His parents always wanted a child. Many children, because that’s only practical when the maleficaria will take most of them away. They thought they couldn’t have kids of their own. Infertility. In the end, they decided that this was just a sign to do their best with Ghassan. When he came into their life, it was like a miracle. They did everything they could to prepare him for what was, realistically, a hard life. Most people aren’t as fortunate as he was, when he was born into a loving, wealthy enclave family in Dubai.
That’s the story. They were gentle, forgiving, and loving. Ghassan grew up envying all the mundanes who could spend their family’s money on a whim, while he was forced to study and practice every day. But in the end, that wasn’t enough. He couldn’t rely on them to push him. They wanted him to succeed, but they were too gentle-hearted to give him the tools he needed to get there. That was where the enclave came in. Ghassan knew that he’d need to repay them for the next four years, but it was worth it. He was a star.
Wanting to win kept him on track. It kept him pushing, kept him from lapsing. Ghassan wanted to win this competition- and his parents hadn’t wanted him to understand that, when he was a kid. They tried to hide it from him. They just wanted him to survive unscathed. Ghassan knew the odds, though, and he knew what kind of person he had to be to win. When he understood the choice staring him in the face, of course he was going to pick the right option.
It’s hard figuring out the right balance between sleeping and waking. Sleep deprivation makes his performance worse (he’s measured it), but sleeping unguarded at the Scholomance is like whistling your way to the guillotine. It’s much easier figuring out which weapons to train on. Something for reach, something for close quarters, something for range- and then moving on to languages, one from each major continent. Ghassan is no polyglot, but he’s fluent in Arabic, English, and Hindi. Persian still eludes him, which could fuck him over when he lands in the Scholomance. He’s been working with one of the other Dubai kids on it, and he’s finally starting to get somewhere. If he keeps his eye on the prize, he can make it out of there on top of the pile.
His hair is short, but not shaved off. Besides, it’s not like anyone will see it. Ghassan has packed a few more clothes than is wise, and a keffiyeh. One letter, which the Dubai parents went in on together. They have minimal relationships with the other enclaves, which is how they like it. He can appreciate that, although for practical reasons, he thinks he might make some friends on the inside. A mana crystal, of course. Couldn’t forget that. Ghassan knows his parents want him to take some sentimental item, so he finally settles on his father’s bow tie. It’s light enough to add to his weight, and he thinks he can make it work.
When it finally comes time, Ghassan is there with the rest of them, waiting. No siblings inside, but he’s part of an enclave, and that thought is a comfort. This place was designed for them. They might not all make it, but they trained for this. They prepared for this. He’s spent the past year readying his body for this. Optimizing every little part of his diet and exercise routine until he can predict exactly what his weight will be. The final weigh-in doesn’t surprise him.
There are warm goodbyes, although their parents look, for the first time, scared. Ghassan knows that they’re wishing that every other child but theirs die, if it might spare their own. He pretends he doesn’t know, of course- some of the other Dubai students haven’t put two and two together, no matter how enmeshed in the enclave they were growing up. He hopes they all survive- dreams of strong enclaves world over, and a graduating class full of dead indies and mundane-born children. And then he feels it, in his stomach, as the game begins.