The morning bell tore through the dormitories, loud enough that gasps and complaints could be heard echoing throughout the entire Starless wing. While the other initiates struggled to find their way to the mess hall, Ester's body was already adjusted to the early rises. She had already been awake for an hour. For her, it was a reflex, and not just from helping her father tend the crops, or from Saphy's snoring in the next bed. It was the hour officials had woken her every day in her stone cell.
The air, once buzzing with excitement, was now a symphony of groggy misery. Boys and girls slumped over their porridge, barely able to lift their spoons. One boy discarded his food entirely and rested his head on the table, already defeated.
Ester sat straight back, eating with a slow, methodical efficiency. She savoured the taste. In confinement, you ate what you were given, when you were given it, and you were grateful. You never knew when it could be your last.
She remembered an old inmate in the cell opposite hers. He'd been frail, strands of white hair clinging to his scalp. The guards called him crazy, but he was the reason Ester stayed sane. He'd make her laugh, tell her stories, even coax her into eating the gruel they were served. She'd woken one morning to a quiet, desolate cell. A guard told her plainly, he'd been hanged for treason against the Church.
To Ester, the Church did more harm than good. They let people like her uncle walk free, but imprisoned anyone who didn't believe their way. In that cell, she decided that if she was to die soon, she would die with pride. Pride in knowing she'd done what was right. She was a victim of their own actions.
She was so deep in the daydream she didn't realise Saphy had been trying to get her attention, waving a hand in front of her face.
"Helllooo, Ester."
Ester blinked, shaking her head back to the present. "...I'm sorry. What?"
"I was just saying how tasty this porridge is," Saphy said, a hint of concern in her voice. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Ester didn't even know how to answer that. She considered telling Saphy everything, but she still didn't know her well enough. Her instincts said Saphy worried genuinely, but Ester wasn't sure she could handle it if that warmth turned to coldness. What if she told the whole institute? Her "monster" title would follow her everywhere.
Before she could reply, Markos walked into the mess hall. A few paid attention. Others went back to sleep or kept chatting. Saphy, her mouth full of porridge, noticed Ester's gaze as Markos waited for the chatter to end.
When he realised no one was listening, he dropped his head and sighed in exasperation. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers.
The sound exploded through the hall, so deafening it made everyone contort in pain. It definitely got their attention. Every eye turned to him.
He gave a thin, practised smile before beginning. "Now that everyone's awake, I'm going to give you the run down of the day. Or rather, the program leading to the Trials."
The fields outside the institution stretched further than the eye could see. The initiates were surprised when Markos started the day with a five kilometre run around the Halls of Synchrites campus. Groans filled the air, but it was mandatory. He pointed, and Ester noticed other, older Synchrites were already on their morning jogs.
"Before you can even walk,"he said, his voice carrying easily, "you have to learn how to crawl. This is crawling."
Some of the others had already begun slowing down, her hands on knees, trying to catch their breath. One girl was on her hands and knees as if ready to see her breakfast again.
"Uh, Mister Markos..sir," a boy with spiky black hair wheezed, struggling for air. "Are we allowed to take breaks?"
"Of course," Markos replied, his voice booming. "Today is your first day, so there will be leniency. But over the next few days, we expect to see improvement. If this is a struggle now...you will not survive what comes next."
His voice carried straight to their ears even at a distance. A Flo technique. Handy. He stood stationary, watching them struggle to keep pace.
Ester began to flag after the first half of the run. Her legs begged for rest. Her gasps became raw inhales. Sweat stung her eyes, but she swiped it away and pushed through the pain, determined to finish.
"Whew, this is an intense run, isn't it, Ester?" Saphy called from beside her.
If your legs are about to give out and your heart's about to burst, then yeah, sure. This is amazingly intense, Ester thought.
She stole a glance at Saphy. Her form had been perfect since the start, arms and legs swinging with precision, posture straight as a top runner's. She didn't even look like she was struggling.
"Sapphire," Ester managed between breaths. "Are you...trying at all?"
"Nope!" Saphy exclaimed.
It should have stung, but Saphy's honesty was almost refreshing. It was nearly laughable.
An idea sparked in Ester's tired mind. "Is that form of yours ideal for running?"
"Yup" Saphy said brightly. "My grandfather taught me. Said it conserves stamina and boosts muscle activation. I could speed up if I wanted to, but…" She trailed off, Ester didn't even need to ask what she meant.
Ester began to mimic her. She adjusted her arms, her stride, her breathing. Within minutes, her movements mirrored Saphy's almost exactly.
