The sun burned down on the labor fields, baking the dust into dry, cracked patterns beneath Kaelen's bare feet. Here, in the slums, the powerless worked under the relentless gaze of the armed soldiers. The weak lived to serve. No school. No hope. Only labor from dawn to dusk. Those without abilities were nothing more than tools to be used, bodies to be broken.
Kaelen's mother stood by the doorway of their crumbling home, her hands rough and calloused, her eyes sharp with worry. Survival had chiseled those lines deep into her face. Her fingers pressed a thin cloth into his hand, wrapped tightly around a small, worn coin.
"Find Mrs Rina," she said firmly. "Get the grain. Not later. Now. We need it for tomorrow."
Kaelen hesitated. He knew better than to question her, but his stomach clenched. Walking through the field meant walking past soldiers. Past danger. He shifted on his feet.
"I'll go later," he murmured.
His mother's eyes hardened. She stepped closer, voice low and fierce. "You'll go now, Kaelen. If you wait, there will be nothing left. Do you understand? Nothing."
He nodded, though reluctance pressed heavy against his chest. He turned and stepped out, the weight of the task settling on his shoulders. The coin felt cold in his palm, but colder still was the fear of what waited on the path ahead.
The Field of Weary stretched out like a wound across the earth. The weak labored under the lash, digging, hauling, sweating. Soldiers lined the edges, their shadows long, their powers longer. Even the smallest ability meant authority—those who could harden their skin, wield small flames, or bend iron with a flick of their fingers. And those without power, like Kaelen and his mother, lived at their mercy.
Kaelen kept his head down, his pace steady. Don't draw attention. Don't speak unless spoken to. The rules were simple, but survival was simpler.
The crowd ahead caught his eye. Something was wrong. Workers stood still, their heads low, forming a half-circle of fear. Kaelen edged closer, his heart hammering.
A man lay sprawled in the dirt, blood streaking his cheek. Towering over him was a soldier, the family crest of one of the Big Seven burned into his uniform—those who ruled the world with power and blood.
"You dare speak back?" The soldier's boot pressed into the man's ribs, grinding him into the earth. The man groaned, but said nothing.
From the crowd, a figure broke forward. The victim's brother. His stance was rigid, every muscle coiled with fury. He wasn't powered, but Kaelen saw the strength in his posture. Years of martial training forged him. The powerless learned to fight in other ways, though fists alone couldn't change the world.
"Let him go," the brother snapped. His voice didn't waver. "He's done nothing."
The soldier laughed, a sharp, cold sound. "Nothing?" His boot pressed harder, drawing a gasp from the man beneath him. "You speak of nothing?"
The brother's fists clenched. And in a heartbeat, everything broke.
A blade. A flash. A soldier's eyes widening in shock. Blood. Silence.
The soldier staggered, a dagger sunk deep into his temple. His body crumpled, lifeless, to the ground.
And something struck Kaelen. A pulse, low and thunderous, shaking him from the inside out. His chest burned, his skin tingling. His ears rang with something... deeper. Louder. Something wrong.
The moment was shattered by chaos. The remaining soldiers surged forward, blades drawn. There was no trial, no words. The brother's head snapped back as steel cut through flesh. His body fell beside the one he'd slain.
Silence returned, heavier than before. No one dared move. Not even Kaelen. Fear, cold and sharp, froze them in place.
When the soldiers dragged the bodies away, they left the blood. A mark. A warning.
Kaelen turned and walked home, the coin still clutched in his hand, forgotten.
---
His mother met him at the door, her gaze darting over his face. She saw the blankness in his eyes but focused on what mattered.
"Did you get the grain?" she asked, her voice clipped with urgency.
Kaelen opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat was dry, his mind blank. Something was missing—like a page torn from his memory.
"I… I don't remember," he said softly.
His mother's brow furrowed, her lips pressing tight. "Kaelen," she said, stepping closer, "I sent you for the grain. We need it. There's nothing for tomorrow. Don't play with me."
"I don't…" His voice faltered. "I don't remember going."
"You left with the coin," she snapped. Her fingers gripped his arm, hard enough to sting. "Don't lie. You left, and you were gone for hours."
Kaelen looked at her, helpless. The image of the soldier falling, the brother's scream, the smell of blood—it was gone. Only the shadow of fear remained.
