As soon as the heavy door shut behind Isa and her guards, the chamber erupted into a cacophony of voices. The children, tense and silent during the speech, now spoke in hurried whispers and hushed excitement.

  "Did you see her eyes? They were like molten silver!" one boy gasped, his voice filled with awe.

  "She's terrifying," a girl muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don’t know if I can do this."

  "Did you hear what she said? We’re going to be stronger than any metal mage before!" another boy grinned, excitement lighting up his face. "This is our chance!"

  "Our chance for what? To be broken?" a skeptical voice replied. "She said not everyone will make it. What if we're the ones who fail?"

  Cale listened to the flurry of voices around him, his heart pounding. Isa's words still rang in his ears. This pce—whatever it was—would either shape them into something formidable or cast them aside. The weight of it settled uncomfortably in his chest.

  Before the murmurs could escate further, a figure in simple white robes stepped forward, his presence alone enough to command attention. His robes were pristine, unblemished, and his face carried a serene calmness that contrasted with the restless energy of the children.

  “Silence,” he spoke, his voice steady but firm.

  The murmuring gradually faded, the energy in the room shifting once more.

  “It has been a long journey for many of you,” the man continued. “You will find food waiting in the grand hall. Follow me.”

  Without another word, he turned and began walking toward the far left of the chamber. The children, still buzzing with thoughts of Isa’s speech, exchanged gnces before shuffling into a loose line, trailing after him.

  They entered a grand hall, and the sight before them made some children freeze in their tracks. Long wooden tables stretched across the vast space, every inch of them filled with ptters of food. Roasted meats, fresh bread, steaming vegetables, and bowls of thick stew. The scent was intoxicating, filling the air with warmth and comfort.

  For some, hunger overrode hesitation. A handful of children rushed forward, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on, their manners forgotten in the presence of such a feast. Others, however, remained rooted in pce, their gazes wary as they scanned the room, uncertain whether this was truly meant for them or if there was some hidden test waiting.

  Cale's gaze nded on Tristan. Unlike many of the others, Tristan strode ahead without a hint of doubt, making his way directly to a table. He picked up a chicken leg with confidence, sinking his teeth into it as if proving a point. He chewed, then looked up at Cale, Davion, and Mirelle, his sharp blue eyes glinting with something smug—almost challenging.

  Cale met his gaze, then gnced at Davion and Mirelle. They exchanged uncertain looks before finally stepping forward, making their way toward Tristan’s table.

  Tristan smirked slightly as they sat down, though he said nothing.

  Mirelle hesitated before reaching for a piece of bread. "I don’t get it," she murmured. "Why is there so much food? After the way they brought us here, I thought... I don’t know. I expected something worse."

  Davion nodded, picking up a bowl of stew but still looking tense. "Maybe they’re trying to make us drop our guard."

  Cale picked up a piece of meat. And so they ate, the tension never fully leaving the air, but the momentary comfort of a full meal giving them a brief respite from the unknown future ahead.

  "I hope you had your fill and that the meal was delicious for everyone," the white-robed man said with a warm smile, his voice carrying easily across the now-silent hall. The children, their hunger momentarily sated, turned their heads toward him, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

  "My name is Masten, and I am the director of this pce that I hope, in time, you will come to call home." He paused, his deep brown eyes sweeping over the gathered children, as if measuring each one in turn.

  A murmur passed through the room, a ripple of uncertainty. Home? The word felt foreign after the way they had been taken here, after the uncertainty that still hung over them like a heavy fog.

  "Now, after a bath to help you rex, you will be escorted to your rooms. The girls and boys have separate wings to prevent any unwanted disturbances." His tone was light, almost casual, but there was an underlying finality in his words that left no room for protest.

  From a nearby door, a group of grey-robed men entered in silent unison. Their heads were completely shaved, their faces unreadable—firm, disciplined, yet devoid of hostility. They stood like statues, waiting.

