Sezel exhaled, closing his eyes. Well, there was nothing he could do about it anymore. The slums had taught him one truth: what's done is done. Dwelling on the past changed nothing; there is no point thinking much about it.
He slipped into the fresh clothes, the fabric soft against his scarred skin, a stark contrast to the rags he wore before. With a final glance at the mirror looking at those alien red eyes staring back he stepped out of the bathroom. Two new soldiers awaited, rifles slung across their dark uniforms.
Tsk. Do they really think I'm going to make a run for it? Where would I even go?
He gave a frustrated look to the soldiers, who mimicked his expression. They walked in front, escorting him like a condemned criminal on his way to the gallows.
He realized, with a pang of bitter irony, that he wouldn't have been able to navigate this place on his own. The signs were all in a language he couldn't read. For a fleeting moment, he felt a flicker of gratitude toward his captors, but he quickly smothered it.
Nah. What am I thinking? They're the enemy.
They reached a door that seemed to exude an aura of importance. A board above the gate bore an inscription in bold, unfamiliar letters.
Sezel felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. The soldiers stood at attention on either side of the door, leaving a clear path for him. He hesitated, then knocked. A sharp, commanding voice called out from within.
Is he asking me to come in, or telling me to get lost?
One soldier grimaced, shoving the door open and gesturing him inside.
Sezel peeked through the corner of the room. A cold gust of air, tinged with the faint, metallic scent of ozone, swept over him as he stepped inside. The room was pristine, a world away from the filth and decay he had known his entire life. Gleaming white walls, a polished desk, and wide windows revealing a lush, green garden.
"Oh, so it's you. Come on in." The man in the sunglasses was there, sitting leisurely in a spinning chair. He halted its rotation with a soft nudge of his foot and fixed his gaze on Sezel.
A weird chill pressed down on him under the man's scrutiny.
"Come on, sit here," the man said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Sezel obeyed, sinking into the plush leather, his feet dangling a comical distance from the floor. This guy must be important. He has a spinning chair.
He wondered how high this man's position was in this place. Apparently, he was at one of the top levels of hierarchy.
"So, uh…" The man clicked his pen, his tone disarmingly casual. "What's your name, for starters?"
Sezel stared at him, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. How did he know my language? Who is he? What does he want with me? But he chose to answer the question that was asked.
"Sezel," he said, his voice steady, his red eyes meeting the man's sunglasses.
The man scribbled on a paper, then looked up. "Last name?"
Sezel squinted his eyes. Last name? No one had asked him that before. The concept was foreign to him. In the slums, you were lucky to have a name at all. Lineage was a luxury for the rich.
"I don't have one," he said, then added, softer, "Or maybe I just don't know."
The man nodded, jotting something down, his pen's scratch the only sound. A barrage of questions followed, age, origin, family—all met with Sezel's grim silence or vague shrugs. He didn't know his birthdate or anything much beyond the slums' hunger.
The man paused and leaned back, his sunglasses reflecting Sezel's pale face. "Now, the real questions," he said, his voice sharpening.
Sezel gulped, feeling the pressure. What does he want to ask now?
"What happened to you?" the man asked simply.
The words were a blade, cutting through the fragile composure Sezel had managed to build. "What happened to me?" he repeated, his voice trembling.
The Spirit Realm's horrors, beasts, Black Knights, the black pond—flashed before him. How could he explain something even he didn't understand?
The man leaned back on his chair, pondering to the heavens. "Let's just ask, where did you come from?"
Sezel opened his mouth hesitantly, "I... I came from... the slums. But then I got lost in the Spirit Realm and don't know how I ended up here."
The man's eyes squinted. "Are you sure?" he said.
"Yes," Sezel snapped, defiance flaring. "But I'm human."
The man didn't say anything. He slid the paper across the desk, Sezel's sparse answers scrawled in neat lines, then called the soldiers in, barking orders in their tongue. They flanked Sezel, rifles ready, as he rose. At the door, Sezel turned, a question burning. "What do I call you?"
The man gave him an indifferent look and said in a calm tone, "You can call me Captain Raelion," he said, rising from his chair.
He reached into a drawer and retrieved a small, button-like device. "Here." He pressed it into Sezel's hand. "A translating device. Put it in your ear. It'll let you understand them."
Sezel stared, incredulous. A device to bridge languages? He had never heard of such a thing existing. It was a miracle.
Sezel hesitantly put the thing in his ear. Surprisingly, it was a perfect fit and felt like a cotton ball—so light and comfortable.
Captain Raelion tapped it, and a voice spoke in the foreign tongue, then shifted to Sezel's language.
"So, do you understand what I am saying now?" the captain spoke. Sezel's jaw dropped. The captain's words echoed in his left ear in the alien tongue, but in his right, clear as day, came the translation.
"It's amazing." Sezel jumped in excitement. He had witnessed one of the best things of his life yet.
Raelion's expression darkened. "Take him to the assessment room," he told the soldiers. "Test if he's Awakened and what Rank."
Sezel's grin faded, dread coiling. Assessment?
Sezel's grin faded, dread coiling in his stomach. Assessment?
Walking down the corridor, his mind was a chaotic storm. If I am an Awakened, what Rank am I? What am I capable of?
Just before he lost consciousness in the Spirit Realm, he heard the voice claiming that he had received a Fable, but he was unaware of what that meant.
He now stood in front of the room where he would be assessed, and the rest of his life would depend on the results of the assessment.
He gulped hard and pushed the door open.