"I don't know," he whispered. "I just… I don't know."
His mother's jaw tightened, her eyes sharp with frustration and fear. But she said nothing more, only turned away with a shake of her head.
He pressed his hands over his ears, but it made no difference.
And Kaelen didn't understand.
That night, Kaelen lay on the hard mat, staring up at the splintered ceiling. Shadows stretched across the cracked walls, twisting in the dim light. His body ached from the day's labor, but it wasn't the pain that kept him awake.
It was the sound.
At first, it was faint. A distant whisper, like a breeze brushing across a forgotten corner of the room. He shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but the whisper grew clearer. Sharper.
Voices.
He sat up slowly, his breath held tight in his chest. The room was still. His mother slept nearby, her form curled beneath a thin blanket, her breaths steady and deep. But Kaelen could hear... more.
A conversation. Faint, almost dreamlike. Two men, their voices low, sharp with fear and caution.
"…didn't have to kill him…"
"…he struck first. The rule is clear. Power strikes, power survives."
Kaelen's eyes widened. Those words—he shouldn't be able to hear them. The voices sounded distant, too distant to belong to this room, this house.
He turned his head, straining to follow the sound. His heart pounded. The voices weren't inside. They were outside.
Far outside.
He rose, his bare feet brushing the cold floor as he crept toward the window. He crouched, peeking through the wooden slats. The street beyond lay in shadow, empty, silent. But the voices persisted. Clear. Close.
Except they weren't.
"…they'll come back tomorrow. To search. To punish. Mark my words."
Kaelen's pulse thundered. That voice—it was from the western side of the labor field. Beyond the line of homes. Too far. Too impossible.
But he heard it.
And there was more.
The rustle of a rat's feet against dry wood in the neighbor's house. The creak of old leather as someone shifted in their sleep across the street. The soft drip of water from a crack in the wall three doors down.
Kaelen pressed his hands over his ears, squeezing tight. The sounds didn't stop. They grew sharper. Closer. More.
A voice whispered from the dark corner of his mind, though it wasn't a voice at all. It was a feeling, heavy and strange.
You shouldn't hear this.
He stumbled back, his back hitting the wall, breath ragged. His mother stirred but didn't wake.
He was shaking. His skin felt too tight, his chest too small. The world had stretched itself open, peeling back its layers, letting him hear its secrets. And it wasn't right. It wasn't normal.
But there was more.
Footsteps.
Not close. Not near his home. But further. Beyond the fields. Slow. Measured. Coming closer.
Kaelen's heart thudded painfully. There was nothing out there. No one should be walking the fields this late. Not after a killing. Not when fear should be keeping everyone behind closed doors.
And yet, someone was walking. And Kaelen could hear every step.
He crept back to the window, his fingers trembling as they pushed aside the curtain. The darkness outside offered nothing but shadows. Empty. Still.
But the footsteps were there. And they were getting closer.
Kaelen's breath caught in his throat. Was it real? Or was he losing his mind?
The steps paused. Silence.
And then, a whisper, low and cold, so soft it almost wasn't there.
"We see you."
Kaelen stumbled back from the window, his heart hammering against his ribs. The words didn't come from outside. They came from within. From everywhere. From nowhere.
He pressed himself against the wall, his hands over his ears again, squeezing, shaking, whispering, "Stop. Stop. Stop."
As he curled himself up like a ball in the corner of the room.
What is this? He thought fearfully.
But he was soon overtaken by sleep.
----
The grave lay open, a black wound in the earth it was the burial of the soldier who lost his life.
The family stood by, their faces drawn, etched with grief that had no place in this harsh world. They said nothing. No tears, no wails. Just silence. Because grief was a luxury they couldn't afford.
The body, wrapped in rough cloth, was lowered into the pit. It made no sound as it settled, but the silence was deafening.
A soldier stood nearby, his armor dull and dust-stained. His face was shadowed beneath his helmet, his mouth a hard, thin line. He watched the family with cold detachment, but there was something sharp in his stare. Something waiting.
"You've said enough," the soldier barked when the dead man's sister let out a quiet sob. His voice was rough, like gravel, and it cut through the morning like a blade. "You don't mourn. You bury."
The sister's mouth trembled, but no words came. She lowered her head, biting back the grief.
