The forest

One, two, three.

Pain.

One, two, three.

Pain.

One, two, three.

Pain.

A muffled cry escaped the boy's lips. His teacher didn't falter and the whip came onto his naked back once again. He didn't know why he was being punished, he never did. It was part of their training.

The teacher folded the leather rope and the boy took it as a signal to raise to his feet and go back to the other immortal children. His knees buckled and he almost fell to the ground. His back was burning, tickles of blood rolling down his legs, reaching his feet.

"Breathe" he told himself. Pain was only temporary. The teachers always made sure that the children were cured with magic before any infection could take place.

It was only a four lashes whipping. The boy had endured more and by worse teachers.

Not that any of them would actually enjoy punishing him. Immortals had no feelings, and official path-changers were a clear example of that. They hurt him because they had been told so, no more no less.

The boy made his way through the forest without looking back. He did not want to see the trail of blood he was leaving behind. He pushed through the brunches, scratching his elbows as he was making his way through the tallest trees. The green and red of the autumn leaves enveloped him completely. He felt in his heart that he could have easily gone on to walk forever and never found his way out.

Of course, that is what the illusion was all about.

The forest of the mist was not a place for the eyes of the mortals. Their geographic location, as well as the true extent of their home, was hidden by powerful magic. Swirls of mist and fog touched his feet as he got closer to the camp. A cold shiver went down his spine as his body crossed the magic threshold, his heartbeat increasing furiously. Magic always did that to him.

The mist cleared his eyes, and the illusion of the infinite forest fell. In its instance, a well organised set of quarters appeared, children and teenagers alike running to their classes to avoid punishment. The immortal path-changers amongst them could be easily recognised.

They all looked about eighteen, the mortal age at which immortals stopped ageing, which made them about a couple of years older than the boy himself. Their eyes were empty and their minds firm. The boy had just learned how to perceive mortals' emotions, and the path-changers betrayed none. He knew that some of them had completed a few missions and were waiting for mortal lives to forget about them before going back into the real world. Others still had to prove their loyalties and were employed as teachers for the new generation of immortals.

The children of the mist eyed him suspiciously, the blood pouring from his wounds. They knew he had been punished for something, but no one offered any help. Compassion was an emotion, a mortal feeling. If any had showed any, the mist people would have to purge them all again.

He saw sparks of indecision in their hearts as they crossed him, but no one dared to interfere. That was what mostly distinguished them from the full immortals. Because their bodies were still growing, immortal children were still linked to the mortal world. That was why they could still feel, even if to a lesser extent the more they reached the age of eighteen. The mist people often helped with the transition by purging them gradually of any feeling.

It was not a pleasant experience.

The boy's gut twisted at the memory of his limbs spasming and his chest exploding in agony. It almost made whipping look like an exotic vacation.

One of the teachers approached him and guided his broken body to the infermery. The path-changer was a girl, beatiful just like the rest of the immortals. Her dark brown hair were tied in a comfortable ponytail, leaving her face exposed. Her chestnut brown eyes were enquiring.

It was not the first time that the girl had patched him up after a punishment.

-I have no idea why- he said simply.

She ordered him to lay on the ground. The infermery, just like any other place in the campus, had no roof, no floor and no doors. Nature was all around them. His bed was made up of a few flowers and hay.

The boy bit his lip to avoid screaming as the teacher spread some balm over the gashes. The magic of nature filtered through his veins and he felt his breathing becoming more regular. He turned around and brushed some dirt off his naked body before leaving. He knew that mortals would have thanked the healer, but immortals had no need for such words.

Thanks and apologies only made sense if you could mean it. Curing him hadn't been a kind gesture, it was her job as a servant of the mist people. He was just another pawn.

The boy almost cursed out loud at the bitterness in his thoughts. He might not have known exactly what caused his punishments, but he had a pretty good idea of the fact that the mist people seemed to not like when his thoughts were unfiltered with emotions.

Not that he could help it.

Every single time the boy was purged, the hole in his chest was soon replaced by magic and the emotions rushed back. That almost led him to the thought that ... no, he shouldn't go there.

-Child - the healer stopped him before he crossed the threshold. The smell of healing powders was making his nose twitch. -The mist people have requested you join another class of mortal relations instead of magic practise. -

The boy didn't find it weird that a teenager had referred to him as "child". The girl might have easily been three hundred years old and he was just about sixteen.

He nodded and headed outside before his anger could show.