Chapter three

  The brutal test

  Out of nowhere, the lively wind that had been swirling playfully around the arena came to an abrupt halt, as if it had absorbed all the clamor and excitement of the crowd and carried it away. All at once, the vibrant sounds faded into a heavy silence, so profound that it felt like time itself stood still—no one dared to draw a breath—so intense that every student felt as though they had forgotten how to move.

  From the swirling mist that clung to the ground, a towering figure emerged—a man whose robust physique was accentuated by the way he held himself with a commanding presence. His greasy mustache curled dramatically over his lips, twitching mischievously over his lips, while a thick, unruly beard cascaded down his chin—thick enough to cloak much of his face, leaving only two captivating blue eyes visible. Those eyes sparkled with a mixture of wisdom and mischief, peering from behind a pair of spectacles that sat crookedly on his pronounced hooked nose.

  “Welcome to the academy,” he boomed, his voice both powerful and inviting, resonating through the hushed arena. “From this moment forward, you are all members of our academy, where you will spend the rest of your school life. Now, if you will, follow me.”

  In an instant, the tension that had gripped the students dissipated, replaced by a palpable excitement that buzzed in the air, the charged atmosphere burst back to life. Shaking off their awe, they eagerly trailed behind the enigmatic man into the heart of the building.

  Stepping into the luxurious entrance, Joseph's gaze was drawn upwards to a magnificent statue of a winged angel that towered over them, its elegant form captured mid-flight, the intricate details captured the angel in a moment of ethereal grace, wings spread wide as if about to soar into the heavens.

  The halls were adorned with a stunning array of paintings and sculptures—each masterpiece celebrated artistry and history, from vibrant portraits of heroic figures to breathtaking sculptures—each piece expertly crafted, capturing the essence of its subject in vivid detail.

  The greenish hues of torchlights streaming through stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the walls, sprinkling colorful patterns that danced across the polished marble floor, creating a magical mosaic of hues that shifted with every movement.

  The air was rich with possibility, an intoxicating blend of adventure and uncertainty. As the students settled into their seats, whispers of wonder rippled through the hall, their eyes wide with anticipation. The bearded man faced them, his expression shifting to one of seriousness mixed with enthusiasm.

  “I’m Davis, your headmaster. From now on, you must follow, obey, and devote yourself to my discipline rules and commands, no exceptions. I repeat that disobedience and indiscipline shall be punished the most severely. Do I make myself clear?”

  He paused and glanced around the hall. When all the eyes fell upon him, he went on smoothly, “Anyone who disrupts and disrespects the order shall be recorded down. After our first decade, we shall have the Ceremony of Distribution—”

  As the seasons drifted into a relentless cold, the gentle zephyrs that once caressed the leaves were swallowed by an unyielding winter howl. In the Enitial District, winter was not just a season; it was an eternal state—it enveloped everything, casting a spell of eternal frost that the ministry had cunningly enforced. The relentless snowfall drifted down in thick, silent curtains, creating an unending white blanket that muffled the world beneath. The biting wind howled through the streets, its chilling song echoing like a lament of lost warmth, haunting the townsfolk every long, dreary day.

  Within the towering walls of the Elite Academy, a sense of palpable anticipation crackled in the air as the first snowflakes of their tenth year fluttered down, twisting and twirling like tiny ethereal dancers in the pale winter light.

  Joseph Rugnetta, now a striking young man, gazed out of the window. His pale, ice-blue eyes gleamed with determination as he ran his fingers through his newly dyed silvery hair—a daring choice he had made to stand out— meticulously braided and cascading like a smooth, shimmering waterfall over his broad shoulders.

  Today marked a turning point; the special ceremony would decide not just his fate, but the destinies of all the students, a looming threat that could tear them away from their cherished friends and beloved families, raising the stakes for all.

  Davis, the unfathomable figure whose presence loomed over the academy, whose aura of mystery surrounded him like a cloak, rarely made an appearance. Locked himself in the highest tower of the academy—a spiral of stone and ivy that seemed to stretch into the very clouds—Davis was a source of countless whispers and speculation.

