An hour later, we stood inside the main training hall.
No windows. No colors. Just metal walls, rows of mats, and machines connected to long tubes hanging from the ceiling.
We sat before the instructor who still hadn't told us his name.
He said: "The first step in this program is simple. We need to determine whether your bodies are trying to react to mana, even if you don't have an awakened core."
He pointed to the device behind him: a glass box containing a small orb, faintly glowing blue.
"You'll place your hand on the surface. If the orb pulses there's hope. If not, you'll try again every week. After the first month, if there's still no response… your status will be reconsidered."
---
My name wasn't called first. Nor second. I sat silently at the back, watching them go one by one.
Some orbs flickered briefly. Others stayed dark.
When they finally called my name"Reis" I wasn't surprised. The voice was mechanical, like they didn't want to repeat my real name.
I stepped forward. Placed my hand on the surface.
The glass was cold, as if it was testing me too.
I waited.
No pulse.
No light.
Nothing.
I heard the observer murmur, "No response."
I returned to my spot without reacting. A few of them looked at me with that look. The one full of pity.
But I didn't return it. Because I knew
What's inside me can't be measured by this device.
My core isn't dead. It's suffocating.
Buried beneath something I still don't understand.
But it's there… and I alone will dig it out.
---
That night, I didn't fall asleep right away.
I sat on my mat, staring at the metal ceiling, counting my breaths.
Then I placed my hand over my chest where the core is supposed to grow.
I felt something faint… a distant throb. As if someone was knocking on a door deep within my bones.
A whisper inside me, that only I could hear.
Something that said:
I'm not dead yet.
But I'm not alive either.
---
The following days passed like rewound tape, repeating themselves.
Every morning, I woke before anyone else, folded my worn blanket, and waited in silence until the door opened and the evaluation began.
Each time, I placed my hand on the glass.
Each time, the orb stayed silent.
After the first week, the whispers began.
"That boy… nothing's happening with him."
"Strange, he never talks."
"Is he deaf?"
"Or maybe just dull?"
I never answered. Never looked up.
Not out of fear.
But because I didn't see them. Didn't want to.
I am not like them.
I'm not waiting for something to happen.
I know something's inside me… I'm just fighting to set it free.
---
The training was primitive but harsh.
Repetitive physical drills lifting, running, balance.
And every muscle in my body screamed, "Why?"
This fragile body, thrown into the streets, wasn't built for this.
My bones popped. My feet swelled. My chest ached with every breath.
And at night, while others slept, I remained awake.
Watching the ceiling.
Imagining… no, remembering.
The cold beneath my skin as an infant. The blinding light. Her face.
The Queen.
Her eyes… not disgust.
But decision.
And each passing day here, I tried to prove just to myself that I'm not what she decided I was.
---
In the third week, I began to notice.
In the corners… during training… while I was forced to run, or jump, or fight imaginary enemies, I started to feel something changing.
Slowly, but surely.
Nothing visible.
But I could feel it.
As if my body despite everything had begun to breathe something invisible.
A slow, deep breath. But it was there.
"Adaptation," one of the trainers called it, when he noticed I was starting to endure more than before.
He didn't ask about my core.
And I didn't explain.
Because I know…
It's still there.
---
On the night of the twenty-eighth day, I sat alone, like I did every night, placing my hand over my chest and closing my eyes.
But this time… something was different.
A soft warmth. Faint. But not from the outside.
From within.
As if, finally… it answered me.
---
It was faint… and misleading. But I couldn't deny I felt it.
A warmth, like something inside my chest had taken its first breath.
Not a flame. Not full awakening.
Just a touch a whisper that said:
"I'm here."
I didn't tell anyone. Didn't move.
I just sat there, holding onto that feeling like a spark of light in a long tunnel.
Then I slept.
---
But sleep didn't bring peace.
I saw it.
A white dove, alone in a metal cage, trying to fly.
Beating its wings against the bars, again and again, like it didn't know how not to be free.
It made no sound, but I felt it.
I felt the suffocation.
The air in the dream thickened. And each time it struck the cage, my heart shuddered, as if the blow echoed inside me.
Then… I opened my eyes.
I was in my room. The ceiling above me. The wall the same.
But she was there.
The dove.
No illusion this time. I saw her, pure white, wings spread, gliding through the small room without a sound.
There was barely any light, but her body glowed softly.
She hovered for a moment, then flew toward the door…
And vanished.
I shot up, heart pounding like I had run for miles. Looked around nothing.
"Was I dreaming? A fever? Am I losing it?"
I placed my hand over my chest… and the warmth was still there.
I closed my eyes.
"It's just an illusion. Just exhaustion."
I lay back down, muscles aching, soul unsteady.
And yet, despite everything…
I smiled.
---
They called out tasks loudly, naming names and grouping the children into threes and fours. They exchanged glances, whispered to each other, choosing those who looked like them… or at least, those who didn't seem like a threat.
When the instructor reached my name, he glanced at the paper, then at me.
He paused for a moment like something about me unsettled him… or maybe intrigued him too much.
Then he simply said:
"Reis… solo. Southern sector. Container Three."
No one complained.
No one volunteered to join me.
I didn't expect anyone to.
I took the assigned pack. It was heavier than I thought.
Inside were simple tools: a spectrum scanner, a temporary power cell, a data reader, and a small knife.
I packed them quietly and started walking toward the southern edge of the simulation field.
That part of the grounds felt different more ruined, more silent.
Collapsed walls, twisted doors, and a floor dusted in pale green ash.
I moved through a narrow corridor and stepped into a rusted container, half open.
Its smell reminded me of everything old in this world burned oil, used-up metal, and something else… something closer to absence.
I sat on the cold floor and activated the spectrum scanner.
It pulsed faintly, but the reading stayed low.
"No mana here," I whispered to myself.
But I wasn't looking for mana.
I was watching myself.
My hand shook less. My breathing was deeper. My spine held firmer.
Something had shifted. Something small… but real.
I took the knife from the pack and turned it in my hand.
I thought, "If they gave me this knife, maybe they expect me to use it."
But on what?
On ruins that don't care I exist?
Or on a future that only opens its mouth to swallow me?
Suddenly, a voice cracked through the small comm in my uniform:
"Unit Three, update: spectral anomalies detected. Unstable pulse registered."
A pulse? Here?
I looked at the scanner again… and yes, the needle had spiked briefly, then dropped to zero.
I stood up.
Something in the air had changed.
The dust felt heavier. The container… like it had started breathing.
And then I heard it.
Faint, but clear.
Knocking.
Once.
Then again.
Like something behind the wall… wanted out.
Or maybe wanted me in.
I tightened my grip on the knife. This wasn't part of the plan.
But I moved toward the sound slow, steady.
And I thought:
"If something is behind that wall… maybe it's been waiting for me for a very long time."