What do they think this is—a privilege?"
Kaelen didn't respond. His stomach twisted at the thought of it. All children between 14 and 18. No exceptions. That meant him. That meant Tenny. That meant—
"You're thinking too much again."
Tenny nudged him with his elbow. His voice was light, almost mocking, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. Kaelen knew him too well—he wasn't as indifferent as he pretended to be.
"This isn't right." Kaelen finally spoke, his voice quiet.
Tenny grinned. "Oh? It took you long enough to figure that out."
Kaelen ignored him. "They don't do things without a reason. If they're forcing this, it means they're after something. Something specific."
"Yeah. And that something isn't us." Tenny said bitterly. He dropped the sack onto the cart with a loud thud. "We have nothing, Kaelen. No power, no connections—why the hell would they want us?"
Kaelen wasn't sure. But something about this felt different.
Then, from behind them, a woman's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
"They're taking our children!"
They both turned. Across the labor yard, a group of workers had gathered around an older man who held a crumpled notice in his shaking hands. His face was pale. Afraid.
"Every family is required to present their children between the ages of fourteen and eighteen at the registration office," he read aloud, his voice hollow. "Failure to comply will be treated as an act of defiance."
The murmurs turned into an uproar.
"They're stealing our kids!"
"For what?! What do they want with them?!"
Kaelen swallowed hard. Tenny cursed under his breath.
Then someone ripped the paper out of the man's hands and held it up for everyone to see.
At the bottom of the notice, written in bold black ink, were the final words:
"Selection begins immediately."
Kaelen felt cold.
Tenny exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, without missing a beat, he grinned and slapped a hand on Kaelen's shoulder.
"Well, congratulations, friend," he said dryly. "We've officially been signed up for a nightmare."
As he continues his work.
The news spread like wildfire, passing through the slum in hushed whispers and loud arguments. Kaelen and Tenny sat on a stack of empty wooden crates behind a rundown shop, where they usually sat after work.
Tenny was the first to break the silence. "This... this is insane." He ran a hand through his short, messy hair, his face twisted in disbelief. "They're really doing this? Taking kids from the slums and throwing them into their world?"
Kaelen was quiet, his eyes fixed on the dirt beneath his feet. He had been trying to make sense of the announcement all day, but the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. "It doesn't feel real," he finally muttered. "Why now? Why us?"
Tenny scoffed. "You think they actually care? Please. This is about control, not kindness. They want to pick a handful of us, make us think we're special, and then use us however they want. "They're not giving us a chance—they're putting us on a leash."
Kaelen exhaled, staring at the people passing by, all murmuring about the announcement. Some were hopeful, others skeptical. Parents debated whether to register their children. Some kids boasted that they'd get chosen, while others laughed at the idea of ever being accepted into a world they didn't belong to.
"And what if it's real?" Kaelen asked quietly.
Tenny turned to him sharply. "What?"
"What if it really is an opportunity? "What if some of us can actually leave this place and... and make something of ourselves?" Kaelen's voice wavered, but the thought had been gnawing at him all day.
Tenny's expression hardened. "You sound like you want to go."
Kaelen shook his head. "I don't know what I want."
"Well, I do." Tenny stood up, brushing the dust off his trousers. "I want to stay alive, and I don't trust anything that the Big Seven offer. Nothing good ever comes from their kindness."
Kaelen knew Tenny had a point. Still, something about this felt different. But was it worth the risk?
---
The dim glow of the oil lamp flickered against the cracked walls of the small home, casting elongated shadows across the worn-out wooden table. The air was thick with tension—an invisible weight pressing down on everyone in the room.
Jara stood with her arms folded, her gaze bouncing between her husband Orin, their son Kaelen, and Tenny, who was practically family at this point. It had been two days since the announcement of the selection, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at them all.
Orin cleared his throat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We need to talk about this."
Jara scoffed. "Talk about what? How to pretend this isn't happening?"
Tenny, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, sighed. "Maybe we don't need to pretend. Maybe we just… don't let them see us as option."
Kaelen frowned. "What do you mean?"
Tenny straightened. "I mean, what if we just don't register? And if anyone asks, we say we're twenty."
Silence.
Jara let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Twenty?"
Tenny shrugged. "It's not like they're going around checking birth records, right?"
Kaelen glanced at his father. Orin, who had been silent for a moment, finally leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "You think they'll just take your word for it?"
Tenny blinked. "Why wouldn't they? Most people in the slums don't even have proper documents. It's not like they can prove otherwise."
Jara exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples before turning to the boys. "You really think this is that simple, don't you?"
Kaelen's unease grew. "Mom, what aren't you telling us?"
Jara glanced at Orin, then back at the boys. "You're assuming they rely on paperwork and appearances. But the officials… they don't pick people based on just a registration list."
Tenny raised a brow. "Then how do they pick?"
Jara took a deep breath. "Some of them… have abilities. Abilities that allow them to see what others can't.
Kaelen's shoulders tensed. "What kind of abilities?"
Jara hesitated before answering. "There are some who can see names and ages floating above people's heads. If they lay eyes on you, they'll know exactly who you are, no matter what you say."
Tenny stiffened. "Wait… what?"
Kaelen stiffened. "That's—
"Unfair," Tenny finished for him.
Tenny let out a low whistle. "That's… terrifying."
Kaelen was still staring at his mom. "And how exactly do you know all of this?"
Jara waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, please. I just listen better than most people. You'd be surprised what you can learn when you keep your mouth shut and your ears open."
Kaelen felt a chill run down his spine. "So even if we don't register, they can still find us?"
Jara nodded. "Yes. And that's not all. There are others—people who can sense things beyond names. They can feel emotions, read intentions.
Tenny let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Well… damn."
Kaelen ran a hand over his face. "So there's no way to avoid being chosen?"
Orin, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "Not necessarily."
Jara's eyes narrowed. "Orin—"
He held up a hand. "I'm not saying it's a good idea. But if someone doesn't stand out… if they don't have any qualities that interest the officials, they might overlook them."
Jara exhaled sharply. "And what if they don't? What if they see something in Kaelen? Or Tenny?"
Tenny rubbed his face. "This just keeps getting worse."
Kaelen clenched his fists. "So what do we do?"
Jara shook her head. "We wait. We hope. And if one of you is called…"
She swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. "We pray they let you go."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Two days left.
Would their names already be floating above their heads?
And if so… was there anything they could do to stop it?