"Ester? That's...wow," Saphy said, bewildered. "You can grasp things that quickly?"
"It's just a form. Is It really that surprising?"
"No, its.." Saphy lost her momentum for a step. "It took me years to get the breathing and form down. Yours looks almost like my grandfather's."
Ester didn't know how to take that. She'd always been a quick learner, picking things up easily. It never felt like a big deal. Her father had taught her so much, but he'd never looked at her the way Saphy was looking at her now, with something like awe.
She shook the memory off before it could pull her under. She wasn't in as much pain now, thanks to Saphy's form. Her breathing steadied. She felt the wind on her face. They began overtaking another initiate, a boy who tried subtly to keep ahead but couldn't sustain his pace. Saphy, humming softly to herself, didn't even notice.
"Saphy," Ester said. "Shall we speed up?"
When they finally finished, about thirty others were already at the finish line. The rest were still straggling in. Those who'd finished gasped and groaned in a weary choir, except for one bald boy who stood calm, as if he hadn't run at all.
It took another twenty minutes for the rest to pour out, collapsing into the grass as they crossed. Saphy cheered each one on, and even though they didn't reply, her encouragement seemed to lift them, if only a little.
Markos, Lillia and the big instructor appeared just as the last few, who'd given up running, trudged across.
"Okay, that wasn't as bad as I was expecting," Markos said.
"Told you," Lillia smiled.
"But..."He turned, peering back toward the forest. "It appears we have one more still to finish."
Everyone followed his gaze, waiting.
Then he appeared, a pale, scrawny kid with wild white hair. His movements were frantic, jerking pantomime of running, arms pumping and knees lifting, but he was moving slower than a walk. One boy snorted, unable to hold back a snicker. Others joined in, laughter rippling through the group. Ester's chest tightened with pity. That could have been her.
Saphy's voice cut through the noise, carefree and loud. "WOO! COME ON..!" She glanced at the instructors and whispered, "What's his name?"
"Geire," the big instructor, sighed.
"WOO, COME ON, GEIRE!"
Her kindness dampened the snickers, though Ester saw annoyance flash on some faces.
Just before the finish line, Geire's legs gave out. He fell face, first into the grass.
Laughter broke out again. Bernard put a palm to his face. Geire didn't get up. He just lay there, motionless.
By the time Ester could register, Saphy was already on her feet, rushing over. She knelt, offered her shoulder, and helped him across the line.
The laughter died. Everyone stared. Even Ester, sitting with a heavy knot of guilt in her stomach, couldn't help but admire her. In this place of exhaustion and rivalry, Saphy was the goddess of kindness incarnate. Ester wanted to stay in her good graces.
After a brief rest, Markos handed them over to the big instructor whose name was Burnad. Whispers followed his name, the Unstoppable giant. He led them to the Cutting Grounds, a grandiose area of strength and torture.
"Where you are now is the Foundry," Burnad rumbled, crossing his arms. The heart of the grounds held smooth, heavy river stones of various sizes, rough hewn logs, wooden sleds laden with slabs, thick buckets for carries, rope climbs, sandbags, and kegs for tossing. It was a mind breaker. And it wasn't even the whole of the cutting Grounds.
"Aw hell naw," a boy muttered behind Ester.
"Today, you will complete a circuit of each exercise, "Burnad boomed. "If you wish to eat lunch, you will do your best. And I will be watching."
Silence. No one moved. Confusion spread like a rumour. What had they signed up for?
Burnad watched their reactions, then spoke again, his voice echoing with authority. "It seems you all have a misconception of what being a Synchrite means. Right now, you are all Zero Stars. You cannot even be considered Synchrite."
He let the words hang.
"The only way to earn that title is by achieving a ranked position in the Chimera Cross Trials. And I regret to say, not all of you will."
The reality hit them hard.
"Manipulating Flo has its price. We cannot let you do so without the fundamentals. And the Church does not allow untrained Synchrites in public."His eyes darkened. "You do not want to know what happens to them."
When his words had settled, he straightened. "When you work, you work hard. When you play, you play hard. I want to see all of you work hard."
He divided them into eight groups of ten, calling names without favouritism. Saphy went silently to her group, which included the scrawny boy, Geire who's sunken face lit up when he saw her join them. Then it was Ester's turn.
"ESTER".
Her name rung like a command. She took a shaky breath and walked to her group, five boys and four girls.
"These are your training teams until further notice," Burnad announced. "As far as you all are concerned, the other teams are enemies. Your are competing. For now, your team names are simple." He pointed from the one to eight. "Group one. Group Two."
