His sister's face faded into the crowd.
Her terrified eyes desperately searching for him as the guards dragged her in the opposite direction.
Han stretched out his small hands, trying to reach her, but other arms held him firmly in place.
"Hedda! HEDDA!" he screamed, his childish voice breaking with the effort. Tears streamed down his face, hot against his cold skin.
"Han!" His sister's voice echoed one last time before disappearing behind a carriage door. "I'll find you! I promise!"
The promise was never fulfilled.
The following years merged into an endless sequence of exhaustive training to transform him into a perfect tool. Physical pain became so constant that Han learned to mentally separate himself from it, observing it as if it were happening to someone else.
"Remember the rules," the instructor repeated, his face always in shadows as Han lay exhausted on the training floor. The cold stone pressed against his cheek, the only comfort in a world of calculated cruelty.
