A bucket of ice-cold water crashed over Elian's face.
He'd fallen asleep with his eyes open—his body begging for rest, his mind refusing to grant it.
"Get up, 1317," barked a guard.
Elian coughed, trembling from the chill, and rose slowly. He stumbled toward the cell door, dazed. Everything felt strange, alien, though it wasn't new. He no longer saw the things beyond reality—no shadows, no presences. Only what was real.
Rows of metal cells echoed with sobbing and the thuds of small fists against steel. The air reeked of damp earth and sweat. The electric torches buzzed softly, their light dying and rebirthing in an endless cycle.
The children were marched back to the theater. None dared whisper.
Then, a spotlight blazed to life above.
There sat S, lounging in one of the audience seats, smiling his usual deranged grin.
"I hope you useless little rats slept well," he said in a playful, almost kind tone. The children stiffened.
"Don't be scared… 'Let the little children come unto me.' That's what one of those old books said." He paused, chuckled, then added with mock reverence, "What a load of sanctimonious bullshit. HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
In a blink, he vanished from his seat and reappeared at the edge of the stage.
"Today marks your first day in this lovely place I like to call home. I know this 'fortress'"—he gestured quotation marks with his fingers—"doesn't have everything a child might wish for… Well, you don't. I, on the other hand, always dreamed of a place like this: a world with no mercy, only screams—where everyone begs for their lives."
His voice trembled with pleasure.
"Well… to each their own, right?"
He threw a punch into the air. The shockwave shattered part of the stage like glass.
"That was just a little taste of what I can do… and what you will learn to do."
He laughed. Then snapped his fingers. Three massive industrial elevators creaked open at the back of the theater, gray and rusted.
"Well then, my sweet piles of shit," he continued, "today you'll face your first tests. Three choices—choose wisely."
He raised three fingers.
"One: Endurance. Run with five kilos strapped to each arm across rusty nails, burning coals, and fire. That'll be on Level 1.
Two: Speed. Assemble a ten-thousand-piece puzzle in under two minutes. That's on Level -2.
Three: Intellect. Solve a hundred-question test on human biology and the mysteries of the Elyth in one minute. That's Level -1."
He smiled wider.
"And since life is fair," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "each elevator fits only thirty of you. There are over a hundred here, so congratulations—ninety lucky ones will live a little longer. The rest… well, at least you won't have to worry about anything ever again."
The children's faces turned pale.
"At the count of three," he whispered, savoring the tension, "you'll run like the filthy little balls of shit you are."
"One."
The kids leapt to their feet. Those closest to the stage tried to climb up. Those in the back scattered to the sides for a better angle.
Elian didn't move. He just sat there. Whether he lived or died no longer mattered—his life had ended the moment his mother fell.
"Two."
Panic erupted. Pushing, screaming, trampling. Tiny bodies stumbled and fell under desperate feet.
"Three."
S vanished and reappeared right in front of Elian, grabbing him by the jumpsuit and hurling him toward one of the elevators just as the doors slammed shut. The impact sent him crashing into other children. The lift jolted upward at terrifying speed.
Level 1.
The sudden stop slammed them all against the ceiling. When the doors opened, guards were waiting. Without a word, they strapped five-kilo sacks to each child's arms and shoved them toward a track littered with nails, burning coals, and flames.
Those who refused were beaten. Those who tried to flee were executed on the spot.
Elian didn't move. One of the guards kicked him hard in the stomach and shoved him forward.
He ran. He tripped. He fell face-first into the burning coals.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed, as his skin blistered and blackened.
"1317, GET UP!" the guard shouted.
Elian staggered to his feet, half his face scorched, his uniform catching fire.
And he kept running.
He didn't know why. He could've stopped, let death take him. But something deep inside—instinct, maybe—refused to let him fall. He kept running. He kept breathing. He kept living.
Four hours later, only nineteen children remained. Of the thirty who'd entered, twelve had died screaming, and one had been shot while trying to escape.
Elian was still standing. Not stronger. Not weaker. Just… unbroken.
When the whistles blew, they returned to the elevator, panting, bloodied, burned.
"There's fewer of us…" Elian thought as the lift descended. "Do these guards… have mothers?"
All three elevators opened simultaneously, their survivors spilling back into the theater. S was there, sitting amid the audience, applauding.
"BRAVO! BRAVO!" he shouted. "You're the best pile of shit I've ever had!"
He stepped forward, his boots squelching against dried blood—the only proof that dozens of children had died minutes ago.
"Well, well… LOOK WHO'S STILL ALIVE!" he yelled, laughing as he pointed at Elian.
"Listen up, maggots. We've been monitoring every one of you. And here's the truth: you're all garbage. Not a single one of you has what I'm looking for." His grin widened as his eyes turned upward. "But don't worry… I'll shape you. I'll mold you into the perfect soldiers the old bastard asked for. And one of you… one of you will become like me."
Elian didn't hear the end. He collapsed—unconscious.
That was how the first day in the fortress ended.
The children were dragged back to their cells. Elian was carried like a sack of meat and tossed onto his bed. He didn't feel the impact. He just slept.
And he didn't know that tomorrow would be a hundred times worse.
Meanwhile, S rode the elevator up to Level 2, the surveillance tower. There, rows of scientists monitored screens displaying each child's data.
"Well?" S asked, grinning as he leaned over the nearest monitor. "Who are our top candidates for the final trial?"
"Sir, the most promising subjects are 1300, 1190, and 1316," replied one of the technicians, eyes fixed on the data.
S chuckled—then slammed his fist into the screen. Glass splintered, fragments slicing his hand. The wounds closed instantly.
"If the brat still isn't relevant…" he muttered, his smile fading into a hiss, "I'll make him relevant."
He turned and left, the same smile plastered across his face—unchanged, but trembling with fury.
"Continue the goddamn trials," he ordered as the elevator doors closed.
Descending to Level 1, he entered an abandoned section of the fortress—his office. Rusted computers, tangled cables, the smell of mold and iron.
There, alone, he replayed Elian's readings over and over. There was something about that child—something that drew him in. Not empathy. Not pity. Just… curiosity.