  Rumors swirled about the powerful secrets hidden within those walls. It was only the night before the ceremony that he finally descended from his lofty sanctuary, bringing with him an air of anticipation. While Davis lingered above, Natalie was always the first in sight.

  Each day, she appeared like a guiding star at the break of dawn, leading her charges through the maze of classrooms adorned with historical maps and ancient artifacts. From geography to anthropology, areology to rheology, her lessons painted vivid portraits of distant lands and mysteries of the universe.

  Natalie seemed to possess an uncanny ability to soothe, and whenever a student stumbled—like the comical day Joseph had accidentally rang the evacuation bell, and that had sent pretty much the whole school into panic, thinking somebody had broken in—Natalie was the first to show up.

  What was fascinating was her unusual approach to discipline. Every time some jerks screwed things up, Natalie wielded her cold, piercing gaze like a sword, instilling a sense of respect and fear without uttering a word, yet she never put an actual punishment on them, though. It was said that just a look from her could quell even the most boisterous of crowds.

  Her vibrant presence was often seen breaking up fits of laughter echoing through the dormitory when some mischievous guys fell hard on their butt after their so-called friends poured water onto the ground without giving them a heads up, which caused waves of chaotic laughter echoing throughout the dormitory that almost woke everybody up in the middle of the night.

  In every moment, whether at twilight or under the moonlight, Natalie had never bailed them out.

  At the date of the ceremony, outside was dull and dark when Natalie woke in a startle. She had a very eccentric dream — in which the location of the Elite Academy was now a golden palace, and the Elite Academy was flooded with blood, gory in evil light. Three students emerged from the mist, their eyes piercing.

  At the date of the ceremony, Natalie jolted awake, her heart racing as shadows danced across her room, a sense of unease washed over her. Outside, the sky loomed heavy and gray, a blanket of dullness that seemed to seep into her very bones. She shook off the remnants of a strange dream that lingered like a fog in her mind—a nightmarish vision where the Elite Academy had morphed into a breathtaking golden palace, its intricate architecture shimmering ominously beneath the pallid sky. Somehow, the snow had faded—how weird. Yet, the palace was awash in a turbulent sea of blood, the crimson liquid reflecting a ghastly sheen that illuminated the darkness around her, as it stood submerged in a relentless tide of blood that glistened in a macabre glow.

  The once-hallowed halls whispered tales of dread, their opulence twisted into something grotesque. From the thick mist that enveloped the scene, three figures emerged, cloaked in darkness. Their eyes burned like icy beacons in the gloom, penetrating and filled with an unsettling wisdom that sent shivers down her spine. They seemed to embody the very essence of dread, their presence hinting at secrets buried deep within the academy's hallowed walls—secrets that whispered of a darkness intertwined with the communities splendor—the plots behind the Enitial District that the ministry had planned. As the three figures got clearer and clearer in her vision, Natalie gasped in horror.

  Wait, she seemed to recognize one of them—she had just met him—

  Without realizing it, a cold sweat began to trickle down her back, the clammy sensation igniting a surge of anxiety, the chill creeping into her very bones. Her breath quickened, each inhale sharp and frantic as she thrust herself upright, her legs trembling beneath her like fragile reeds in a storm as she stumbled down the shadowy corridors bathed in the faint light of dawn. The silence of dawn was abruptly shattered when her panicked voice echoed off the walls, slicing through the stillness like a knife.

  As the first rays of morning streetlight crept through the windows, illuminating the sleepy faces of students emerging from their dormitory rooms, still wrapped in the fog of sleep. Confusion hung heavy in the air, thick enough to taste, as they blinked at one another, still caught in the soft embrace of slumber, stumbling into each other’s path, still caught in the soft embrace of slumber.

  In soft, muffled tones, they begged for a few stolen moments of rest, yet Natalie’s icy glare swept over them like a winter storm, turning down their pleas as they fell reluctantly into line behind her.

