Gad

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Gad: Gad is a fair-skinned ten-year-old boy with rosy undertones on his face. His short brown hair is slightly tousled, with soft strands falling across his forehead and the nape of his neck. His pale blue eyes are cast downward, carrying a gaze that shifts between somber and contemplative, while beads of sweat trail down his cheek—still weary from a day spent chopping wood, every so often a thin trickle of snot slips from one nostril, a fleeting, boyish imperfection against his otherwise pensive air. His fingers are calloused and sore, yet steady and capable of a firm grip.

Gad wears a dark green lumberjack’s tunic, cinched at the waist with a black belt, falling low enough to resemble a skirt. The stiff fabric, curved at the crotch, gives the impression of shorts beneath. Spending his days in the greenery, he occasionally finds a green caterpillar clinging to his shoulder, perfectly camouflaged against the tunic. He wears green gloves, their cuffs stretching halfway up his forearms, and a pair of matching green boots over black trousers. From his calves to his thighs, his legs are bare, and he goes without underwear. Gad cannot stand wasting time; when nature calls, he simply lifts the hem of his tunic and relieves himself among the trees, wiping clean with a handful of leaves torn from nearby branches. He feels no shame in exposing himself—his penis is small enough to remain concealed beneath the drape of his tunic.

Gad is one of six executioner apprentices in the government’s trade guild, training alongside his peers in a classroom built into the fortified walls encircling the royal garden—mere steps from the private execution scaffold and the prison cells. Their mornings begin with laps around the garden, mirroring the guards’ rigorous drills, before shifting to lessons in anatomy and execution methods: calculating the precise force needed to snap a neck based on body weight, or mapping the optimal angles for a clean decapitation. Evenings are spent scrubbing the classroom’s stone floors, stacking desks, and retreating to their prison quarters, where they sleep in triple-tiered bunks crammed into a room with a splintered, broken door.

Gad is the fifth and youngest child of the village lumberjack—a drunkard who wasted his nights in the tavern, spending his coin on whores. To haggle for cheaper rates, he’d drag Gad along, knowing the women would soften at the sight of the boy’s flushed, youthful face and demand less payment. Gad’s childhood was spent watching his father drink and fuck openly before him; the stench of liquor and its bitter taste were as familiar as breath, and he often stole sips from his father’s emptied tankards. He adored the tavern’s atmosphere—the golden glow of lamplight, the drunken shoving matches, the way laughter and violence blurred together. Eventually, he adopted the tavernkeeper’s favorite nickname for his father: The Swine.

When Gad’s father found himself broke and unable to pay the King’s taxes, he settled his debt by offering up Gad instead—too grown to charm discounts from whores, yet too young to earn much from hard labor. The betrayal seared Gad with hatred, but his fury cooled when he learned his fate: training as an executioner. In that grim profession, he found twisted purpose—and the dark fantasy of someday swinging his axe through his father’s neck as cleanly as a felled log.

The flush on his cheeks almost conceals his intoxication—almost. But the way he stumbles, limbs heavy and unsteady, gives him away.

With the sheer number of apprentices and only two positions available—successor and assistant—the students were coldly informed that the rest would face execution by year’s end.

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Relationships: Reuven and Gad never bothered with each other—no camaraderie, no warmth. To Gad, Reuven was just another layabout, wasting his days in idle sloth. Ever since Reuven was locked up, Gad hasn't felt his absence.

On rainy days, Yehuda often pitches in to help Gad and Levi haul firewood. They work side by side—seasoning the logs, then hauling them to the kitchens, the hearths of private chambers, and the watchtowers where the castle’s soldiers bunk. When the guards are feeling generous, Gad wheedles a reward from them: a skin of weak, diluted beer, which he always splits cheerfully with Yehuda.

Shimon's very existence unsettles Gad - an instinctive dislike that simmers into fantasies of violence. Everything about the kid feels threatening, but what truly grates is knowing Shimon outshines them all academically.

Levi - the petite companion Gad keeps close each day. There's a thrill in having this smaller figure orbit him, in their shared rhythm of splitting wood beneath the summer sun. Drink-loosened and unguarded, Gad lets his awkwardness show, this bond sparking something boyish and bright in him - the giddy warmth of an elder brother's role.

Isaachar sometimes turns to Gad for assistance when his father—the kingdom's chief executioner—burdens him with too much work. Together, they mend the gallows and twist hemp into hanging ropes. In these quiet moments of labor, Isaachar unbuttons his frustrations, venting to Gad about how little his father cares for him or his future—so little that he denies him even the time to attend his teacher's lessons. Clumsy, Friendly, Hardworking, Optimistic, Vengeful, Loyal