  One by one, the children rose from their seats, the crowd slowly dividing as they were separated by gender. Cale cast a gnce toward Mirelle, catching the brief flicker of hesitation in her expression.

  A grey-robed man approached them, his posture stiff but his voice measured, almost polite. "Please, little miss. The others are waiting."

  Mirelle's wide green eyes met Cale's rich brown ones, a silent question lingering between them. He offered her a small smile, warm and reassuring.

  "We will meet again tomorrow, I promise," he said gently.

  She frowned for a moment, her expression torn, before she let out a small sigh and nodded.

  Turning away, she followed the other girls, her fiery red braids swaying as she disappeared into the crowd. Cale watched her go, a strange emptiness settling in his chest.

  "Are you her boyfriend?" a voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

  Cale turned, his gaze nding on a boy slightly taller than him, with broad shoulders and a muscur build that suggested he had done his fair share of bor before coming here. His skin was tanned, likely from long hours spent under the sun, and his short, dark brown hair was cropped close to his head. His strong jawline and sharp blue eyes gave him an air of quiet confidence, but there was something assessing in the way he looked at Cale—like he was measuring him, waiting for a reaction.

  Cale felt a flicker of intimidation but stood his ground, keeping his posture steady. "We are just friends," he answered simply, his voice calm.

  The taller boy studied him for a moment before shifting his gaze back toward Mirelle, watching her disappear into the line of girls. After a few beats, he turned to his friends, and they exchanged quiet murmurs, some chuckling, others casting occasional gnces back at Cale with amused or knowing expressions.

  Cale ignored them, though a part of him burned with irritation. He was about to turn away when he sensed movement from the corner of his eye.

  Tristan and Davion were approaching, standing at his sides like quiet sentinels. Tristan, his usual sharp-eyed gre in pce, looked between Cale and the taller boy before crossing his arms, his posture defensive. Davion, though less confrontational, stood firm, his presence a quiet reassurance.

  Cale exhaled, feeling a little lighter at the sight of his friends. He let a small, genuine smile tug at his lips.

  Tristan was still bitter after seeing how naturally gifted Cale was. His affinity, whatever its true strength, was clearly something exceptional. But there was something about this country pumpkin that made it difficult to stay upset. Maybe it was his warmth, or his way of making people feel included. Either way, the irritation simmering in Tristan's chest was fading faster than he expected.

  Cale turned to Davion with a friendly smile. “Davion, did you enjoy the food?”

  Davion blushed slightly, recalling how he had nearly choked a few times in his eagerness to eat.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve never had food that good in my life.” He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly as if searching for words. Cale and Tristan remained patient, giving him the time to find them.

  “My family didn’t have a lot of money,” Davion finally said, his voice quieter. “So we usually didn’t eat food this good. In fact, I don’t even remember the st time I had meat.”

  Tristan scoffed, and Davion’s face reddened even more.

  “Tristan,” Cale warned, casting him a look.

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t ughing at him. I was just thinking… a big guy like Davion must eat a lot. Imagine how huge he’d get if he ate like this every day,” he muttered, sounding more envious than mocking. Tristan himself was lean, almost wiry, and the idea of growing as rge as Davion’s frame was probably beyond him.

  Cale chuckled before turning back to Davion, curiosity lighting his expression. “What was your dad like, physically?”

  Davion’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers tightening slightly. “He was tall like a tree and strong like a bear,” he said softly. “With a heart twice as big.”

  Silence followed his words, heavy with unspoken emotion. Cale stepped forward, pcing a hand on Davion’s shoulder, sensing the sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  Davion inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath. “It’s fine.” He paused before lifting his head slightly. “How is your dad?”

  Cale’s face brightened at the thought of his father, and a proud smile spread across his lips. “My dad is really tall and muscur. He says it’s from all the forging he does every day. His arms are at least twice as thick as my legs.” His eyes gleamed with excitement as he continued. “One time, a carriage accidentally dropped a heavy log at our gate. Dad needed to move something inside the yard, and the gate had to be opened. So, all on his own, he picked up that massive log and pced it back in the carriage. It was amazing! Everyone around stopped and just stared at him in awe.”

