The man stepped forward, his boots echoing softly across the polished floor. Every child's instinct screamed to shrink back, to vanish into the whiteness, but his voice came first, smooth and soothing, the kind of tone that could make poison sound like a blessing.
"Greetings, young ones," he said, spreading his arms in what might have been mistaken for warmth.
"I'm sure each and every one of you must be confused and afraid. But fear not."
He smiled. It was a perfect smile, a little too perfect. It wasn't the kind of smile born from kindness, a preacher's smile. A liar's comfort.
"All is well. You see, your being brought here was not misfortune… it was fate. No, fortune. For you all are my diamonds in the rough."
The children mummured, some glancing at one another in shock, others too numb to react. The man didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he did and relished it.
"You have been chosen so that you might rise beyond the cruel destiny your former lives condemned you to. The hunger, the fear, the pain, it ends here."
He gestured to the pristine walls surrounding them, his eyes glimmering with something that might have been zeal or madness.
"Here, you will be well fed," he said brightly. "Given warm beds, soft sheets, and the chance to learn truly... wondrous things. You, my children, are special, each and every one of you possesses potential ret to be realized, and it is my sacred duty to awaken it."
He began to pace from left to right, slowly, arms folded behind his back. "In time, you shall become the heroes of the new age, the saviors who will lead humanity into a glorious dawn!"
His enthusiasm seemed to swell with every word, making his tone sound ecstatic.
"Though your paths shall be perilous and filled with trials, I am certain that as long as you have the will to persevere, we shall all reach that radiant future together!"
The man's words linger in the air, soft and dangerous. For a long, uncertain moment, no one dared to move. Then, slowly, something in the air began to change.
The air became less tense, just slightly. A few of the younger children straightened, their wide, frightened eyes now glimmering with something dangerously close to hope. The promise of food. Of warmth. Of safety. Of meaning.
The man's voice had planted something in them. And for those who had known nothing but hunger and fear, hope was the cruelest drug of all.
A girl near the front whispered, "He said… heroes." Another boy nodded, clutching his robe like it might keep him from trembling. Even Mira, cold and sharp as ever, hesitated, her gaze fixed on the speaker.
Thorn let out a quiet, humorless scoff. "It's all a bunch of crap," he muttered under his breath. "A speech to keep us quiet, make us feel grateful before they chain us again."
He turned to Elias, expecting the same cynical glare, the same stubborn spark of defiance that usually met his sarcasm.
But what he saw froze him.
Elias wasn't frowning. He wasn't skeptical. He wasn't even cautious. His eyes, those bright, frustratingly sincere blue eyes, were lit up with something Thorn hadn't seen since the night sky over the slums.
Hope.
Elias's lips parted slightly as he whispered, almost to himself, "Heroes… of the new age."
Thorn's breath caught in his throat. He stared at him, his friend, the only person he'd thought still saw the world for what it was, and for the first time in years, Thorn felt something worse than fear.
He felt betrayed.
Because in this white room filled with lies, Elias actually believed.
Thorn stared in disbelief, the blood rushing hot beneath his skin. "What the hell, Elias?" he hissed, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. His grip was firm, desperate. "Do you actually believe all that crap? You know how this works, adults can't be trusted."
Elias flinched, taken aback by the intensity in Thorn's voice. "Thorn, I…"
"No," Thorn cut him off, shaking him once, his red eyes sharp and burning. "You can't be serious. You heard him, he's talking like one of those priests from the old stories! You really think anyone who talks about heroes and fate gives a damn about us?"
Elias's lips pressed together, his expression uncertain, uneasy. "Well, not all adults are bad," he said quietly, almost apologetically. "My mom was an adult, and she was a good person. Maybe these people are too."
Thorn stared at him, dumbfounded.
Elias went on, hesitating but still clinging to that fragile thread of optimism. "Besides, they bathed us, gave us new clothes. If they wanted to hurt us, they wouldn't need to do all that, right?" He gave a small, hopeful smile, the kind that might've been heartwarming anywhere else. "Maybe they really do want to make us into heroes. Maybe this is the start of something better."
Thorn's disbelief turned into something darker, anger, maybe even fear. "You fool," he growled. "The hell is wrong with you?"
The words came out sharper than intended, echoing slightly in the sterile air. A few nearby children turned, startled.
And that... was all it took.
The man at the front paused mid-sentence. His dark eyes slowly shifted toward them, his expression calm yet predatory. The nun beside him stopped as well, her fingers brushing the silver broken scale that hung from her neck.
For a moment, silence ruled the room again.
Then the man smiled faintly, his gaze fixing on Thorn. "B-021," he said, reading the number stitched onto Thorn's robe. His tone was almost amused. "Hm. Spirited one, aren't you?"
Thorn froze, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The man's smile deepened, pleasant, warm, and utterly wrong. "Good," he murmured. "We'll make sure to keep a close eye on that spirit."