Drip.
…
Drip.
There was no sound in this place other than the rhythmic falling of liquid from the bars. It seeped its way into the unknown. These bars weren't the same as the ones before. Sunlight bled through the crawlspace, like the kind you find under old houses, but there was no house above them. The people inside didn't know what lay overhead; they only knew they were alive.
Somehow, luck. Luck was something everyone had, but it wasn't something everyone was born with equally. It chose who it favored. It couldn't be taken, seen, or touched. And somehow, six people were the luckiest in this hellhole.
But there weren't just six people. There were seven.
The seventh was a boy with black hair, pale skin, and a single scar carved above his eye. His skin looked like it was trying to suck inward. It wrapped tight around his frame, his ribs visible to the air. It was like his body had eaten itself just to survive. He was just spleen and bone.
It was Keruim. His face was like stone, eyes locked onto the liquid seeping through the cracks in the ceiling.
Drip. Drip.
What they thought was water—no, it wasn't. It was a crimson liquid dripping from every crack it could find. His face remained still; there was nothing there, but one thing gave his mind away. It was the liquid flowing down his own cheeks, adding to the rhythm of the dripping from above.
Hahaha… Memories flashed in my mind. Hahaha, how many did I push? How many did I lead to their deaths? People I didn't even know. How many did I step on? Haha, I don't even know. How could I not know? How many, how fucking many did I cause to die?
As my teeth started to chatter, one memory surfaced.
Help… help… help me. Please.
There was a girl, younger than me, trying to find solace in someone who didn't even know what solace was. In the end, she was pushed. Her eyes locked onto the one she trusted even as her head was cut on the dead body she fell upon. It was a death sentence, and her "solace" just watched. She watched as her heart was pierced by a blade, and then she watched as her solace ran.
Why did I do that? No, no, I was just saving her. Right? Right. Saving her. No—you think saving her by killing her was right? Hahaha, no, no, stop, stop, stop. That's how you save people. That's how you do it. That's how I saved Mother, right? Right? No… no. She suffered. She watched as I pierced her flesh. She watched as death got closer and closer until… CRACK. Her soul was gone.
Ch-ch-ch. The only sound I could hear was my teeth chattering. The memory flashed again. I looked down and saw the girl's hand raised toward me, fingers outstretched, trying to grasp something that didn't want to be touched. In the end, her mind knew it, but her heart didn't. So it reached and reached until it was pierced.
Hahaha… savior. You wanted me to help you, but I can't even save myself.
"Hah… haha… hah."
As he chuckled, the silence in the room finally broke.
"You, shut up! Do you want us to die?"
The voice came from the other side of the room. A boy with brownish hair and black eyes criticized Keruim. He wasn't as pale. He wasn't as malnourished, but he was close to the same age.
As soon as I looked at him, I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to back up his words, but his pride made him hold his gaze. In the end, the mind falters. Looking around this shithole, the stone was cracked everywhere like the whole place was about to collapse. But it was surprisingly spacious. There was enough room for everyone to have their own space. Everyone sat far apart, as if the others were the plague. But why wouldn't they? It wasn't just Orcs that took lives in here. It was humans, too.
"Um… I think we should all introduce ourselves. There is no way we can survive if we're all at each other's throats," the boy who told me to shush said.
Silence. No one spoke. Everyone just looked at him.
"Um, I'll go first. I'm Isaac… I lived in the First Division. And I'm 15."
"Tsk. A rich kid," someone on the other side of the room blurted out.
Everyone's eyes locked onto him. His hair was like honey and his eyes matched it. His cheeks were as sunken as mine. He had clearly been through hell.
"Tss… my name is Elijah." He had blackish hair with a blonde patch. He looked like a Division 4 thug. Dark circles hung under his eyes. "I lived in the 4th Division and I'm also 15. That's all I'm giving. Tsk."
Silence.
"My name is Magnolia… just call me Lia." Her hair was nearly red, as if dyed. Her skin was as pale as Keruim's and her cheeks were hollow like Elijah's. "I lived in the Second Division and I'm 16."
"Haha, like the flower Magnolia," someone else across the room yelled.
His lip looked like a piece had been bitten out of it, a scar running from his mouth down to his neck. He had reddish-brown hair, like clay. His pupils almost matched it.
"My name is Mateo. I lived in the 3rd Division and I'm 15."
Everyone went silent now, because they all knew who the sixth person was. How could they not?
His body was tattered, like he had come from a life-or-death battle. Flesh was missing in spots, but his face was intact. His golden eyes seemed dimmer, just like his hair, but they were still yellow.
"Um… my name is Abid. You should already know that."
"Tsk," Elijah shouted. "You want us to follow you when you can't even kill one without betting your whole life?"
"Lower your voice! The Orcs will hear us! What are you doing?" Abid hissed.
Silence.
"Well, I'm also 16… and I lived in the First Division."
"Another rich kid," Elijah muttered.
"That power… how can we get it?" Lia asked without a second thought.
The room went dead silent. That was the question everyone wanted answered. It was their only way to live, and the person with the power they needed was right in front of them.
In the end, everyone in the room was just mere kids. They tried to seem in control. They tried to seem powerful, but the only power they had was isolation.
"You have to die," Abid said. "You have to be on the verge of death. You have to go through emotional torment. And when that happens, you will know."
"What the fuck do you even mean?" Elijah shouted.
"You! How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?!"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Through the bars at the top of the room, everyone heard heavy footsteps. Someone was running. Running from something.
"No… no! Stop! Stop! Someone save me, please! Please, hel—"
CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
The room went still. The voices were snuffed out like a flame hit with ice water. They had just heard the end of a life. Now, they heard flesh being flayed off bones.
"Verge of death," Lia muttered, her voice cold. She seemed uncaring about the noise echoing in their minds.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Only when the sound of bones being used as toothpicks ceased did they speak again.
"It's your turn." Isaac was looking at the seventh person.
Fuck him. What do you mean 'verge of death'? Will I have to be fighting for my life to get some fucking power?
"I don't know," Abid said, his yellow eyes piercing. "It could be being tortured, or your family being killed in front of your eyes, or fighting for your life. You won't know how, but you will know when. Something in your very soul will ignite in front of your eyes, and then—and only then—you will see your power. Your blessing. Your curse. Your Trace."
"Trace??" Elijah asked, lost.
"In your mind, it will tell you. You aren't given a Trace because you're a hero. No. You get it because you've been broken."
"It? What the fuck are you talking about? Traces—what does that even mean?"
"Wait, let's do this after everyone is introduced," Isaac said, shifting his gaze toward the boy in the corner.
The boy was visibly younger. His skin was paler than snow and he looked the most malnourished of all. But his eyes were what mattered—they were broken. You could just sense it.
"Keruim. That's what my mother gave me…" He paused, his eyes lingering on Abid longer than anyone else.
"Umm, what's your age?" Isaac asked.
Looking at him, I didn't know how to feel. But my body moved. "I'm 12 years old."
"Division?"
"…5th."
"Ahh… umm, okay." Isaac's eyes flickered.
"Hahah, he's even more of a slum rat than me. How pitiful," Elijah scoffed.
Before Isaac could turn away, Keruim spoke. "Division 5… that's what my mother told me. What does it mean?"
Silence.
"Ahh, yeah… he's only 12," someone whispered.
Lia spoke up. "It's a place where the poor of the poor are sent. The waste of society. Nothing going for them; only a waste of resources. That's why crime rates are high. People steal, people kidnap, people rape, people kill. That's what Division 5 is."
Lia said it straight. No sugarcoating, even for a twelve-year-old. If he wanted to live, he had to know the world was shit even before this.
All I could do was look at her. Mother. Sister. Were they the worst of the worst? Their smiles, the laughter—Mother, tell me, was it all a facade? In the end?
Was it? Tell me. Someone tell me.
"This world," Lia said to the whole room. "This world has been hell even before this. People steal from the poor. People kill. People rape. People make others into slaves. People use them for their own benefit. In the end, all of this didn't make the world hell. It was already hell to begin with