"Now," the soldier snapped. "Cover it. Do it quickly."
The father stepped forward, hands shaking as he grabbed a worn shovel. Each scoop of dirt fell heavy onto the cloth, dull thuds that sounded like finality. The family took turns, silent, grim. No prayers, no farewells. Only earth swallowing flesh.
When it was done, the soldier stepped closer. His shadow stretched across the grave. "This is how we survive," he said coldly. "By not wasting time on the dead. Move on. Or you'll be next."
His words hung in the air, sharp as glass. The family stiffened, grief caged behind tight lips and clenched jaws. But their eyes screamed.
Still, they turned. One by one. They walked away, shoulders hunched, leaving the grave behind. But the weight of it would never leave them.
The soldier didn't move. He stood there, staring at the fresh mound of dirt as if expecting it to move. His gaze wasn't sorrowful. It wasn't mournful. It was something deeper. Something darker.
Meanwhile, back at kaelen's home, The morning light filtered weakly through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting thin slivers across the dirt floor. A sharp knock echoed against the door.
"Kaelen? You awake?
Kaelen pushed himself up from his mat, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He crossed the small room and opened the door to find Tenny standing there, arms crossed and wearing his usual crooked grin
"Finally," Tenny said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "I was starting to think you'd decided to sleep through the season."
Kaelen smirked faintly and stepped aside to let him in. "You're early.
Tenny chuckled. "Early? It's halfway to noon, lazy bones. If we don't get moving soon, the heat'll kill us before the work does."
Kaelen shook his head, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "You always act like we have a choice."
Tenny flopped onto a nearby stool. "We don't. But it feels better pretending we do." He stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Besides, if we start early, we might actually finish before the sun burns us alive."
Kaelen glanced at him. "You and your plans. Always about finding an easier way."
Tenny grinned. "I don't mind the work, but I'm not about to waste the whole day doing it. I'd rather finish early and spend the rest of it doing something fun."
Kaelen gave him a skeptical look. "Like what? Watching dust blow across the road?"
Tenny laughed. "Hey, it's better than hauling crates all day. Maybe we could check out the old stream later. You never know, might find something interesting."
Kaelen shrugged. "If we're not too tired."
Tenny tilted his head, his grin widening. "Come on, you always say that. But once we're done, you'll be the first to drag me out there. You just like pretending you're too serious for adventure."
Kaelen shook his head, but his lips twitched slightly. "Maybe. Or maybe I just know when to keep my head down."
Tenny stood, stretching his arms over his head. "And that's why I'm around—to drag your head up once in a while. You need someone to keep you from becoming one of those old men who sits in the same spot every day, watching the world pass him by."
Kaelen chuckled. "And you're the one to save me from that, huh?"
"Of course. It's my life's mission," Tenny said with mock seriousness, then grinned again. "Besides, you're the only one who can keep up with me when it's time to carry those crates. I'm not about to let my best partner go rusty."
Kaelen stood, grabbing his worn boots. "I should let you do the heavy lifting today. You seem so eager."
Tenny gave a dramatic sigh. "And deprive you of the honor? "I wouldn't dare." He shot Kaelen a grin. "But seriously, we make a good team. "Work gets done faster, and it feels less like punishment when we're in it together."
Kaelen nodded, lacing his boots. "Yeah. Faster's better."
"Exactly," Tenny said, heading toward the door. "Now, let's go before the sun decides to burn us where we stand. And after that, maybe I'll convince you to go on a little adventure."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."
Tenny shot him a knowing look. "You always say that. And somehow, we always end up finding trouble anyway."
Kaelen couldn't argue with that. Without another word, he stepped out into the morning light, Tenny falling into stride beside him. The day waited, heavy and hot, but with his friend at his side, it didn't feel quite as heavy.
The field of work stretched beneath the unyielding sun, its dry soil cracking under their boots. Kaelen and Tenny moved steadily, shoulders bent under the weight of crates. The silence between them was broken only by the creak of wood and the occasional grunt of effort.
But then, Kaelen paused. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head slightly, listening. A sound—faint, distant, like a whisper carried by the wind. Words he couldn't make out.
"What is it?" Tenny asked, straightening and wiping the sweat from his brow.
Kaelen hesitated, his eyes scanning the empty stretch of land. "Did you... hear that?"