“But…
you said it yourself…”
“We’re…
not smart…
don’t have any talents, and…
we’ve said bad things about you.”
Admitting your own shortcomings out loud is never easy.
Sean stumbled over his words, his face a map of insecurity and self-doubt.
The other boys fared no better, mumbling so quietly they could barely hear themselves.
Soren watched them in silence.
When they finished, his response came flat and unhurried.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“…What?” Sean blinked.
“I said it doesn’t matter.” Soren set his wand down.
“Intelligence, talent, skill…
none of that is set in stone.
It can be developed.
What I value is something I’ve already made clear.
I’m looking for people I can trust.
People I can hand a mission to.
People who’ll stand with me when things get rough.”
“You want loyalty…” Sean, whose familiarity with gang culture helped him read between the lines, grasped the subtext.
But that was exactly where his confusion lay.
“You know, Soren, our relationship…
hasn’t been great.
You honestly think we’re trustworthy?”
Even he found the question absurd.
Never mind ancient history.
Over the past three or four years, they and Soren hadn’t been enemies exactly, but they were far from friendly.
Everyone kept to their own circles.
Nobody went out of their way to associate.
That kind of strained relationship…
had nothing to do with trust.
“Of course you’re not trustworthy right now.
But you can become trustworthy.”
Soren opened with what sounded almost like a riddle, then laid out his thinking.
“I’m not going to feed you nonsense like ‘because we’re all orphans from the same orphanage, I consider you family.’ That’s garbage.
But we do share similar backgrounds, similar upbringings, and similar circumstances.
I understand your joys and your struggles.
From that perspective, we’re the same…
orphans with no one to rely on.
And because of that, I’m willing to treat you as my own.”
He paused, softening his tone.
“I’ve been at Brent Orphanage for eleven years.
Some of you have been here even longer.
I can tell you what each of your personalities is like, your strengths and weaknesses.
I’ve been watching.
“Now…
I’ve found a road to the top.
A door that opens onto something extraordinary.
I need to build an organisation, a force, even an army, to win this great undertaking.
“When I looked around, I saw you.
People in the same boat as me.
So I’m willing to take a gamble.
I’m offering you a chance to change your fate.
A chance to walk this path with me!”
The speech carried an infectious energy that lit a fire in the boys’ chests.
They weighed the pros and cons, and the more they thought about it, the more following Soren seemed like the right call.
They were a bunch of penniless, talentless orphans.
What path to success could be smoother than hitching themselves to a powerful wizard?
None.
In a heartbeat, the impulsive and simple-minded among them were already sold.
Even the more level-headed ones had begun to waver.
All of this unfolded exactly as Soren anticipated.
He pressed his advantage, sketching out the grand design.
“My plan is straightforward.
Phase one: I’ll find our revenue stream in potions.
Something we can sell in the ordinary world without drawing unwanted attention.
“I’ll handle production.
You handle sales.
We earn our first pot of money, improve our lives, and then aim higher.
“Trust me on this.
The profit in magical goods dwarfs anything the mundane world has to offer.
Once we share common interests and move toward success together, I expect each of you to hold the line and prove yourselves worthy of trust.”
That last line borrowed from the famous declaration of Vice Admiral Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar.
A group of London-raised orphans would certainly recognise it.
“Of course…”
Before anyone could respond, Soren pivoted, and his voice dropped to a winter chill.
“To prevent anyone from selling out the group and becoming a disgraceful informant, I’ll be placing a magical brand on each of you.
If anyone betrays us…
they’ll have the privilege of experiencing true Dark Arts.
“That’s all I have to say.
Those willing to walk the road to success with me, stay where you are.
Those who aren’t, can wait by the door.
I’ll use magic to modify your memories so you forget everything you heard, and you can leave safely.”
He stepped aside, clearing a path for anyone who wanted out.
That final promise was a lie.
He hadn’t yet mastered memory modification magic.
But he made the claim anyway, because he understood these orphans’ mindset down to the bone.
They were like drowning men clutching at a lifeline.
Once they grabbed hold, they’d sooner drag the rope to the bottom of the ocean than let go.
The boys’ next reaction proved him right.
The moment Soren offered an “exit,” nobody budged.
Shoulder to shoulder, they exchanged glances.
No words needed.
The understanding was unanimous.
They chose to follow Soren.
Orphans had nothing worth coveting.
If a wizard like Soren didn’t turn his nose up at them, what right did they have to be picky?
“Soren…
you’re in charge.
We’re with you!” Sean surrendered his position as the group’s leader, the first to switch up the form of address.
“Yeah!
We’re with Soren all the way!”
“All hail Soren!!”
With someone breaking the ice, the others piled on enthusiastically, collectively pledging allegiance.
Listening to chorus after chorus of pledges, Soren kept a smile on his face while inwardly cringing.
Couldn’t be helped.
These teenage boys were at that age where gang culture seemed impossibly cool.
This was the language they understood.
Even the slightly over-the-top speech had been tailored specifically for this audience of kids.
He’d wait until the organisation found its footing, then gradually steer things toward something more professional.
With an accord reached, Soren told them to roll up their left forearm…
cough, actually, better make it the right forearm.
Roll up the right sleeve, just to avoid “certain misunderstandings.”
Then, wand in hand, he pressed the glowing tip to their skin, leaving behind a magical mark.
Strictly speaking, the spell was nothing more than a minor charm.
It wasn’t recorded in The Standard Book of Spells.
Soren had picked up the trick from A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.
Though it bore a passing resemblance to the Dark Mark, it was really just a harmless “magical tattoo.” Not even permanent.
Left alone, the mark would fade on its own after a year or so.
And…
unfortunately, it carried no actual magical effect whatsoever.
But the boys didn’t know that.
Sean, the first brave volunteer, trembled from head to toe as he received the tattoo.
The spell caused no pain and no injury, yet his face went white as paper.
Thanks to his performance, the kids behind him were scared half to death, looking like prisoners being led to the gallows.
Soren opened his mouth, almost said something, then reconsidered.
The magic had no real binding power anyway.
In these early days, everything rested on his personal authority and whatever ceremony he could muster.
Might as well lean into it.
So he kept a straight face throughout, pretending the induction ritual was a solemn and formal affair, etching a ping-pong-ball-sized magical tattoo onto each boy’s arm.
When the process wrapped up, the boys stared at the mysterious mark on their right forearms, then turned to Soren with hungry curiosity.
He obliged, explaining, “The shape of this mark is an ancient symbol known as the Ouroboros.
Across many fields, it carries broad and profound significance.
The most widely recognised meanings are infinity and cycles.
“I hope our organisation will be like this symbol.
Infinite, cyclical, indestructible, and ever-growing!”