Brackburg Village, South of Pristine “Huh? What are you spacing out for? We’re in the middle of training!" a stern voice sounded out from behind a little boy whose face revealed a bright smile, a smile very unlikely to be the cause of the rigorous training all of the village kids in the training field were undergoing at the moment. Instructor Clave obviously understood this and therefore slapped the little boy across the back of his head, hard enough to produce a loud, crisp sound.

“What’s happening? Where did the ice cream go?” the little kid asked with a question mark to his innocent, still effeminate face. As he turned around to see what ended his good dream prematurely, his smile disappeared akin to the speed of sound. There, the notorious Instructor Clave stood, those familiar, bulging arms that were as thick as iron-tree trunks once again about to unleash their fury upon the back of his head. He suppressed the reflex to scream. He stood up straight, fully knowing where he was. The training field was filled with kids all a couple of years older than him. Some looked at him disdainfully, some showed the hint of a smile, and some held their noses from laughter. The little kid swallowed hard. “Sorry, Sir Clave, I don’t know what happened. I must have fallen asleep.” “Of course you did, Philip! And it’s the third time today! Today!” roared Instructor Clave. Instructor Clave was a man in his fifties. He had quite an angular face, thick lips over a set of white teeth, and a trimmed, black beard stricken with several grey, lonely hairs. Every time a student tried to get away with slacking off, the bear-like man would notice it immediately. He glanced at the rest of his students that were spread across the training field spanning over twenty meters in length and width. “It's time for the horse stance," said Instructor Clave. "You know what it means to be last, right?” Philip groaned.

Instructor Clave lifted one of his eyebrows. “Was that a… complaint?

“Hehe, of course not, Sir Clave!” Philip coughed out in the most humble voice he could, afraid to be beaten again for being disrespectful. He glanced at the abandoned mine to his left, where the biggest stone no one wanted to carry was left behind. He forced a smile on his lips. "I merely wanted to thank sir for giving me the best opportunity. Thank you, Sir Clave, for this opportunity, I, Philip, owe you one. Hehe, “I’ll go get that boulder now!”

Instructor Clave watched the little kid run over to the abandoned mine, trying to load the stone which was double his own weight onto his back. He sighed. Philip had the most potential of this batch of students. If not for his lack of motivation, laziness, perhaps he could become stronger than even those a few years older than him. What a shame, for such potential to be wasted, thought Instructor Clave, while ordering for the Weightlifting phase to being.

“Ah shit, I really screwed up. Big time.”

Philip regretted having been lost in thought as the weightlifting phase began. He would normally pick up a medium sized rock, about his own size, and that would be it. Sure, it would be tough to complete the whole ten minutes of standing still with the rock on his back, but it was doable without too much effort. This time, however, he was the last one to choose a rock, resulting in him having to pick the biggest, heaviest rock that no one was able to carry.

The little boy was seven years old this year. Although he was very strong, he wasn’t very big. His muscles were all finely developed compared to his peers and boasted of quality rather than volume. His golden hair was special around the village, a gift from his mother who was a foreigner. On top of his golden hair, there wasn’t much different from the other village kids; brown, innocent eyes, sun-tanned skin and a set of dazzling, white teeth. Well, maybe his facial features were a bit more delicate than others in the village, but that was about it– he was just a normal kid besides that.

“Five minutes left!” Instructor Clave announced after a while.

Sweat poured down from all of the students. The most obvious of them all was Philip, whose shirt and pants were drenched. Just after the five-minute mark, he couldn’t handle it any longer. He threw away the stone and collapsed on the ground with heavy breathing, gasping for air. The sky was blue, he noticed, and the clouds were like mirages, fleeting across the sky like waves in the ocean. How beautiful. Minutes passed like this until he heard Instructor Clave's voice.

“Philip.” Instructor Clave said angrily. “I’m sorry, Sir Clave, I could do it no more. The rock was too heavy.” the little kid said in a pitiful voice, looking at the clouds that floated in the velvet blue sky, then glancing at the stone which he had thrown away. “Just look at its size, it’s almost like two me!? How do you expect me to carry such weight for ten minutes?”

There was a long silence before Instructor Clave spoke again.

“Philip, don’t come here anymore. You’re expelled.”

The little kid sat up in an instant. He looked at Instructor Clave with constricted eyes and then back at the others who were finished with their training and had formed a ring around him and the instructor.

