SUPER//CUT

I play//in the dark

When it came to making soldiers, the Horde had it down to an art. There were some adults who joined their ranks—those disenchanted by monarchy rule, the vulnerable types manipulated in to believing in Lord Hordak's vision of a more civilized Etheria, and prisoners of war made to serve their conqueror—but it was children the Horde truly preferred. They recruited early — the younger, the better. Usually this meant scooping up the many orphans of war, or simply stealing children right from their family's arms. Children were malleable and easy to control. They were ideal.

A child's combat training didn't begin until they were seven, maybe eight and sometimes six — it all depended on their development. But their grooming began right away. From the time they were old enough to speak, Shadow Weaver would startle her young charges awake randomly throughout the night, testing their readiness in case of attack. If they fell ill, they were made to stay out of sight lest their weakness and germs infect the others. They were never asked, only told. Never spared a kind word, only talked down to. It was a painful way to grow up.

As Adora and Catra got older, it became clear that they were different even in the ways that made them the same. Both were extraordinarily gifted cadets, though what came easily to Catra—speed, dexterity, cunning—were things Adora had to work for. She was only human, after all. But she was strong and she was diligent, and it didn't take long for her to rise to the top of their squadron.

"Very good, Adora," Shadow Weaver said as the cadets filed into the locker room after sparring practice. She stood by the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. "Your progress continues to impress me. I always knew you were special."

This was the kind of praise Adora craved; she needed it the way she needed food to eat and air to breathe. These were the moments that made every aching muscle and sleep-deprived drill worth the pain and effort. When Shadow Weaver commended her, Adora felt useful; it made her feel like she, in a sea of other cadets, was important.

"Thank you, Shadow Weaver," she said, beaming up at the sorceress. "Catra and I have been practicing during the break after study hall."

"Yes, well, I'm glad to see the effort is paying off for one of you," Shadow Weaver replied, sliding a cutting glance at Catra, who hovered in the doorway. Catra shrank back and dropped her gaze to the floor. There had been nothing wrong with her performance, she just hadn't been the last one standing. Not that it would have mattered — when it came to Shadow Weaver, Catra could never seem to break second best. "Keep this up, Adora, and you may well find yourself named Force Captain one day."

Adora's breath caught in her throat. Her? A Force Captain? It was the highest honor a senior cadet could hope for, and there were precious few positions to go around. She swallowed hard and fought to retain her composure.

"Do you really think so?"

Shadow Weaver nodded.

"I expect to great things from you, Adora," she said, drifting away. "Do not disappoint me."

The moment the training arena doors closed behind Shadow Weaver, Adora let out a squeal of excitement. She flung her arms around Catra and squeezed tightly.

"Did you hear that? Force Captain!"

Catra squirmed and choked in Adora's stranglehold. "Well, duh. You're such a perfect people pleaser — who else would she want to make Force Captain?"

"Oh, c'mon," Adora laughed, grinding her knuckles playfully against Catra's scalp. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"What?" Catra squawked. She freed herself from Adora's grip with a gasp and scowled. "Why would I want to be Force Captain? Do you have any idea how much work that would be? Ugh!"