  Davion listened, a small smile pying at his lips, but his eyes still carried a flicker of longing. A longing for something lost.

  Cale, still grinning, turned to Tristan. “What about your dad, Tristan?” he asked cheerfully.

  The moment the words left his mouth, Tristan’s face darkened. His expression shut down, his lips pressing into a thin line.

  Cale’s smile faltered as the silence stretched between them. His chest tightened as he realized he had stepped somewhere he shouldn’t have.

  Tristan didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at them.

  The conversation, which had been filled with warmth just moments before, grew cold. The weight of something unspoken loomed over them. Cale swallowed, gncing at Davion, who also shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

  Cale wanted to apologize, to take the question back, but he wasn’t sure if that would help or just make things worse. So, instead, he simply lowered his gaze, giving Tristan space to breathe.

  The crackling energy from before had dimmed, repced by something heavier. The silence remained, but this time, it wasn’t the comfortable kind.

  The boys were led through the halls, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone floors. When they stopped before a set of rge, iron-bound doors, tension rippled through the group. The doors creaked open, revealing a stark, sterile room lined with wooden benches.

  As they hesitantly stepped inside, the grey-robed men followed closely behind. The moment the st boy crossed the threshold, the doors smmed shut behind them with a finality that made Cale’s stomach twist.

  "Everyone strip!" a robed man at the front commanded, his voice firm and unyielding.

  A murmur of confusion spread through the boys. They exchanged uneasy gnces, unsure if they had misheard. No one moved.

  The man’s sharp eyes narrowed. "Undress. You will be given clean clothes after the bath—one set for sleeping, one for training, and one for the study period."

  Still, no one moved.

  The robed man let out a slow breath and nodded at his colleagues. Without hesitation, they stepped forward, grabbing the nearest boy. The child screamed and struggled, but his resistance was useless. In seconds, his clothes were yanked away, leaving him shivering and exposed. His hands shot down to cover himself, his eyes brimming with humiliated tears.

  The door at the far end of the room swung open, and the boy was ushered inside. His bare feet padded silently against the stone floor as he disappeared beyond the doorway.

  "You either do it yourselves, or we will do it for you," the robed man stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  One by one, the boys hesitantly undressed, shame and fear etched into their faces. They were then led through the doorway into what appeared to be a shower room.

  The room was vast and pristine, its floors and walls made of smooth, white stone that gleamed under the sterile glow of embedded magic stones. There were no windows, no decorations—only rows of individual shower stations separated by transparent gss panels. The faucets, embedded seamlessly into the stone walls, released water in perfectly controlled streams. The scent of something sharp and antiseptic lingered in the air.

  As the boys stepped beneath the scalding streams of water, the initial tension began to ease. The heat soaked into their aching muscles, washing away the dirt and exhaustion of travel. When a grey-robed attendant handed them fragrant soap, the anxiety that had gripped them lessened further. Some of the boys even started talking amongst themselves.

  Cale gnced toward Tristan, hoping to start a conversation, but Tristan turned his back to him, his posture stiff and unapproachable. Meanwhile, Davion seemed to enjoy the shower more than anyone, thering himself in the scented soap and letting out an appreciative sigh. Seeing this, Cale decided to leave him be.

  After several minutes, glowing orange runes embedded in the walls fred to life. Instantly, all humidity in the air vanished, and the remaining droplets of water on their skin evaporated. The process left no dampness, no lingering moisture—just a dry, sterile cleanliness that was almost unnatural.

  Once dried, they were led back to the room where they had undressed. But now, something new awaited them.

  A single metallic chair sat in the center of the room. Behind it, a man stood holding an object that resembled a pen, but the gleaming tip looked as sharp as a needle.