“What do you mean, expelled?” Philip asked while staring blankly. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Just as I said, you aren’t allowed to come here anymore,” Instructor Clave sighed and thrust his hand over to Philip’s throat, grabbing the pendant signifying a student of the village’s basic training centre that hung there and ripped it off. “We have no need for people who don’t give their all. You don't your best, and we don't need you. Do you understand?”

Philip didn’t know how to respond. He glanced at the other kids. They looked at him with faces that told him they agreed with the instructor. Not a single one of them said anything to defend him, not even those whom he regarded as friends, those whom he would stick up for himself.

“But I–” he stammered.

“My word is final. Now go away. Fine if you don't want to practice yourself, but don't ruin others' practice. That's disrespectful. ” Instructor Clave said firmly. Hopefully, this would allow Philip to understand his faults and even overcome them if he so wishes. “If your mother demands an explanation, tell her to come see me.”

Philip kept looking at others blankly. After a couple of seconds, rage began to churn from within him. He couldn't help but lash out as he ran away. “Fine! Screw all of you. I don’t need your training, old man!”

Philip trudged back home, kicking and punching at whatever came his way. He flung a mashed pine into the forest at the left side of the dirt-paved road leading back to the village with his sandal. He cussed loudly without reservation, wearing a sour expression on his face. “What the heck is that old man’s problem? Dammit!”

He was very upset that he had been expelled from Instructor Clave’s training. Right now, he hated that old geezer the most in the entire world. Like what was his problem, doing this to Philip when he hadn’t done anything wrong; just because he couldn’t carry that super large rock!

Others always failed with that rock, yet he was the only one to get expelled because of it! How incredibly unfair!

“Mother, I’m home.”

“Hey, honey, how was training?”

The question that flowed into Philip’s ears while removing his sandals made his mood even worse. How his mother, Sarah, would react once he told her was something he didn’t want to even think about. Nevertheless, he knew that she would find out either way, so it was no use to try and hide it.

“I was expelled.” “You were what?!” His mother came out from the kitchen in a flash. She was a mother-like woman with just the sorts of features a mother was expected to have. A gentle smile, and big, understanding, blue eyes, along with an aura that made one at ease no matter what one had gone through. She wore a white apron that had been used for a long time and wasn’t white anymore. Unfortunately, to Philip, her expression did not match well with her normal behaviour.

“Why? What happened?” she asked, untied the apron and put it to rest on the table.

Philip explained to his mother what happened during training.

His mother’s expression gradually changed during the conversation.

“You know, your father would be very unhappy with you now if he was here.” she said.

“Why?” Philip asked, flustered. “It’s not as if others can lift that stone.”

“But you are not like others!” she replied. “You are the only son of the village’s blacksmith! And you’re my son too. You can do much more than you think, you just need to try more!”

“He isn't the blacksmith anymore! He is dead!” Philip shouted. First Instructor Clave and now his mother. “And I try the best I can! Why do you care about what I do all the time? Everyone cares about what I do and It’s getting really annoying! Argh, why can’t you just all leave me alone for once!”

He turned around and ran out from the house. Sarah was left standing in the house, looking out from at her son’s disappearing back through the open door. A painful expression covered her face. She softly smiled, a lone tear falling from her face, hitting the floor with a clear sound. “Because you’re my son, that's why..." Philip sat on a stone near the Crying Stream under a peach tree. The peach tree was his favourite spot on a hot day, especially when his anger got out of control. This happened once in a while and only the splashing from the Crying stream was able to sooth these impulses of his. The word crying in the crying stream came from how the river flowed through the land. Just like tears, there were many small streams that together made one whole, therefore its unordinary name. The patches of earth and sand made it easy for villages to cross the river when they scavenged for fruits and berries or hunted for animals that was close by. “Why do they always tell me what to do?” the little boy said, sprawling with his legs in the shadow, looking out at the flushing water a bit absentmindedly. “I even yelled at mother…” “...and cursed Instructor Clave.” Philip continued dejectedly. “But still, why do I need to care? He kicked me out because I couldn’t carry the rock no one was able to carry!” the little boy removed a strand of his long hair that had made its way to his eyes, snorting loudly. “Humpf! If they don’t want me there, well, I won’t be going there!” Suddenly, Philip heard a voice not too far away. “Philip!” It said. He looked at the direction it came from. The voice turned out to come from farmer Barney – their neighbour, a middle-aged farmer living with his wife and two daughters. Contrary to his normal, happy expression, Barney seemed very agitated and upset, as well as a bit sad, as he got closer to the little boy. “What is it?” Philip asked. “It’s your mother,” Barney said solemnly, breaking out in tears. “They took her!”