Mrs. Jara Kaelen's mom had been washing clothes when she heard the murmurs outside. The slum was never silent, but today, the noise had a different weight. Women whispering, men muttering, children running to relay the news—news that made Jara's fingers stiffen against the wet fabric.
A selection. From the slums. To go to the academy.
She sat back, water dripping from her hands. It was a lie. It had to be. The powerful didn't give handouts—they took. They crushed. She had lived long enough to know this. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she wrung the cloth in her hands.
Her son, Kaelen, would hear about it. Would he be foolish enough to dream? Jara knew the kind of hope that killed. The kind that made people think they were free, only for the chains to tighten. If Kaelen spoke of it—if he dared to look at her with those bright, eager eyes—she would crush that hope before it could bloom.
No son of hers would walk into a trap.
Orin on the other hand, had heard the news earlier than Jara. Unlike his wife, he didn't immediately reject it. He stood at his usual spot near the metal scrapyard, his arms folded as he listened.
A selection. From the slums.
His first thought was: Why now?
His second thought was: Who benefits from this?
He didn't believe in miracles, and he sure as hell didn't believe the elite cared about slum children. But if there was an opportunity… could Kaelen take it? Could this be his way out?
Orin hated the idea of his son growing up to live the same bitter life he had. The boy was sharp, restless. He wasn't meant to waste away here, scavenging for scraps, surviving under the boots of the privileged.
Still, it was a risk. A dangerous one.
Orin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He knew what Jara would say.
She would fight it. And she would fight him if he dared to entertain the idea.
Still, he had to try.
Orin walked into their small home to find Jara already waiting for him. She was leaning against the table, arms folded, her expression sharp.
"You've heard the news," she said.
He sat down slowly. "I have."
"And?" Jara's eyes were unreadable. "What do you think?"
Orin sighed. "I think… it might be worth considering."
Jara scoffed, pushing away from the table. "Considering? Are you mad?"
"Jara, listen—"
"No, you listen." She pointed a finger at him. "Do you honestly believe they want to help? Do you believe they suddenly care about slum children?"
"I didn't say I trust them," Orin replied, rubbing his temples. "But if there's even a chance that Kaelen—"
"No," Jara cut in. "I won't let you fill his head with false hope."
Orin's jaw tightened. "What hope does he have here, Jara? Huh? "What kind of life are we giving him?"
Jara clenched her fists. "At least he's alive here. Do you know what happens to slum people who trust the powerful? They die, Orin. They vanish."
Orin stared at her for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, "And if we say no? What then? They're choosing someone. What if they take him anyway?
Jara's breath hitched, her body stiffening.
Orin pressed on. "We've seen it before. When the powerful make decisions, we don't get a say. So maybe, just maybe, it's better if we make the choice ourselves, before it's made for us."
Jara turned away, gripping the edge of the table as though steadying herself. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't want to lose him."
Orin softened. He stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Neither do I."
Silence stretched between them. Outside, the slum was alive with voices—some hopeful, some terrified.
Jara exhaled shakily. "We'll think about it. That's all I can promise."
Orin nodded. "That's all I ask."
---
Back at Sena's home. The small, dimly lit room felt suffocating, thick with unspoken words and tension crackling in the air like a brewing storm. Darel was practically vibrating with excitement, perched on the edge of his chair, gripping the table as if it would anchor him.
"This is it!" he blurted out, his voice barely containing his enthusiasm. "This is our chance! We have to try!"
"No."
The word was a blade, cutting through the moment. Their mother, Laina, stood with her arms crossed, her face unreadable but set with that look—the one that meant there would be no argument.
Darel scoffed. "Just like that? No discussion? No listening? You're just shutting it down?"
"There's nothing to discuss." Their father, Darim, leaned back in his chair, his tone as firm as the lines etched into his weathered face. "No child of mine is stepping into that trap."
Darel let out an incredulous laugh. "A trap? You're acting like they're leading us to the gallows! It's a school! A chance to leave this place!" He waved a hand around the small, cluttered home, frustration twisting his features.
"You think that school is meant for you?" Laina shot back, her voice sharp. "For people like us? You think they'll ever see you as anything but a beggar looking for scraps at their table?"
Darel's jaw clenched. "Maybe. But it's better than starving outside their gates."
Laina stepped forward, eyes blazing. "We are not starving. We are surviving. And we do not grovel for their approval!"
"Oh, come on, Ma," Darel groaned, throwing his hands up. "Surviving? That's what you call this? Scraping by, day after day, just hoping we don't get stepped on? That's not living!"
"It's better than living as their pawn," Darim said coldly.
Darel let out a bitter laugh. "Pawn? Is that what you think this is? You really think they care enough about us to play games? This is an opportunity! An actual, real shot at the future!"
"They don't hand out futures, boy," Darim muttered. "They hand out leashes."
Darel slammed his fist on the table. "You don't know that! "You're so stuck in your ways, so convinced that everything is a conspiracy, that you can't even see when something good is right in front of us!"
Laina's lips pressed into a thin line. "You think we don't want better for you? For all of us? But there's no such thing as free mercy from people like them."
"Maybe not," Darel admitted, his voice quieter, more desperate now. "But I'd rather take my chances than rot here, waiting for nothing."
Sena, who had been silent all this time, watching the exchange unfold like a spectator at a brutal match, finally spoke.
"Let him go."
All heads turned toward her.
"What?" Laina's voice was thick with disbelief.
Sena met her mother's gaze evenly. "Let Darel go." She took a deep breath." She turned to her father. "If anyone in this family has a chance to change our future, it's him."
Darel blinked at her, caught between gratitude and shock. "Sena…"
"You can't be serious," Laina snapped. "You, of all people? you also don't understand why this is dangerous?."
"I do," Sena said, her voice steady. "And I also understand that keeping us locked in fear won't change anything."
Darim exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable as he studied his daughter. He glanced at Laina, who looked ready to protest again, but he raised a hand to silence her.
The room was silent except for the distant sounds of the slum outside—the laughter of children, the occasional shout from a vendor, the hum of a life that never quite stopped moving.
Finally, Darim spoke. "Only him." He looked at Darel, his expression hard. "You will go. But you will remember where you come from. You will not forget."
Laina turned away, shaking her head in frustration, but she said nothing. The fight had left her, though her disapproval lingered in every line of her body.
Darel let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "I won't let you down."
Sena watched her brother's excitement, a strange mixture of relief and unease settling in her chest. She had done what she thought was right. But right didn't always mean safe. And she wasn't sure if any of them truly understood what they were walking into.
---
When the news broke, Kaelen was in the middle of stacking crates in the labor field. The usual dull chatter among workers had suddenly gone silent, and in its place, murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Did you hear?" someone whispered.
"They're forcing every family to register their children—no exceptions."
Kaelen stiffened. He knew what this meant.
His hands clenched around the wooden crate as he listened, his heartbeat drumming in his ears. He barely noticed when Tenny appeared beside him, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"They've lost their damn minds," Tenny scoffed, tossing a sack over his shoulder. "Forcing registration? What do they think this is—a privilege?