  Cale’s throat tightened. He could hear Davion gulp beside him.

  The robed man from earlier stepped forward, addressing the group. "Do not worry," he said, his voice calm but detached. "We will make a small marking behind your neck. It will sting, but the process is quick."

  A heavy silence followed. No one moved.

  Then, breaking the stillness, the same tall boy who had asked Cale about Mirelle earlier stepped forward. He walked to the chair with an air of defiance, wearing a smug grin as he sat down.

  The moment the sharp pen touched his skin, however, his expression faltered. His jaw tightened, his fingers clenched into fists, but to his credit, he did not cry out. The man behind him worked swiftly, the metallic pen etching something small onto his neck. Within seconds, the process was over.

  The boy stood up, rolling his shoulders before striding back to the group, his confidence restored. Cale squinted, trying to see the tattoo, but from this angle, all he could make out was a series of numbers.

  One by one, the boys stepped forward, each receiving the same treatment.

  Tristan went before Cale. When the process was finished, he immediately turned to Cale. "What does it say?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Cale peered at the tattoo. "It’s a set of numbers. 0724-89."

  Next was Davion. When he returned, his numbers read 1256-34.

  Then, it was Cale’s turn.

  As he walked to the chair, his heart pounded against his ribs. He sat down, gripping the edges of the metal armrests as the cold instrument pressed against his skin. The sharp sting made his muscles tense, but he forced himself to stay still.

  It was over in seconds.

  When he stood and walked back to Tristan and Davion, he felt the spot burn slightly. "What does mine say?" he asked.

  Tristan gnced at his neck. "0831-57."

  Cale nodded slowly, the numbers meaningless to him for now. But something about them—about all of this—felt deeply unsettling.

  Once every boy had been marked, they were finally escorted to their rooms. The day had been long, grueling, and filled with more questions than answers.

  They walked out of the main building, now dressed in their sleeping clothes. The garments were pin, a dull grey, simple yet comfortable. The fabric was light against their skin, but the weight of the day still clung to them like a shroud.

  The night air was cool as they moved through the castle grounds, the stone paths beneath their feet cold and unforgiving. Shadows stretched long under the pale glow of the magical nterns that lined the walls. They followed the grey-robed men in silence, exhaustion creeping into their steps.

  Eventually, they arrived before a massive set of doors. When they swung open, they revealed a spiraling staircase that extended two more levels upward, disappearing into the dim torchlight.

  “You will stay three in each room,” the robed man who had spoken throughout the day announced.

  Cale felt a wave of relief wash over him.

  “Perfect,” he murmured. If he could stay with Tristan and Davion, things wouldn’t be so bad.

  “We will call your numbers. When you hear it, come forward so you can be grouped with your assigned roommates,” the man continued, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

  One by one, he called the numbers.

  When Cale heard his, he stepped forward. His heartbeat quickened as he stood in the front, waiting for his roommates to be revealed.

  The next number was called.

  The tall boy—the same one who had smirked at him earlier—strode forward confidently, his eyes locking onto Cale. That same smug grin curled his lips as he rolled his shoulders back, straightening his posture in a show of dominance.

  Cale’s stomach twisted.

  Then, another number was called. Another boy stepped forward, one that seemed to be the tall boy’s friend, judging by the amused smirk they exchanged.

  A pit formed in Cale’s stomach.

  This wasn’t good.

  He cast a quick gnce toward Tristan and Davion. They, too, had been separated, now standing among strangers. Tristan looked annoyed, but Davion appeared anxious, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he gnced around.

  The air felt thick, the uncertainty suffocating.

  Without another word, the grey-robed men began escorting them toward the staircases, leading them to their rooms. Cale kept his gaze forward, but he could feel the weight of the tall boy’s stare beside him. The silent promise of trouble hung in the air between them like a bde waiting to drop.

  As they climbed the steps, Cale clenched his fists. He had a bad feeling about this.

  Isa: