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little kid on the first day of school.              
    So, what did he go and do? Made like Denver and strutted into class as if he were the king of the world. Jase, Dylan and Trey seemed to follow his lead and swaggered their way over to the benches that were lined against the wall, taking their time and flexing their muscles. There was so mething about the first class that made them all want to turn into the big man; proving before they had even started that they were the biggest, baddest, toughest thing out there.
    That was until Master Warrior Kelton walked into the room and then the whole class shrunk back to size. They coul dn’t compare to him in the slightest. Kelton was already in his fighting and physical prime, appearing to be in his late twenties and buff as hell.  This bunch of teenage nobodies were no match for him.
    “Quieten it down in here, boys.” Kelton made sure to put an emphasis on the word ‘boys’, putting them firmly in their place. Even though in their minds they thought they w ere all grown up, in this world they were still children. They entered the Academy at age eighteen and would graduate in three to four years. Even then, they would not be ‘men’ until they proved their worth. Kelton may only appear to be twenty-eight-ish, but he was decades older and he had the wisdom and knowledge to carry himself with arrogance and confidence that the young guys could only wish for.
    Kelton was used to dealing with unruly, rebellious, over-confident, enthusiastic rabbles. This was nothing new for him. He had been a warrior for countless decades and over recent years, he had become the head of the Sons of Satrina training Academy. He had taken over when Bartholomew had retired to oversee the safety of the community from a less hostile environment. Kelton still went out into the field regularly, as he had a destiny to fulfil. He split his time between teaching and fighting and found each as equally as rewarding as the other.
    The guys all sat a little straighter and paid a little more attention. They were ready to battle it out for the position of the best in the class. Kelton turned his back to the group and grinned to himself. He was thinking back to the time all those years ago when he’d been a cocky trainee himself.
    When Kelton had been younger it had been their leader, Bartholomew, who had taken a personal interest in the trainees of the day. Kelton could clearly remember their leader knocking him on his ass in his very first combat class. Cockiness didn’t get you anywhere in this place and Kelton had found that out the hard way. As would these new recruits. Kelton had learned plenty of tricks from his predecessor.
    He had been taught by the best and had become even better. All of the boys in the class knew that they were in for a tough time with him, but that it would be worth it in the end. No one could teach combat like Master Warrior Kelton.
    “Right then.” he said as he stood before the newbie’s. “I am Master Warrior Kelton. You can call me Sir until you have earned the right to call me by my name. This, for some of you, will never happen. In addition, so you know from the very start, just because you have been born with the mark, it does not automatically mean that you will become warrior. It takes time. It takes effort. It takes hard work and dedication. And, it takes loyalty. This whole life is not a given right. It is a privilege that you have to earn.”
    Most of them sat in rapt silence. All except for Denver. He really didn’t know when to keep his big mouth shut. You would have thought that a person with even half a brain cell rattling around in their skull would have known better.  Clearly, Denver was that dumb. “Sure. You know what they sa y, those who can’t do, teach.” he muttered with a snigger.
    Not one of the guys cracked a smile. They all shifted their gaze to him, unable to believe the fucktarded remark he’d made. It wouldn’t have ever