I watched as a hunting pack left to go into the Lower Ghettos, and dreamt of the day when I would turn eighteen, becoming a full member of the Pack. But for now, I was stuck in class listening to a Third Beta instruct us on the proper care our weapons: whetstones and grinding wheels to keep our blades sharp, and oils and swabs to maintain the barrels of our guns clean. I sat at the far back of the class facing the Beta’s training ground absent mindedly running the whetstone over my blade. Like everyone else who had turned seventeen I had my own weapons of choice: dual short swords and simple handgun. Though my swords weren’t as big as a claymore, or my gun didn’t pack the punch of a shotgun, I knew how to use them skillfully, taking down some of my teachers when I first got them. I gasped as I felt a sharp pain across my back, and was about to curse the person out until I noticed it was Third Beta Gregor, holding a thin rod.
“It seems you are not paying attention, Pup,” Gregor said, calling me by the rank of all the young and trainees of The Pack. He grabbed the sword I was working on out of my hands and said, “Look at this sword, the dents on the blade are so big I can count them with my own eye.” He handed me back my sword and turned to the rest of the class. “This young Pup has demonstrated a fine example why you must pay attention to when maintaining your blade. A good blade . . .”
“. . . is the smart blade,” finished the rest of the class.
“Good, you are dismissed.” I stood up and returned my blades to their scabbards, and I was just about to leave when I felt Gregor grab my shoulder. “Except you. I want you to stay behind today and make sure those blades are nice and sharp.”
I slumped back into my chair, grumbling as I drew my blades out, as well as pulling a whetstone from my pack. I began to, once again, absentmindedly stroke the stone across the length of my sword. I didn’t notice when Gregor took the seat right across from me. He grabbed my other sword, and began to stroke it with a whetstone of his own, paying careful attention to his work.
“What’s the matter, Pup?” he asked after a minute, not looking up. “You seem so spaced out any more.”
“Nothing, Third Beta,” I replied. “I’m just excited.” And excited I did have a right to be, for in two days I will turn eighteen automatically promoting me to the rank of First Beta and making me a full member of the Pack. With the promotion I will be one step closer to becoming an Alpha, just like my mother.
“Being excited is fine, just so long as it doesn’t interfere with your work,” Grogor commented. He stopped stroking the blade and held it up to the light, examining the sharp edges. He set the blade down and held out his hand for the blade I was sharpening. He stared at it quietly for several seconds, before setting it down with satisfaction.
“What’s it like being a Beta, sir?” I asked, trying to break the silence.
“You’ll find out when you get there, but for your sake, I hope you never have to,” he replied sullenly.
“Find out what?” I leaned forward on my elbows, staring at Gregor intently, but never looking into his eyes.
“Every Pup grows up believing that the Highers, the Lowers, and the Pack all live in peace. When you go out there as a Beta, Lethero, keep your morals close to heart, and don’t let anyone keep you from sticking to them.” He looked away into the distance, as if looking to a memory from long ago past. Then, with a sigh, he stood up and said to me, “Let’s head home, little brother.”
I stood up and followed him out of the classroom, pondering what he told me.
