Isra hesitated, his hand hovering mere inches from the doorknob. Anxiety bubbled through him as he thought of the expression that would appear on his father's face when Isra explained to him that he would be leaving. Would he be glad, or indifferent? Isra squished down the hope that flowed up when he thought of his father being worried about his choice to join the training corps. From the start he knew that he wasn't wanted, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. Isra didn't want to accept that his father only took care of him for the sake of his own reputation.

Finally reaching the courage that he required, Isra slipped his hand around the doorknob and pushed the door inwards. The light of the room revealed a huge figure perched upon a red velvet chair, his stubby fingers covered in a thick syrup as he shoved an unknown item of food down his throat. The nobleman didn't respond much to Isra's appearance, merely glancing towards the boy, then going back to chewing his food with an open mouth. Isra stood in the doorway, his light frame contrasting greatly to the pig of a man before him. Doubt enveloped him as he opened his mouth to speak, and he stopped himself, staring dumbly at his father. The nobleman turned, contempt displayed across his features as he stared down Isra. "Well boy, speak!"

Isra opened his mouth, finally managing a simple, "I'm joining the training corps." Fear coursed through him as he tried to gauge his father's response, but the man's expression remained as it was. Slow moments passed as they each stared at each other, then, finally, the nobleman looked back to his food. No response came, the silence stretching on. Finally, his patience gone, Isra spoke again, "W-...Well?" This time when his father looked up from the food, his mouth opened in response. "Well, what is it you want from me, boy? You've been nothing but trouble for me from the start, and the only thing I have to say is good riddance." The man said blatantly, turning once more back to his meal.

Isra turned himself around and stormed out of the room, hiding the emotions that splayed across his face. It had gone exactly as he knew it would, and he was stupid to think otherwise. But nevertheless, it still hurt. The one person who had raised him, took care of him to some extent, and was his father, was glad that his son was leaving. Isra always was lousy at keeping his emotions in, and soon tears were running down his face. Depression settled across him as he went to his room, but overwhelming that was burning hot rage. Rage for everything, the man that was his father, his silly hopes that he perhaps cared, and these god damned fancy suits!

Isra stood over the burning pile of cloth, satisfaction showing on his tear-stained face. He'd always wanted to get rid of these damned suits with their frizzy bows and their embellished buttons, but he had always feared upsetting his father. Now it didn't matter, why would he care about his father's emotions? Though, Isra still felt a twinge of shame as he looked down upon the burning cloth, all of it worth enough to feed a poor family for an entire year. But somehow it symbolized freedom, his escape from this damned stuffed up life of greed. He would not regret this, he decided.

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Isra arrived to the training camp just in time to see the new trainees dismissed to their cabins. Examining them all thoroughly, Isra noticed how much more well-built and athletic most of them were compared to him. He had never done much major exercise, he may of climbed trees and done a lot of exploring, though that hardly improved his body as much as true exercise. Poofy dress suits and waltzing around at fancy balls didn't help his case much either. And above all else, Isra lacked the natural body required to excel as a soldier. He was a flimsy boy, his shoulders were narrow and sloping, and his arms and legs stood out like twigs. Isra stood at around 5'9 in height, and was accompanied by long legs and a short torso. The only thing that sorta helped was his long arms, he could maybe reach a coffee cup at a farther distance than another, if that counted as a talent.

As Isra made his way into the cabins along with the others, he settled down on an empty bunk. He was still a bit upset about earlier which was accompanied by a whopping headache, he didn't really feel like socializing at the moment. Heading over to the uniforms, Isra started searching through the piles for an outfit that matched his form. After a few moments of frustrating fits, Isra finally settled on a set that fit him, though was a bit baggy on him. That little worry didn't upset him too much, and anyways, now he was here. Free to start a new life and begin his career in the military. He would make a difference in this world, and he knew that he could help humanity escape from its confines and be free. Isra would change the world, he knew so.