Ester was in Group Six. It stung when it shouldn't have. The number meant nothing, but the whole group felt it, a subtle dismissal.
Their group was sent to the stone lift.
"Choose a stone," Burnad barked. "Lift it cleanly and hold for sixty counts. There is no shame in a smaller stone. There is only failure in a proud fool who overexerts himself early."
They all looked down, searching for the right stone.
"Found mine," the baldy, Gideon announced. He bent with perfect form and lifted a menacing looking stone with controlled breathing, veins protruding as he turned red. Burnad grunted in approval.
Next was Se'raf, tall, willowy, skin the colour of sunlit bronze. Her dark hair cropped short. Even in the same training outfit, they stood out, it hung loosely to their body. Their face partially obscured by a dark mask over their nose and mouth. They chose the same stone as Gideon and lifted it with unsettling ease. Perfect posture. No strain.
"Nice, Se'raf!" a girl from their team called.
Se'raf turned, marching in front of Ester before dropping it abruptly, shaking the earth. Their eyes, one bright green, one cool grey, found Ester's. The look was a silent, unmistakable challenge.
Your turn.
Ester's gaze dropped to the moderate stone at her feet, then back to the one Se'raf had lifted. Gideon watched, a smirk playing on his lips.
Slowly, she bent her knees, back straight as she'd watched them do. She gripped the larger stone. It didn't budge.
"Don't hurt yourself!" Gideon warned smugly. "You heard what Instructor Burnad said."
She just tuned him out, focusing everything on separating stone from earth. Her muscles screamed. She felt her face flush, not daring to look up. The whispers in her ears grew louder, frequencies humming.
"ARE YOU STRUGGLING, ESTER?"
Saphy's voice cut across the field like lightning. So loud.
In that moment, all doubt left her. She wanted to laugh. She could feel the stares. She dug her feet into the dirt and gritted her teeth.
"Of...course...not.."
The stone rose.
For forty counts, she held the colossal weight at her chest. Her arms shook. Her back ached, her vision tunnelled. Then, with a gasp, her strength vanished. The stone crashed down, shaking the ground.
Silence followed, broken only by Saphy's distant cheers.
Her teammates stared. Gideon's confidence was gone like the wind. Se'raf simply watched, a satisfied gleam in their mismatched eyes, Ester stood trembling, arms limp.
"The goal was sixty counts," Burnad grumbled after the switch to the second circuit. "I'll let it slide since you didn't cripple yourself. Let this pain be a lesson to you. Only arrogant fools care for their image."
He glanced at Gideon, who'd started the sled drag with too much weight, veins bulging, face purple. Burnad just sighed.
The rest of the circuit blurred into shared agony. The sled drag made her legs burn. The sandbag carries wrenched her shoulders. Each station was a new flavour of pain.
She stole glances at Saphy's group. Geire did the bare minimum, constantly looking to Saphy for approval like a lost puppy. Saphy tried to smile, but Ester saw it, the nervous laugh, the slight flinch when he got too close. Something was off.
"Focus, girl," Gideon hissed behind her during the rope climb, startling her fiercely. "We're on the last exercise. Hurry up"
Ester turned, a calm anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't startle me."
She saw his face morph into what resembled a surprised smiling shock.
"What…?"
She didn't let him finish, turning toward the tower. It was more than a climb, a seventy foot structure with platforms and ropes, a weathered brass bell at the top. Burnad's warning echoed. No one goes beyond the voice point. No harnesses.
Fifteen feet...how hard could it be?
She soon it realised it was hard. Lifting her arm felt like fire erupting from her shoulders She managed four shaky pulls. On the fifth, her grip, sweaty and torn, simply gave way.
She fell heavily, the wind knocked out of her. She lay there for a moment, staring at the cloudy sky, pain searing through her body.
Gideon's laughter was the first thing she heard, hysterical, pointing as If she'd fallen from the heavens. Her teammates looked embarrassed. She felt the mud caking her back, the shame sticking to her.
Burnad approached. "Are you done?"
She looked at her trembling arms, then up at the rope. She couldn't even make a fist. She gave a silent nod.
He sighed and gave her a heavy pat on the back that almost set her back on fire. She trudged to where the others waited and stood besides Se'raf. The mud on her back itched. Their presence made her itch more.
"You managed more pulls than I expected," Se'raf said, their eyes focused on the other initiates, their voice muffled by the mask.
Ester, too tired for pretence, managed a weak scoff. "Am I under observation?"
Se'raf was silent for a while, her gaze glued to the others.
"I know you're a murderer."