"Wake up, boy. It is time."
The voice cut through the dark like a knife. Raspy. Cold. Too real.
Kal jolted upright, breath catching in his throat. His hand swiped at the grime on his face, only managing to smear it further, revealing patches of pale skin beneath. He pushed back the greasy strands of hair clinging to his forehead, biting absently at a yellowed fingernail.
The voice—it was back. It crept into his dreams, whispered in his waking moments. Even when he was stealing. Especially when he was stealing.
And in that world, distraction was death.
Rij had proven that.
Kal owed Rij nothing. That was the rule. Street kids survived. They didn't mourn. They didn't form attachments. And yet—something in him twisted at the memory. Rij had wanted out. No more alley hideouts, no more food from gutters or scraps from trash bins. No more thefts.
Maybe that was why he had taken the fall. Maybe he wanted to give Kal a chance.
A joke, some of the older thieves had called it. A hero's death. But what hero dies dangling from a rope over a handful of stolen Sil?
Kal had made the grab. But Rij had swung for it.
The high-ups didn't care. They never did. One Sil was worth more than ten street rats. That was their math.
Kal's punishment had been the Kuf.
A box. Four days. Iron spikes lining every inch, just dull enough to rip at you without killing you. The spikes forced you still, made every breath feel tighter. It was meant to break you. To crush you from the inside.
Kal had seen the results. Torn skin. Tattered clothes. Hollow stares. Sometimes they never came out.
Sometimes they did, but they didn't really come back.
The others watched.
They always did.
Like nobles gathering to watch a hanging.
What else was there to do in the slums?
The first day, Kal had managed. He'd eaten before being locked in, found narrow gaps between the spikes. Tried to rest. But sleep never came. Not with the voice whispering. Not with the cold metal pressing into his ribs.
By the second day, he found his rhythm. Scratching. He dragged his arms against the spikes, slowly at first. Then harder. Pain anchored him. Kept him sane. Kept him there. That's why everyone came out scarred. It was better than floating into the void.
Eventually, even the pain faded.
Numbness spread. His body stopped responding. Whether it was infection or exhaustion, he couldn't tell. He just was. No time. No sensation. Just the weight of guilt.
Not guilt for stealing. Guilt because Rij had died for him—only for Kal to give up in a metal coffin.
Then, the voice changed.
"Train," it said. "You don't have time."
He thought he'd snapped. That the Kuf had broken his mind. But the voice was sharper now. More urgent.
"An end is coming. You must be stronger. Faster. Smarter. Or you won't survive."
He tried to argue. But what was the point? It never answered. Never listened. It just was.
Still, it unsettled him. Because part of him wanted to believe it.
Then the creak came.
The door.
He didn't look up. Just another rat, maybe. Or a twitch against a spike. But the sound grew.
Wood groaned. Light.
Light.
Blinding and sharp, the sunlight seared into his eyes. He recoiled instinctively.
"Close yer damn eyes," someone barked.
A Greater One.
Older kid. More food. More warmth. More cruelty.
Kal collapsed forward. His arms gave out. His body followed.
He didn't dare stand. No one stood after the Kuf. Not if they wanted to stand again. Birc had.
They all remembered Birc. He had been thrown back in. The door never opened again.
"Cap'n says you caused trouble," the Greater said. "Rij was one of the good ones. Easy to punch. Now he's gone. Because of you."
He grinned, teeth the color of rotted wood.
"So now we train a new one."
The blow landed before Kal could brace.
His gut seized. Blood rose to his throat. He collapsed.
"Be ready. Dawn," the voice said as it faded.
Kal lay there.
The younger kids approached. Thin. Wide-eyed. One held a scrap of bread. Another, a strip of meat. They didn't speak. They just offered.
He took it. Slowly.
The Greater Ones hated him. Not because he was weak, but because he helped. The kids who couldn't steal. Couldn't fight. Couldn't beg loud enough.
Why?
Why not?
It wasn't heroism. Kal didn't believe in that. But he knew what they endured was wrong. And if no one else would fight it, he would.
Not with fists.
With presence.
With kindness.
A group—even of the weak—was better than standing alone.
He bit the crust of bread, ignoring the sting on his lip.
He needed to recover. Another beating was coming.
He waited.
Waited to die.
But death didn't come.
A boy did.
Younger. Shaky. Skin and bones. Kal recognized him. A pawn of the Greaters. Second choice when the fists got bored.
"A Higher wants to see you," the boy whispered.
He was trembling. Not from cold. From fear.
Real fear. The kind that stayed even after the bruises faded.
Kal knew what that meant.
A Higher.
Children whispered about them like ghosts. But Kal had never believed the stories. He believed in this: the way the boy couldn't look him in the eye.
"Why?" Kal rasped. "Why not send a Greater?"
The boy shook his head. "They said no questions. If you don't go… we both die before sunrise."
Kal exhaled.
"Then tell the kids I died fighting a knight. Let 'em think I went out cool."
Kal laughed.
Madness? Maybe. But what was life without a laugh before death?
He rubbed his hair. "Where am I going?"
"The docks," the boy said, before vanishing.
Kal looked up.
The sky was pink.
Beautiful.
He stood.
He walked.
"I'm here," he called. "Ready to die. Better than listening to that Greater's spit-laced nonsense."
A voice answered. Mocking.
"Greater One... how stupid. You kids and your names. Some would think we're gods."
Kal froze.
The voice continued. "Those Greaters? Sparks. We're the flame."
Kal peered into the dark. "Do I at least get to see who kills me? Or is this one of those dramatic deaths?"
He smirked. "Please be fat. I've got so many jokes saved up."
A chuckle echoed.
"You're funny. He'll like you."
Kal squinted. "Who even are you?"
A figure stepped out. Calm. Controlled.
"My name is Aleksei Kompranvik."
Kal blinked. "What's someone from Kohl doing in Eresid?"
The name reeked of nobility. But the man looked like a slum rat. Hazelnut hair. Sharp black eyes. Rags for clothes. Muscled. Clean. Too clean.
"You wouldn't understand," Aleksei said. "He'll explain."
Kal narrowed his eyes. "At least tell me who I'm meeting."
Aleksei smirked. "You know how you call us Highers? He's the strongest of us."
Kal stared.
"Hey, look—calm down. I'm not that strong," Kal said, hands half-raised. "You're more than enough to kill me by yourself."
He forced a laugh, masking the unease curling in his gut. He had never seen a Higher before—not in his entire life—and now he was being taken to meet the strongest one?
Wonderful.
"This is why I ask not to be sent on these missions..." Aleksei muttered to himself, clearly annoyed. "You're not dying. You're actually... valuable. We'd rather have you alive than dead. But that's for him to decide."
Kal broke into laughter—bitter, sharp, unbelieving.
"Valuable? Me? From your crooked posture and tragic tone, I would've thought you incapable of cracking a joke," he said. Then, just as quickly, the smile dropped from his face. "I've never been valuable. My parents dumped me here when I was barely a Mior old. Didn't even say goodbye. Just gave me the pleasure of spitting on my face before they left."
His voice was flat. Raw.
"God knows what I did. Maybe I cried too much. Maybe I didn't. Who cares? Honestly, the most valuable thing about me is probably my looks. I tell you, I could've sworn the princess was eyeing me during the last hanging. Almost made it worth it."
Aleksei sighed. "It's lovely how depressing and optimistic you manage to be at the same time, but I don't exactly have the time to unpack your trauma."
He turned sharply and started walking. "We're already late. Follow me."
Then, as if remembering something, he stopped and looked back.
"You can leave if you want. No one's forcing you," Aleksei said, eyes narrowed. "But if you do... I guarantee you'll never be as strong as you could be. You have a gift. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. But know this—walking away now would be the same thing your parents did to you. Abandonment."
He paused, letting the words land.
"Self-pity doesn't get you anywhere. It never has. And it never will."
Kal stood frozen.
His mind raced. Rij. Birc. The other kids. They'd all died following the rules of a broken world.
Because they were weak? Or because the Highers let them be?
Because of the rules people like Aleksei upheld?
He clenched his fists.
Then it came. The voice.
"Go," it whispered, scraping across his mind like rusted metal. "The end is near. They will help you."
Kal groaned, clutching his head. The pain wasn't new—but the urgency was.
He looked up, breath shaky.
He had made up his mind.
Anything for survival. That was his first and final rule.