The mud of The High King’s Castle
Elian felt the metallic tang fill his mouth as he slipped for the third time at the foot of the concrete wall. Above him, the barbed wire hummed in the cold wind blowing from the castle courtyard. He could feel the pulse in his veins, throb after throb, but his body refused to rise. He was spent.
?Still on the ground, Serpieri? Seeking buried treasure instead of climbing the wall?? the military inspector mocked. He stood nearby, judging the final trial to become a Scout.
?Move, Elian! ? Giada shouted from the finish line. She looked pained for him. Yet, the mere sound of her voice gave him a spark of strength. Elian dug his fingers into the frozen earth and pushed. He finally cleared the obstacle just as Zech Murphy reached him, wheezing like a broken bellows.
?We’re... making it... El... we’re making it...? Zech sputtered. His red hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his oversized fatigues snagging on every jagged edge. He tripped over a log, but Elian caught him by his backpack strap, dragging him toward the final test: the firing range. Giada was waiting there.
The assault rifles lay on the benches—cold, black, and precise. They were replicas, crafted to match the weapons of the world that had perished. Elian gripped one. The metal felt heavy, weighted down by his own shame. He was failing in front of the woman he loved. His only reason for wanting to be a Scout was Giada. He wanted to follow her beyond the walls of their medieval ruin, out into the world.
Giada took her position in the next stall. She focused, her breathing rhythmic. Her rifle barrel didn't even flinch. She fired with perfect cadence—a rhythm like a Baroque composition executed without a single flaw. Five shots. Five bullseyes.
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Then, it was their turn. Zech closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The recoil slammed him backward; his shots vanished into the grey sky. Elian stared through the sight. His heart hammered, but he couldn't find the sync between his finger and the trigger. He fired. The bullet barely chipped the edge of the target. It was over.
The inspector approached. The sound of his boots on the concrete felt like a death sentence. ?Murphy, you’re a danger to yourself. Serpieri, you’re an insult to ballistics. You’re out. Unfit. Hand over your weapons and get out of my sight.?
Giada set her rifle down and walked toward them. Her eyes were filled with pity and a trace of sweetness. ?I’m so sorry, Elian. Truly, ? she whispered, her gloved hand brushing his arm. ?Zech, don't let it get you down. Perhaps destiny has something less violent in store for you. Not everyone is born to fight in the Wastes. ?
?Wise words, Giada. ? The voice belonged to Julien Martel. He stepped forward with the grace of a noble predator. His uniform was nearly clean, despite having finished the same trial minutes earlier. He stopped beside Giada and gave a small nod—a gesture of admiration that carried a hint of possession. ?Congratulations, Giada. Your technique is flawless. You are the pride of our generation.?
Then, Julien turned his gaze to Elian. There was no hate in his eyes, only the cold certainty of a man who had won on every front. ?Don't look at him like that, Giada. Elian and Zech will find their way—inside the safety of the colony.?
Julien offered his arm to Giada, escorting her from the field as the inspector barked final orders. Elian and Zech stood alone in the mud, surrounded by the contempt of those who could fight and the silence of a world that had just closed its gates.
Zech tried to make light of it. ?Come on, Elian... it could be worse. They could have actually promoted us!?
Elian didn't answer. Zech fell silent; he knew Elian’s feelings for Giada all too well. She would travel the world, while they remained confined forever within the walls of The High King’s Castle
Suddenly, an older Scout approached them. ?Serpieri. Murphy. You’re summoned. General Valerius wants you in his office. Now.?