"Reinhard get ready for you first day of school".
Reinhard didn't need waking this morning. Anticipation, electric and pure, stirred him to consciousness before the dawn fully bled into the room, and he was already dressed—blue hat perched at a jaunty angle, blue shirt crisp beneath a darker blue coat, blue pants hemmed just right. The yellow school bag dangled from one shoulder, untouched but carried with readiness.
The word barely escaped his lips before bursting free, "I am leaving, I am leaving!" his voice bright, raw with eagerness.
His mother's steady hand, holding a slender cylindrical can of cream, interrupted him gently. "Wait, Reinhard. Apply this first." She rubbed the cream between her palms, warmth exuding, then pressed her hands softly to his face and arms, smearing the invisible layer over his smooth skin. Immediately, his pale complexion dulled to a matte finish, a subtle mask against the outside.
"Reinhard, today's prayer," she said calmly.
He breathed it like a vow: "Yes. I, Reinhard HayGram, will unite all species in this world in eleven years and eleven months. I will be the savior of the new world."
The carriage ride was short, the air thick with the smells of morning—the faint rust of dewed leaves, the whisper of tire on stone. The school stood modestly ahead: two stories, about ten rooms, many still hushed and empty.
Reinhard thought "I can finally interact with those little humans like me" .
The smile on his face while thinking this was visible.
"I was waiting for this moment for years"
Most children had already arrived, their laughter and chatter breaking the morning's stillness.
Reinhard lingered by the threshold, his eyes scanning the swarm of small bodies pressed into play. Joy blossomed like fragile light within him.
Among the colorful chaos, a figure caught his eye—long, sleek black hair veiling a forehead, spilling over large, heavy-lashed eyes. Children encircled her desk, their voices flowing unevenly around a singular name: Hancock.
From the edge of the crowd, words slipped faintly, indistinct but sharp enough to imprint:
"Hancock, where do you live?"
"Do you know how to spell your name?"
"No."
"Let me write it down…"
"No, wait—see? I already wrote it."
Reinhard shifted, stepping forward, but a light, sweet voice called out, "I'm going to drink some water."
Just as he moved to enter fully, Hancock approached with purpose, pausing before the door. Her face curled in scorn and she said coldly, "Leave the door. I want to leave."
His rosy cheeks flamed in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry," he murmured.
She turned and slipped away.
Reinhard chose the nearest vacant bench by the window, seeking tether to the outside air, grateful for the faint breeze that stirred in the non-air-conditioned classroom.
His sister Elizabeth soon arrived, her presence a graceful current. "Come sit beside me," she offered kindly.
"I'd rather explore," he replied.
"Alright." Their seats formed a quiet space between them, linked by shared glance.
Across the room, Hancock reclaimed her desk. She ruled her throne easily; children clustered around her without question. Her chosen seat was beside NaHaul—a boy whose broad, steady jaw and unreadable gaze belied his years.
His refusal was sharp when she invited him to sit, "No." Yet she pressed on softly, "I think you're a nice person, so I want you with me."
"I'm not nice just because I'm white," he answered, tone thick with cultural weight.
In Noren, paleness was the mark of indoor privilege—sun outside darkened skin, pale skin suggested wealth and leisure. Sexual selection had favored it, the pale the proxies of power. Such preferences tightened invisible chains around the island's quiet caste system.
Hancock recoiled, silence folding over her instantly.
A sarcastic friend near NaHaul deflected tension, "Don't mind him, he's into older women. I'm available anytime."
Reinhard and Elizabeth's voices wove across space, loud enough to carry over distance.
NaHaul's gaze snapped toward Elizabeth mid-conversation. Without hesitation, "Can I sit with you?"
Graciously, she replied, "I'm already seated. Switching now would be rude."
"Oh," he said, "can I sit with you tomorrow?"
"Sure," she smiled.
Questions, especially those probing roots of being, were stifled in YangPass. Children learned to distance the dangerous from the innocuous; "Why does the ground pull at us?" remained locked, while "What are you doing?" carried the illusion of freedom.
Reinhard, unsteady but hopeful, asked Hancock, "Do you have all your stationeries for school?"
"I don't want to talk with you," she spat.
Ignoring her dismissal, he smiled bright and sincere, "Here's mine. If you need anything, just ask."
Hancock waved disdain toward nearby children, commanding, "Make that boy understand I don't want to talk."
A boy rose sluggishly, approaching Reinhard without greeting. Without warning, a harsh kick sent Reinhard out the window. He fell six feet onto stone grinding flesh and bone.
A scream burst, filling the room instantly with focused shock.
Elizabeth surged forward, fury flaming her face as she slapped the boy. "Why did you do that?"
"Because…" he mumbled, ashamed. "I'm sorry."
Hancock cut across: "Don't apologize."
NaHaul appeared swiftly, voice low but firm, ordering: "Don't do that again. Apologize to Reinhard."
Hancock's face crumbled. She urged the boy, "Stop this. Apologize."
She was the first to bow her head; the boy followed.
Elizabeth rushed outside, but Reinhard was gone.
Blood marked a trail—thin, red, a delicate stain against the dust.
Elizabeth followed, swift and silent, tracing the line beyond school bounds.
The path led meters, then kilometers, halting at Reinhard's humble home.
From outside, Elizabeth caught his voice — fractured, trembling with grief.
"They all treat me like I'm nothing," he sobbed. "No one wants me. I don't need them. I'm staying here all day."
"He's to attend school today. No more excuses," his mother shouted. "Go to your room, now."
Elizabeth advanced toward the door but found it barred by his mother.
"Elizabeth, today isn't the day," the warning clipped.
"But…" she began.
"Okay, leave," came the command.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth withdrew.
Night draped the world in thick, velvet black.
"Elizabeth, I am home." Jerry's voice floated through the entryway.
"Welcome back, Father," she answered softly.
"You've eaten. Go to sleep."
"Yes, Father," she answered, retreating to her room.
An hour slipped by.
Quiet as a shadow, Elizabeth pulled on her shoes, walking with practiced stealth.
She slipped out her second-story window, landing softly, then scaling a tree and vaulting down the boundary wall.
She reversed the silent escape at Reinhard's home, slipping undetected inside his room.
There, Reinhard lay curled and still.
Elizabeth's hand hovered, then lightly shook him awake.
He blinked open eyes, voice rising in surprise, "What—?"
She signaled him to lower his voice.
"Sister, not today," he whispered.
"I know," she said gently. "Show me your wounds."
Though bound by blood, their lives were partitioned—a separation enforced by design to set Elizabeth apart as royalty. She lived with Jerry; Reinhard with his mother. Jerry visited the boy's home only in the evenings, speaking with the mother. Elizabeth and Reinhard were granted meeting twice a month at most, weaving scarcity into reverence.
Reinhard showed his wounds—bruised flesh mottled beneath thin fabric.
"How did you make it home like this?" Elizabeth asked, voice tight.
"I don't know," he admitted. "First it was easy. Then harder as time passed."
She produced bandages and ointments, beginning to treat him methodically.
"My room is surveilled," he murmured in the dim light. "Morning will bring discovery. The punishment… three hours in scorching sun, standing with weights."
"That doesn't matter," she said, her hands steady.
"But sister it was nothing like i expected" he said with a dry face "I was waiting for this day whole these years yet it turned out as the worst day ever"
Elizabeth said "I want you at school tomorrow. No one will stop you. That's all I want."
They embraced—a fleeting warmth against months of cold control.
Elizabeth left quietly as Reinhard's breath slowed into silence.