  A ripple of whispers danced among the gathering crowd as they shuffled down the staircase that spiraled into the cafeteria below, the air thick with uncertainty.

  The scent of breakfast—sizzling bacon, fresh-baked bread, and the rich scent of brewed coffee—wafted up to meet them, but anticipation hung heavier than hunger.

  Joseph clasped his sister’s hand with a grip that felt almost desperate, his knuckles white against the backdrop of her startled gaze.

  He had always known himself as the unlucky one, with “Unfortunate” echoing through his childhood like an unwelcome nickname. Yet today, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, whispering that whether by fate or nightmare, something dreadful loomed on the horizon. With every step, the weight of that feeling pressed against his chest, intensifying with each heartbeat. This could very well be the last time he could hold Gabrielle’s hand with such intensity, and the weight of that thought was almost unbearable, tightening like a vise around his chest, heavy and suffocating, as they sat down on each side of the cafeteria.

  Burying his face in his cereal bowl, Joseph felt his throat stuck with panic; his insides were spinning madly, overwhelmed by stress. His appetite fell.

  “What am I going to do if you have to leave me?” Joseph asked Gabrielle in a hushed voice.

  “Then you have to punch yourself in the stomach whenever lightning strikes down in your dream,” Gabrielle whispered humorously, nudging Joseph on the waist.

  Joseph looked up tentatively and was surprised to see that many of the students out there were also on pins and needles; anxiety flooded the hall.

  Suddenly, a bell rang abruptly above, as the front door cracked open. Amidst the mist, the figure of a large, beefy man came into view. Davis had arrived, finally.

  He sat down on the sofa at the center of the hall and unfolded a roll of parchment. He cleared his throat and began to read the names in alphabetical order.

  “As you all know, the Ceremonies contain the altar of the level of grace—”

  Joseph sighed quietly below; he knew, of course, the ceremony of the Altar.

  There are four levels of Grace.

  Joseph’s family is unmistakably the Poor, and below that, stood the Forget.

  They were the ones who lost their ability to contribute to society, and by other words, they were gonna be sent away by the Ceremony of Diminished.

  Every year, the Ceremony of the Altar brings a wave of anticipation and anxiety, marking the shift in each family's standing within the community. Families can find themselves either punished or rewarded based on the contributions they’ve made. The Labour—the people families sent to work free for the ministry, (they got sent to the Exterior to work, since the population was limited, a certain number); the Life—the number of children they have provided to the community—each child seen as an echo of the Agers who have left—and how much wealth they've generously shared.

  Most critically, their loyalty to the community was cast in stone; to disgrace the community was regarded as the gravest sin, resulting in a place on the dreaded list of the diminished. Those who silently witness such evil while remaining mute were swept up in the same tide of disgrace.

  “Yes,” Joseph thought, a heaviness resting on his chest, “our duty is to praise the community above all else, no matter the cost.”

  Above the working class stood the Mediocre and the Privileged, Who enjoyed a chill life that felt totally out of reach for people in the working class.

  The commoners can also enjoy a better life if they joined the Elite Academy—the rank of Educator can elevate one to the Privileged Class. If Joseph can manage a spot among the Educator-in-waiting, his family could receive bountiful donations, and his mother would be out of the grim imprisonment in no time flat.

  But first, he yearned to participate in another ceremony—one that filled him with longing. The most awaited event, the Ceremony of Dignity, is approaching. During this grand occasion, families were assigned specific colors—the standard color—which limited them to owning clothes and furniture in those hues—they can also apply for more if the ministry agreed.

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  Owning more colors made people stand out, especially seeing someone wearing a multicolored shirt on a day-to-day walk was rare and therefore very valued. However, one slip—be it breaking discipline laws or failing to applaud at gatherings—could strip them of these colors in a heartbeat.

  The Poor and the Forget, they who existed in the shadows, were stripped of colors entirely (not even the standard color)—an unspeakable disgrace—and yet even though Joseph was among the unfortunate, he was allowed to witness this remarkable event from time to time.

  Nonetheless, the forthcoming ceremony—just around the corner—involved an unsettling subject—age. In this tightly controlled society, people had to face the stark reality that the maximum allowable age is thirty. A single misstep could rob someone of three precious months of their life—a crushing blow to their future.

  The Ceremony of Age was the quietest, marking the passage of those who have completed their time, inevitably leading them into the mysterious afterlife. Joseph’s mind drifted back to the poignant image of Shirley, a bright-eyed Ager with cascading curls, trembling as she was guided into a long, transparent tube. As white vapor spiraled around her, it quickly enveloped her figure, obscuring her from view.

  Within moments, the mist cleared, and the tube stood emptier than before—Shirley had vanished into nothingness. “She has been sent to the Afterlife by the mist,” the solemn whispers echoed.

  In sharp contrast, the Ceremony of Birth bursted forth with vibrant chaos, celebrating the arrival of new children bound for families grieving their losses. These infants weren’t born in the traditional sense—according to the Announcer—they were the direct afterlives of the diminished Agers, emerging in a basket at the bottom of the tube, carrying the essence of those who have departed.

  Joseph and his friends held a deep belief that these children were the very spirits of their beloved ones who had departed from this world, sustaining the kingdom's population at around two-thousand-one-hundred-and-thirty-three souls.

  Yet now, Joseph’s heart raced in anticipation of the Ceremony of Distribution—the most significant event of all. Citizens would gather at the town hall to learn their careers and age—a lifespan delicately measured by their contributions. Once their allotted time is announced, there’s no turning back.

  The students at the Elite Academy enjoyed a private ceremony, one hidden from the public eye. This unique gathering had a singular role that the public didn’t access—the Educator.

  Ascending to become an Educator was a clear challenge; one must managed to get themselves noticed as the clear successor to the previous Educator.

  With mere minutes ticking away before the ceremony begins, Joseph felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him; few can bask in the glow of success in becoming an Educator, while those unfortunate enough to fail face exile to a place whispered about with fear—a mysterious realm known as the Abyss.

  Fidgeting, Joseph curled up in the corner, nervously nibbling on his nails as he waited. Time seemed to crawl gradually, each moment felt like an eternity, until—

  He stared as Davis’s face drew into an unfathomable curve, a name broke free from his lips.

  “Would—Joseph Rugnetta—please enter.”

  Joseph head shot up, and a flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and made his way to the Test Room, his legs a bit wobbly with nerves. Inside, he spotted Natalie waiting for him. She had her arms crossed and a serious look on her face, but Joseph couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease just seeing her. He knew she was tough, and the stern stare etched on her thin lips made it painfully clear that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant encounter, yet he hoped she was there to help.

  He wanted to ask what test it would be, but the words stopped by his lips — of course, young adults were never allowed to ask questions to the old, how could he have forgotten?

  Joseph was led into a room where four educators and Davis sat around the table.

  As soon as he stepped into the room, the iron door banged shut behind him.

  He shuddered.

  “Name again?”

  “Joseph Rugnetta.” Said Joseph, looking utterly bewildered. He didn’t expect Davis to be here right on the test, and the other three looked a lot like his evil cronies.

  “Okay. Let the test begin.”

  Joseph was suddenly dragged into the darkness.

  He stood alone in an arena, the wind whipping against his face, the distant roar of waves in his ears, the leaves rustling with a creepy laughter, and the sky glowing with a bloody red hue.

  Nothing felt right.

  It didn’t feel anything like a traditional quiz—not the sort where you settle into a chair with a crisp piece of paper, a sharpened pencil, and a certain amount of time to finish. No, this was something far more unsettling. Above him, an intricately designed clock with gleaming golden legs suddenly chimed in a deep, resonant tone, the sound reverberating off the walls of the dimly lit arena.

  The countdown timer glowed menacingly, the numbers ticking away to thirty minutes remaining, each tick echoing like a heartbeat in the silence. Joseph found himself rooted to the spot, his heart racing as dread coursed through him. It was as if invisible chains held him down, an unsettling confusion washed over him.

  What was expected of him? No one had explained anything.

  How on earth was he going to figure this out in time?

  Why had he been thrust into this eerie, deserted space without any guidance?

  It seemed almost cruel to put someone through such a high-stakes trial with nothing but a countdown and no clear task at hand.

  It was surreal, almost nightmarish, you know, when somebody gave out a task and left you in some weird ancient buildings alone, that was almost creepy when you look at it, the kind of place that sends shivers down your spine with every glance.

  How could he possibly complete whatever task lay ahead in such a short time frame?

  Just then, a bone-chilling scream pierced the air, slicing through the suffocating silence like a knife, a sound so raw and desperate it sent chills down his spine. The sound reverberated deep within him, igniting a spark of fear and urgency.

  Joseph's legs kicked into high gear as he darted across the grassy expanse, each step sending up a rustling chorus beneath his feet. The grass felt damp and slick, clinging to his shoes as he rushed forward.

  The scream echoed from the far end of the arena, growing more agonizing and frantic with every passing second. There was no time to think this through; he could feel something drawing him closer to the source of the anguish. He accelerated across the expanse of the arena, the earth squelching beneath his sneakers. A beam of ethereal light broke through the darkness, wrapping around him like a guiding spirit, illuminating his path as it flickered and danced like a firefly, casting eerie shadows over the walls.

  As he neared the source of the screams, a glint of something caught his eye—a battered backpack swaying gently on the rusted fences. With a swift motion, he seized it, swung it over his shoulder as he pressed on.

  The shrieks intensified, heart-wrenching and desperate, and soon he could make out the shapes of two figures sprawled on the ground ahead, barely distinguishable in the growing gloom, urgency coursing through his veins as he approached, knowing that time was slipping away with each agonizing tick of the clock.

  Then, he halted dead.

  The air was thick with an unsettling energy that seeped into his very bones.

  His heart was pumping madly inside of him as he slid behind a log and peered through the leaves.

  A man was wrestling with a woman, who was lying on the ground, panting.

  “Please—” the woman wailed, yet the man took no notice.

  He pinned her shoulders to her back, grabbed her by the hair, and threw her head backwards; her fair neck was revealed to the thin air. He then jerked her head to the side and backhanded her hard across the cheek. A bruise blossomed on her cheek, leaving scarlet streaked through her face as blood slid down the corner of her mouth. The man yanked her body upright, then shoved her to the ground by her knees.

  He bent down and lowered his head. His nasty breath inches away from her nostrils as she screamed in aghast. His lips, black with smoke, while malodorous smell kept coming out from the gaps of his yellowish teeth, were lowering. It was about to touch the woman’s lips; she could feel his scratchy, whiskery mustache scraping her lips while wailing and wincing to resist.

  “Will you stop that fuckin’ goddamned strugglin’?” Yelled the man, bending the woman’s neck down to his chest.

  Tears swirled in the woman’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks, her eyes swollen.

  “Please, help!” the woman shrieked as she saw Joseph coming near.

  “Stop! Stay where you are! Watch and obey the rules. Don’t help that filthy.” A loudspeaker beeped above.

  It was unmistakably Davis’s cool and nonchalant voice.

  Joseph hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder, and the sky was bleeding into midnight.

  He looked back and saw the woman about his age raise her head weakly. She stared at him, her eyes filled with sorrow and pleading.

  Joseph paused, his heart racing. He threw a glance over his shoulder, where the sky was dripping shades of deep indigo, surrendering to the encroaching night. Turning back, he caught sight of the woman, who looked to be around his age. Their eyes locked, and in her gaze, he saw a blend of sorrow and an unyielding plea brimming in her eyelids that resonated deeply within him.

  Joseph moved toward her, but the loudspeaker yelled again, this time, agitated.

  “Don’t you dare to move!” Muttered Davis dangerously.

  But Joseph, seeing the man was sticking his lips to the woman’s forehead, stopped fidgeting. He rushed forward, and the backpack slid down his shoulder, revealing a pistol.

  A surge of relief washed over him as he realized the man before him was unarmed. The drunken daze clouding the stranger's mind meant he was blissfully unaware of the looming threat of the attack.

  Joseph fired nervously, he had his eyes shut the entire time—it was the first time he touched a weapon, and of course, holding a pistol that could harm another broke the law.

  But he didn’t care, he would drown himself into the deep abyss of regret if the man did rape the woman successfully, god was gonna punish him if he just stayed in the spot and watched with nonchalance—he was armed.

  The man screamed in pain as he stumbled back, collapsed to the ground beyond. Joseph advanced, triggering a few more times before he bent down to investigate—the man lay there, his head in a pool of dark thick scarlet, dead for sure.

  The woman rose from the ground feebly. Joseph stared at her; she stared back, her bright, light eyes and fair skin twinkling under the light. The clock above ticked again, and Joseph looked up.

  It was over.

  The game was over.

  Joseph knew he had done it.

  The thrill of being selected sent a rush of exhilaration coursing through his veins—this was the chance he had always yearned for.

  But judging by the anger shown on Davis’s face, Joseph knew, instantly, he was wrong, very wrong indeed.

  Joseph stood there while the educators stared at him with piercing gazes.

  Davis announced nonchalantly, “I’m afraid you failed me, my trust, and the test.”

  The educators guided him out into the hallway, leaving him standing alone at the tail end of the line of those who had struggled and failed—those still who had a heart. It felt as if time had frozen, and he was cast adrift, abandoned in the silence of his defeat.

  The ceremony went on.

  But it didn’t matter for Joseph anymore.

  He had failed.

  Yet the agonizing wails didn’t fade.

  It seemed to echo inside his head, signaling that his family’s fate was sealed—they would be sent to the realm of the Forget, and his parents would be diminished soon after that.

  Yet suddenly, the was drawn out of daydreaming when he heard the name spoken—which freaked him out, “Congratulations to Gabrielle Rugnetta, the Educator-in-training.”

  And now, his sister was gonna be taken away.

  Joseph looked as if he had swallowed a spoonful of ashes, his face pale.

  “No—” Joseph cried out, his voice slicing through the cacophony of chatter and whispers that enveloped the crowd. Panic surged through him as he darted through the masses, desperately making his way toward his sister. Each frantic step was fueled by an overwhelming need to reach her before it was too late, though a sinking feeling in his gut reminded him that all his efforts might be in vain.

  “Not without a fight,” he vowed silently, determination igniting a fire in his chest.

  “Let her go!” he shouted, arms thrashing wildly beside him, heart pounding like a drum in his chest, though the ancient laws forbade defiance against the old ones—the very rules that loomed over them like a dark cloud.

  On the other side of the swirling throng stood Davis, a tall figure cloaked in an aura of menace, his lips curling into a wicked smile that sent a chill skittering down Joseph’s spine. It was that insidious grin—he had seen too many times before—the same grin that emerged just before the execution of a well-crafted plan.

  Davis snapped his fingers, a sharp crack that resonated through the air, summoning his guards like wolves at their master’s call. In an instant, the vibrant lights flickered and fell, casting a sinister haze over the scene. Joseph's heart raced as he rushed forward, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of Gabrielle.

  Through the murky shadows, he finally spotted her—a fragile silhouette against the dim light. Gabrielle stood there, her long hair a tangled mess, eyes wide with terror, searching for him amidst the chaos. Her hands reached out grasping desperately, but before she could advance, two bulky guards appeared from the shadows, their rough hands seizing her arms with the grip of iron, yanking her backward as she struggled against them.

  Rage thundered in Joseph's chest, a tempest that threatened to tear him apart, to drown him alive, as he stood, helpless, in the midst of the sea of bodies. His vision narrowed, blurred with anger, his veins bulging over his forearm as he clenched his fists, knuckled turning white. His face distorting into a tunnel of despair as he watched, immobilized, while the guards dragged his sister further into the encroaching darkness. The entire world narrowing to a single horrifying scene: his sister being pulled away, forevermore, as fear etched across her face, her cries drowned out by the murmur of the gathering.

  “No, this can’t be happening,” he thought, disbelief clawing at his mind, shrieking chaotically. “It must be an illusion.”

  Yet the truth loomed cold and heavy—this was not a trick of the light but a haunting nightmare he could not escape. How had he allowed himself to feel so utterly powerless in the face of such cruelty?

  “This is not fair! You can’t do this!” A voice from a thin boy rang in the hall.

  Everyone stopped shouting; they had their eyes fixed upon that boy as Davis advanced toward him.

  “Unfair, eh?” He said coldly.

  The guards standing next to him stepped forward.

  Then, without warning, he stuck his pistol toward the boy’s temple, his fingers trembling over the trigger.

  With an earsplitting bang, the hall went quiet, eerily so.

  The time seemed to standstill—breath was hitched, face etched with immense horror as they stared.

  The boy’s body gave a hard shook, he stood frozen on the spot, his eyes bulging, he trued to say something, yet his kegs gave way, he collapsed to the ground in a hard thud, blood trickling down his temple.

  As the lighting switched on, Davis cleared his throat, “Learn to be nonchalant toward anything is the first step from being a real man. In case someone would sneak out,” he glared toward Joseph, and went on, “Whoever found wondering in the other class dormitory shall be punished, and whoever that student is finding shall be expelled, forever.”

  Joseph was forced to step into the line of the Diminished and followed Natalie into the back tower behind the Elite Academy.

  After a loud whistle, the students, overwhelmed with fear, hesitantly moved forward; the excited chatters faded away, replaced by faces filled with horror and dread.

  Just as they were about to step out of the expansive hall, a sudden jolt of chaos swept through the queuing crowd. Joseph, lost in thought and focused intently on the scuffed toes of his well-worn boots, was completely unaware of the shift in energy rippling around him. It wasn't until a sharp gasp pierced the air that he realized something was amiss. In front of him, a girl clad in a vibrant blue dress—its fabric shimmering like the surface of a vast ocean—stumbled and collapsed to the gleaming marble floor with a thud that echoed through the otherwise hushed room. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded around her like a waterfall as tears streamed from her cheeks. Joseph stared down, his heart raced at the sight.

  Davis, his face a storm cloud of anger, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched, advanced like an ominous shadow, each step measured and deliberate. The girl flinched, her body instinctively recoiling, her breath quickening in gasps of terror. Judging by what happened seconds ago, it was painfully clear that she was on the verge of crumbling under the pressure, almost as if the very air around her had grown too heavy to bear. “None of you dare to interfere,” Davis snarled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, a menacing warning that hung in the air like a thick fog.

  But Joseph, the ache of his sister’s absence still raw and deep, felt a torrent of defiance rise within him. No longer would he stand by and watch as Davis unleashed his violence upon another innocent girl. With a swift motion, he knelt and extended his hand, heart pounding with urgency. The girl grasped it, her fingers trembling as she fought against the darkness encroaching on her consciousness. As she wobbled to her feet, Joseph’s heart skipped a beat—there stood Violeta, a vision of desperation. But the sight was harrowing—blood trickled from her ankles, soaking into the laces beneath her, while shards of glass embedded in her skin sparkled menacingly, like cruel diamonds reflecting the dim surroundings.

  Joseph swiftly clasped her hands in his, anchoring her in place to prevent another collapse. Just as they prepared to flee, the atmosphere thickened with dread again when a cold, detached voice boomed from above, slicing through the air, freezing them in their tracks.

  “Stop, you two, come over here.”