedience. The Takers and other members of The Family watched us constantly, ensuring we followed their rules. I received a beating nearly every day, not because I was disobedient, but because I often defended the younger children. The scars on my back are a map of my defiance and my determination to hold on to some semblance of who I once was.

Despite the harshness of our new reality, there were moments of connection. I met other children who had been taken, just like me. We formed bonds, sharing our stories and comforting each other in the darkness. These friendships became our lifeline, our way of surviving the brutality of The Family's indoctrination.

One of the first friends I made was Alicent, a changeling child who clung to me when she was running away from Bart, the Mother's pet cat. Bart didn't like changelings or Tieflings, and he made his disdain known. Alicent was only eight, and she looked up to me. I became a mother figure to her, guiding and protecting her as best as I could. In return, she helped me with my studies and fighting skills. She was my little shadow, always by my side.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I began to understand the true nature of The Family. They were an underground organization that had started as a group of mercenaries for hire. Over time, they grew larger and needed more personnel, so they resorted to kidnapping children and raising them to be the world's best killers, spies, and guards. The commoners knew nothing of them, but the nobles did. The nobles used The Family for their own gain, paying off law enforcement to look the other way and not search for missing children.

The Family lived in a plain building with the words "the cloak sees all" written in undercommon near the door. The building was enchanted, much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Each cloak color had its own wing, housing up to 400 people. We had small rooms and bathrooms, training areas, common areas, a library, and a dining space. The Matron had a suite, and the Mother had her own wing, much grander and more private than the rest.

The Family's structure was rigid and hierarchical, a meticulously crafted web of power and control. Each rank and cloak group held distinct roles and responsibilities. The black cloaks, ever vigilant, served as the guards, the silent protectors of The Family's secrets. The light blue cloaks were the Takers, the ghosts who snatched us from our former lives. Yellow cloaks belonged to the spies, the unseen eyes and ears in the shadows. The green cloaks were the assassins, deadly and precise, striking fear into the hearts of their targets. Grey cloaks covered the thieves, masters of stealth and subterfuge. Red cloaks, combined with their respective group colours, adorned the matrons, the formidable women who ruled each faction with an iron grip. And above all, The Mother wore a dress of red and gold, a symbol of her ultimate authority. She needed no cloak, for she was the embodiment of The Family itself, handling everything with a presence that commanded unwavering obedience.

I quickly learned the importance of the gold stripes on our black robes. They marked our progress and achievements within The Family. After two years of basic training and chores, we earned our first gold stripe. After five years of general training, we earned another stripe and were assigned to a single teacher to learn specialized skills. After five more years, we received the gold symbol of our master and the cloak of our group before undergoing a test observed by the mistresses, masters, councillors, ambassadors, and the Matron. Once selected as an apprentice, we received the gold symbol of our new master. Completing our first solo task earned us our final gold stripe, and we became agents, marked by a gold dot. With each new rank, we earned another dot until we reached the rank of master and received a star.

The journey from recruit to master was long and gruelling, but it was the only path available to us. The Family's indoctrination was thorough, breaking us down and rebuilding us in their image. But despite their efforts, they could not erase the memories of my past, the dreams of my family, or the image of the purple tree.

As I stood in the training yard, surrounded by other children who had been taken, I vowed to remember who I was. I would survive this new reality, but I would not let The Family define me. My name is Zairalia, and I will not be forgotten.