Chapter 1 — The Orphan's Hope
The bell of the orphanage rang three harsh times, rattling the thin windows and stirring the cold in my bones. I threw off my blanket and sat up fast, heart pounding. Today wasn't like yesterday. Today was Selection Day.
At sixteen, every child in the districts faced the Crucible Trial. Five hundred of us chosen. Five hundred lives thrown into a Rift crawling with monsters. If you killed a beast and ate its heart, you awakened a Trait and earned the right to live in the Towers. If you failed—no one ever saw you again.
I pulled on my patched jacket, hands shaking. Excitement, not fear. That's what I told myself.
Around me, the other orphans stirred. Some tightened belts, others whispered prayers. Mara, sitting cross-legged on her bed, stared at me with sharp eyes. "Don't grin so hard, Avon. Not many orphans come back to tell the story."
I forced a smile anyway. "Somebody has to make it back. Might as well be me."
A few kids laughed bitterly. Most just looked away. The truth hung heavy in the room—ten orphans had been chosen this year, and the quota almost always meant ten funerals. But I couldn't let myself think that way.
I checked my pockets again: knife, two ration bars, and the ragged photo of a city skyline from before Moonfall. I didn't know who had taken it, or even the city's name. It didn't matter. To me, it looked like freedom.
The bell clanged a fourth time—Director Wen's call.
We marched into the courtyard, boots scraping against cracked stone. The orphanage sat against the Great Wall's inner side, a gray block of bricks always in the Tower's shadow. Beyond the Wall, the wasteland howled with things better left unseen. Inside, the Tower's thousand floors stabbed the sky, each level a world.
They said your worth was measured by how high you lived. I had never been higher than a top bunk.
Director Wen stood on the old podium. His hair had gone silver too fast last winter, but his voice carried with the same sharpness it always had. He raised the battered loudhailer to his lips.
"Children," he said, his voice tinny but steady. "Today you begin a trial that will decide your place in this world. Some of you will not return."
The words cut through the cold morning air like a blade. For once, no one whispered.
"But this is still an opportunity," Wen continued. "The Towers do not open their doors to orphans out of pity. They open them for survivors. If you return with a Trait, you will earn a home within those walls. You will have work, food, and a chance to choose your life. If you do not return…" He paused. "…then may the world remember your courage."
His eyes passed over each of us. For a moment, I thought his gaze lingered on me. "Avon Standfeild," he said, calling my name clearly, "I expect you to come back. Don't waste this chance."
Heat rushed to my face, but I nodded. "Yes, Director."
He lifted a hand, palm to his chest and outwards—a salute so old few remembered it. "Be careful. Be clever. Come back."
The orphanage gates groaned open. Overseers in matte armor stood waiting beyond, their insignia stamped with guild crests. Not Tower guards—mercenaries, paid to escort us to the Rift.
Mara pulled her hood tighter. "Don't get eaten," she said.
I grinned at her. "Don't plan to."
We stepped out together, leaving the safety of the orphanage behind. The Great Wall loomed over us, the Tower's shadow stretching forever. Beyond the checkpoint, I could already hear the hum of the transport ship waiting to carry us toward the Crucible.
My name is Avon Standfeild, I thought. And my life begins today.