Ezra woke up to the sound of rain tapping against the window. The room was dark and cold, though his blanket was warm. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. Everything felt wrong, quiet in a way that made his chest tighten.
He turned his head. His mother was standing beside his bed. She didn't move, didn't speak, just stared down at him with tired eyes.
"Ezra," she whispered. "Come."
Her voice shook a little.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't morning yet. The hallway outside was usually full of voices and footsteps, but tonight, it was empty. Only the faint glow of lamps touched the marble floor.
"Mom? Why so early?"
No answer.
She was already helping him into his coat. Her hands were cold, trembling slightly. Ezra didn't know what to say. His mother was the kind of person who always smiled, even when she scolded him. But tonight, her face looked pale, stiff — like she was forcing herself not to cry.
They walked through the silent corridor. The maids bowed when they passed, whispering to each other when they thought she couldn't hear.
"…Why him? Why not the brother?"
"He's weak. He won't survive it."
"The main house ordered it."
"But I heard the order is for all the children"
"Then why only the Young master?"
"Sheesh the Madam is here"
"God protect him"
Ezra didn't understand as their words echoed in his head as they reached the front door.
Outside, rain fell harder. Two servants waited by the car with black umbrellas. Their suits were pressed, faces expressionless, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Ezra shivered. His mother always told him to stay away from the cold, that his body couldn't handle it, that's why to the other noble kids he was not known. He was almost a ghost, his existence only known to those in the house. But tonight, she didn't stop him.
"Mom… where's Dad?"
She stopped. The rain whispered between them. She knelt, her cold hands gripping his shoulders.
"Ezra," she said softly. "You're going to the training center the main family built. It's to make the kids of our family grow stronger for the future. Please be strong and make us proud."
Her voice broke at the end.
He blinked, confused. "But… why me? Brother's better. He's…"
She stood, cutting him off with silence. Her hand slipped from his as She turned away.
The men stepped forward. Ezra didn't fight them. He just stared as his mother's figure blurred through the rain as they led him into the car. Her final wave looked shaky and desperate.
It felt like goodbye, but forever.
The car door shut with a dull thunk.
The drive was quiet. The men in the front didn't speak. Ezra hugged himself and stared at the window. Raindrops ran down like silver threads. The longer he watched, the heavier his chest felt.
He didn't remember falling asleep.
***
When his eyes opened again, the light stabbed into them.
Cold metal pressed against his arms and legs. He tried to move, but something held him down. Straps. Tight ones. His breath caught in his throat.
He jerked his head around the glass walls. He was inside a transparent box. Across from him sat another kid, also strapped to a chair. Around them were more boxes, more kids. Dozens of them.
Then came the noise.
Screaming. Crying.
"Let me out!"
"What is this place?!"
"I want to go home!"
The voices overlapped, panicked, rising like waves. Ezra's pulse hammered in his ears. He yanked against the straps until his wrists burned.
A door opened somewhere ahead.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the room.
A man walked in, tall and straight-backed, coat brushing his knees. Two soldiers followed him, their boots hitting the floor in sync. The man's eyes were sharp, his face blank like someone carved from stone.
When he spoke, his voice carried over the chaos.
"Children of Ashenlocke, Welcome to the Trail of Steel" he said. "In front of you, under the cover, is a dismantled revolver. Remove the cover."
A mechanical click followed. The restraints on their arms unlocked.
Ezra's hands shook. He didn't move. His gaze flicked to the metal lid in front of him. Beneath it… a gun? Why was there a gun in front of him? Why was there another boy across from him? What kind of "training center" was this?
He lifted the cover with trembling fingers.
Gun parts. Cold steel glinting under the lights. Pieces scattered like broken bones.
The boy across from him did the same. Around the hall, dozens of kids stared down at the same cruel puzzle.
"What is this?" someone muttered nearby.
"This is insane," said another voice.
A loud slam broke the silence. One boy dressed better than the rest had slammed his cover shut. His face twisted in rage.
"You can't do this!" he shouted. "My grandfather's an elder! If you"
Bang!
