A strand of white hair fell across Levi's eye. He didn't brush it away. He just sat on the cold floor of his cell, staring at the stark, unnatural color against his finger.
The fever had started three days ago. The dizziness, just this morning. He knew the schedule. Everyone did.
Just two weeks had passed since his sixteenth birthday, and now, here he was, awaiting his turn to face the inevitable First Trial. A cold wave broke over his spine, leaving a trail of prickling ice.
That was why he had surrendered himself. Everyone did.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall. Sharp, Unforgiving.
Levi's pulse quickened, a frantic drum against his ribs.
The heavy metal door slid open with a hiss. A squad of soldiers in sleek black armor filed in, their movements precise and mechanical. At the front stood their leader—a tall, imposing man with a face carved from stone.
He stopped a pace from Levi, his polished boots silencing themselves on the concrete floor. His gaze, cold and assessing, didn't so much as flicker toward the room's sparse furnishings, its darkness, or the lingering scent of sweat and fear. It remained fixed on Levi. The man's hands, encased in black gloves, didn't clench into fists or rest on a weapon; they simply hung at his sides, utterly still. That stillness was more threatening.
One gloved finger twitched, a minuscule gesture. Two soldiers broke from the formation, their steps echoing in unison as they moved to flank Levi, cutting off any path to the door without a single word spoken. The leader's eyes finally drifted from Levi's face to the metallic shackle on his wrist. A fraction of a second later, his focus returned, and the faintest crease appeared between his brows—not of concern, but of calculation, as if Levi were a problematic equation he'd been ordered to solve.
He took one final, silent step forward. The air grew colder. Levi could smell the sterile, ozone scent of the armor and the faint, clean soap on the man's skin. It was the smell of absolute, unquestioned authority.
The officer's gaze held a flicker of a second, a complex, unreadable flicker in his eyes that was there and gone too fast to decipher. Pity? Resignation? Maybe both. As they walked down the long, narrow hallway, the officer's eyes, hard and weary, scanned Levi from head to toe, lingering on his threadbare clothes. "Sector 7 slums, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation, his voice a low grunt. "Didn't think so. Never any training for your kind. Just... cannon fodder." He shook his head, almost to himself. "The city-folk kids, they at least have a fighting chance. You? Just try not to die too quickly out there. Not that I'd care."
A hot flush of shame spread up Levi's neck. His jaw clenched tight, biting back any retort.
They entered a dimly lit chamber where twelve others stood waiting. Boys and girls, each marked by the Shackle Spell. Some trembled, others sobbed quietly. None of them spoke.
A low hum filled the room, the sound of distant machinery working tirelessly to keep the city alive.
The officer surveyed the group, his expression unreadable. "Try to make your deaths mean something," he said, his voice flat and utterly devoid of hope. "But we all know they won't. Our job is to hold back the Defiled that appear in your place until the wardens arrive to kill them. So don't worry about us. Die knowing you helped add to their experience."
Levi's stomach churned. His nails dug deeper into his palms.
Every day, more people were marked. More vanished. More Defiled roamed the cities, slipping through the cracks, slaughtering indiscriminately.
The government urged the newly infected—the Fettered—to turn themselves in, but many refused. Those who hid only made things worse. Without containment, Defiled emerged in the streets, overwhelming defenses, tearing through civilians before the wardens could intervene.
Even now, no warden was here. Protocol demanded at least one be stationed at every First Trial site. But there weren't enough of them who cared about the slums. Not anymore.
The silence was suffocating.
Someone sobbed. A quiet, fragile sound that barely broke through the heavy air.
Levi exhaled slowly.A sudden profound weakness turned his bones to water. The world swam at the edges of his vision, the harsh lights smearing into halos. His vision blurred at the edges. His knees buckled, and the last thing he saw was the cold, unfeeling faces of the soldiers surrounding him.
Then—
Darkness.
His body collapsed, his white hair fanning out around him. And then, in the blink of an eye—
He was gone.
The soldiers stood frozen, rifles still trained on the empty space where he had fallen. But they knew.
Levi had been transported.
To another world. Another realm. The place where all Fettered were sent.
And in his place, a nightmare would soon take shape.
A Defiled.
The officer exhaled, gripping his weapon tighter. His men shifted uneasily, bracing for what was to come. Their bullets would do little against the monster that was about to appear.
And this was just the beginning.
The officer's voice was grim as he muttered under his breath.
"Today's gonna be a long day.let's just hope a warden bothers to show up before we here all die."