The morning light spilled cold through the windows, unwinding tendrils of grey upon the faces of the small inhabitants of YangPass. The day had begun with a brittle clarity; no summons, no coaxing necessary for the boy named Kael who stood before Malric's poised figure, the shadow of pain dulled by the drug newly coursing through his veins.
"Kael," Malric's tone clipped the sterile air of the infirmary, a blade honed more by command than kindness, "this medicine will lessen the agony of your wounds by some ninety-five percent. Upon your return, I will tend to your toes to erase all discomfort. But the true weight you bear is not physical — you must become the ears that Reinhard fears losing, speak once a month to him and then to the class. Your words must be calm, lengthy, clear — fashioned for minds weakened by circumstance, true as an article born of careful thought. Do you understand? Now leave."
A silence followed, heavy enough to press weight into the child's small frame.
"Understood," Kael's voice came, brittle, measured, none of the shrillness expected from one so young yet veiled in the chill of everything he had already endured.
The scene shifted.
Reinhard stood before his mother's steady gaze as she instructed with a measured steel beneath softness. "Today is your second day of school, Reinhard," she said, voice falling thick between solemnity and edge. "The parents will attend alongside you. I will observe you closely throughout the day."
She paused, the quiet before a storm. Then, sharp and loud, her voice cracked thunderously through the room: "Do not dare disobey a single order from any of your teachers. Such defiance will not bode well for your future."
Reinhard, startled — for his mother's anger was a rare and chilling thing, as infrequent as a dark moon — nodded with the trembling quiet of one on the verge of tears, voice barely a whisper, "Understood."
Her hand was swift, pulling the cylindrical cream from the table. With practiced ease, she rubbed it through her fingers and pressed it onto his face, dulling his pale skin once again beneath a veil of necessary concealment.
Across the island, sunlight struck Elizabeth brightly as she bore the cumbersome weights upon her arms. The game was punishment; dropping even slightly would stretch the sentence longer. She was the lone one absent from school today, the sole bearer of consequence among the swarm of young lives.
From his place behind a lonely pane of glass overlooking this scene, Mr. Jerry's mind churned with grudging understanding. Malric's aims might be clearer to some adults now, he reflected. I was born rich, true — not made. I wield no superior intellect, no gifts beyond the ordinary, still enough to see the weaving threads beneath us. But I am not the center of this storm. Sovey—what dreams might cling to her now? May they be kinder than reality.
The school's cavities filled with shadowed adults, silent sentinels lining the back of the classroom. Their eyes, heavy with expectation, anticipated a cruel education.
Reinhard entered, and his gaze sought familiarity — only to find Hancock, her eyes flicking with casual disgust, making his heart shrink and pushing him to choose a seat as far from her as boredom and fear could dictate.
The teacher entered behind, introducing an undeniable new presence — Kael, walking with the weight of his recent drugs dose pain, the sharp chill of his survival instincts but that pain was nothing compared to the pain of the cause of this injection. A cause that will occur after the medicine. "This is our newest student," the teacher's voice rang clear, "Kael. May he find friends among you."
Time sprawled and bled unevenly, until the teacher's voice cut sharper, deeper, bringing with it a dreadful phenomenon.
"There exists a thing called death," she began, eyes cold and unwavering, "Death is not living. What you do now is life — but all life ends." She held a piece of paper above her like a judge's gavel. "Write a name. The one you choose will be sentenced to death — cast into the ocean, never to return. Half of you will face this practical test."
A tremor raced through the class — hesitation, a hesitation fed by the faces of friends suddenly cast in unfamiliar shadow, stirring worry deep in their young hearts.
Those who lingered longest to decide witnessed their parents rise with sudden anger — hands striking faces sharply, voices roaring with demanded obedience.
"Did I not warn you to obey your teachers?"
Most folded in fear, writing names swiftly on the papers.
A few resisted — defiance flickering costly in their eyes.
"They who refuse now," came the adults' decree, "shall face death immediately."
Security moved without mercy, dragging those holdouts from the classroom.
They screamed, vanished into silence.
From the pages presented, teachers selected names for immediate removal.
Among them, ironically, were the names Elizabeth, Hancock, Reinhard, NaHaul, and Kael — key pieces in an unwinding design. They were spared by the very hand of fate veiled in calculating will.
Seven children were taken that day in total — voices ragged and raw, their march into darkness marked by smiles ghosting their guardians' faces, affirming loyalty to society's unbreakable chains.
Time flow resumed its measured beat.
The teacher's voice once more, now clad in lecture:
"Creatures of many kinds stalk this world, but here on Noren Island, harmony is but a whispered myth. Those who dream of uniting species, who dare to speak it aloud, shall be gifted tokens — toys imbued with a score of seven point three Nm and some StrawBar milk shakes which children had the luxury of drinking barely once every year."
Parents revealed these tokens cautiously, hands steady but fingers betraying hope.
For children long denied such playthings, the sight of toys was a revelation that seared through their sweet hunger of wonder.
With innocent resolve, every child — voices rising, pens scratching — pledged in unified chorus:
"I will unite all species in this world and make them friends."
Reinhard too received such a token; rare light in an otherwise unyielding existence.
Suddenly, a sharp voice sliced through the harmony:
"Uniting all species?" Kael's words tumbled out with dry disdain, "A joke. None of you will do what hasn't been done for millions of years."
The room's temperature dropped precipitously, suffocating shadows crowding every corner.
Kael's parents seized him fiercely, dragging him forward into the blinding glare of every eye.
A blade gleamed cold and precise.
Finger by finger, toes were severed — the screams muted yet profound.
"Such is the fate of those who dissent," the teacher intoned, voice both lesson and sentence, "who resist society's creed and the unity we enforce."
Kael's punishment sent waves of silence through the room — lessons carved into flesh and bone.
No child hesitated afterwards. None dared question again.
Discipline was not a whisper here; it was a living, breathing monolith towering over their childhood.