The gunshot cut him off. His body slumped forward; his pants wet with fluid caused by the terror of death.
The man didn't blink. "He knew. Now you do."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke on.
"This program will decide your worth to the family," the man continued, his voice flat. "The head and elders approved this test. You will obey, or you will die."
He paused. "Your task is simple. Assemble the revolver. Kill the child across from you before they kill you. That is all."
Ezra's stomach dropped.
Kill?
He looked at the boy across from him wide eyes, shaking hands. No way. No way this was real.
Another gunshot echoed through the hall. The smell of gunpowder spread, sharp and bitter.
"Begin."
A few seconds passed and no one moved.
It was like the whole room had turned to ice. Every single kid just sat there, staring at the parts in front of them, or at the kid across from them.
The man lifted his hand again. One soldier stepped forward, stopping before the boy who had complained earlier. The soldier raised his gun.
"No, please!" the boy screamed. "Please, I'll do it…"
Bang!
Blood splattered against the glass. The girl opposite him screamed, trying to crawl away even though her legs were tied.
"Please! Please don't…"
Bang!
The red spread like spilled paint. The glass dripped with it.
Ezra couldn't breathe. The room spun. The air stank of blood and oil.
The man's voice returned, colder. "Every twenty seconds without a gunshot, another pair dies. You have thirty minutes. Begin."
That was when panic truly began.
Children screamed. Some reached for the gun parts. Others froze completely. A few just sobbed, clutching their heads.
Ezra's hands hovered over the table. His body shook so hard the metal clinked under his fingers. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
Why did they send me here? Did she know?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
I don't want to die.
He reached for a part, sobbing, gasping for air.
Across from him, the boy was already trying to assemble his gun. His hands slipped, but he was working fast. Desperate.
Bang. Bang.
More shots echoed. Each one made Ezra flinch. Each scream that followed tightened something inside him until he thought he'd burst.
His heart thudded in his ears. The sound blurred everything else.
He reached for a piece. The barrel. Cold. Heavy. His fingers trembled as he tried to fit it with another.
Then pain tore through his head.
Ezra gasped, clutching his skull. His vision flashed white. Images flooded in — blueprints, diagrams, the sound of tools, the smell of smoke and oil. His own voice, older, steady, explaining how to build a weapon.
No… this isn't mine. This is…
A memory. A life that wasn't this one. A man working in an army factory. Sparks flying. The weight of a gun in his hand. He'd built them. Used them while working for the Army and died in a shop filled with it.
The noise of the room faded as the images took over. Then, slowly, they vanished.
Ezra opened his eyes. Sweat dripped from his chin. His hands weren't steady, but it began to move with a focused expression in his face.
He started moving. Barrel. Cylinder. Frame. Screw. Spring. The pieces coming together like instinct.
On the other side the other boy was slower. His hands slipped again. Ezra didn't.
The boy fired a shot which cracked the glass between them, sending spiderweb cracks across the surface. Ezra flinched. His bullets scattered on the floor.
The boy grinned, finished loading his weapon then raising it immediately pointing it at him shooting instantly but missing again, he shot three times, all missing due to him still trying to steady himself.
Ezra, seeing this, struggled to grab one bullet. Just one. He slammed it into the chamber.
The boy's finger tightened on the trigger this time hoping to not miss.
Time was running out. The two boys aimed at each other. Both were scared. Both holding heavy weapons like they were swords too big for their hands.
Ezra's mind raced.
If he died now, what was the point of those memories? What was the use of getting reborn only to die a meaningless death?
He didn't want to die. Not without knowing why he was abandoned.
Ezra aimed. His hands no longer shook. His breath slowed.
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, both froze. Both were scared.
The other boy saw it. The change in Ezra. He saw the way his gun wasn't shaking anymore
"Wait—" the boy started.
Bang.
The sound echoed through the chamber. The boy fell forward, blood smearing the table.
Ezra stared. Then dropped his gun. His body shook as he leaned over, gagging. Nothing came out. Just dry, broken gasps.
He'd just killed someone.
A kid.
Just like him.