(Fourteen-year-old Sebastian's perspective)

I don't even have a name. I don't have parents. No mother. No father. No family. I don't have a real home. I don't know who I am except for a slave. Am I just a tool? Am I just a weapon? What am I? Another whip lash hits me hard.

"Again!" The soldier yelled.

I stand up. I take the axe. Is this all I am? A boy who gets beat time and time again? Just a weapon being used for the Ottoman's? I charge. The other boy charges. I slide down and slice open his chest. I stand up. My life seems only to be a weapon. Perhaps that's what I am. The soldier approaches me. He slams the whip into me again. I fall to my knees.

What's this about? I killed him. He aims the whip at me again. I feel it each time harder. These people don't appreciate how hard I work. I grab the whip. I'm done with this. I stand up. The soldier yells. I pull him down. I grab the axe. hey want to see a weapon. I'll show them I'm a weapon.

I plunge the axe into his head. I let out a breath. He was getting on my nerves. Two soldiers approached me. I rip out the axe. A guard grabs me and throws me down. Three were now on me, whipping me without any hesitation. Blood drips from my mouth.

"Enough!" The highest general says.

The others back away. 

"He killed a soldier, sir." One says.

I slowly stagger to my feet. He looks at me.

"Then he's ready for a taste of war." The general says.