Veles shoved his last pair of socks into the duffel bag. It was the same bag he had carried through three foster homes in two years. Before that, it was the bag the social worker gave him after the car crash that took his parents.
Drunk driver. That's what the police report said. A Tuesday afternoon in suburbia, three years after escaping a war zone. They survived mortars and snipers only to be crushed by a Ford F-150 driven by a guy named Gary who had too many beers at lunch.
Veles zipped the bag shut. The sound was final.
He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the empty air in front of him. With a thought, he summoned the only thing he truly owned.
"Status," he whispered.
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence. It was glitchy, the text trembling like a dying fluorescent light.
[Name: Veles Boyko]
[Age: 15]
[Race: Human (Dormant)]
[Rank: Mortal]
[System Status: Initialization Incomplete]
[Activation Criteria: Death]
[Flaw: Soul's Echo]
[Description: The user serves the truth. The user cannot speak falsehoods. The user cannot withhold observations that contradict their environment. Silence is pain.]
[WARNING: Secrecy Protocol Active]
[The existence of this System must not be disclosed to ANY entity until initialization is complete.]
[Penalty for Disclosure: Permanent Death (Soul Erasure).]
Veles stared at the red warning text, his stomach twisting. It was the ultimate cosmic trap. He had a curse that forced him to speak the truth about everything — except the one thing that actually mattered.
If he told a recruitment officer, "I have a latent System, put me in the elite program," the System would erase his soul before he finished the sentence. If he told a doctor, "I need help, something is burning my hand," he died.
He was trapped in a glass box. He could see the world, and the world could see him, but he couldn't scream for help without shattering himself.
"Trash," Veles muttered, dismissing the screen.
He had found the totem in a desolate, bombed-out village near the border when he was eight. He had just touched it, seeking comfort in something that wasn't broken concrete. It had burned itself into his hand, and then... nothing. For seven years, nothing. Just the Flaw and a death threat.
A heavy knock rattled his door.
"Police are on the way, kid," Mr. Miller's voice came through the wood, muffled but smug. "But there's someone else here to see you first."
Veles frowned. He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and opened the door.
Standing in the hallway wasn't a cop. It was a man in a gray uniform that looked too sharp, too pressed. He wore a beret and the insignia of the Global Defense Coalition. His eyes were like flint — hard, cold, and assessing.
"Veles Boyko?" the officer asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Recruitment Officer Halloway. Your foster father tells me you're violent, uncontrollable, and currently homeless."
Veles felt the burn rising in his chest. It was the Flaw, reacting to the situation, demanding he clarify the context. He clamped his teeth together, trying to fight it. Don't speak. Don't speak.
"He's projecting," Veles choked out, the words scraping his throat as they forced their way past his resistance. "He's afraid of me because I see through him. But yes. I am homeless."
Halloway didn't get angry. He didn't even blink. He actually smiled, a thin, predatory expression. "Honesty. I like that. It's rare. Usually, kids in your position cry and beg."
The officer stepped back, gesturing toward the living room. "Let's skip the police. You know what the law says about unclaimed minors with violent records in the Preservation Zones?"
Veles knew. The world had changed since the Gates opened. Resources were scarce. Safe land was limited. Society had become utilitarian. If you weren't contributing, you were a liability.
"Labor camps," Veles said, his voice flat. "Or low-priority sanitation detail in the outer rings."
"Correct," Halloway nodded. "Dead-end lives. You'll be scrubbing demon ichor off the walls until you catch a plague or a stray claw. But there is Option B."
Halloway pulled a datapad from his belt. "The Mortal Legion. We're taking volunteers. Even... aggressive ones."
Veles laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Volunteers? You mean cannon fodder. The Mortal Legion is where you send people to trigger landmines so the real Awakeners don't get their boots dirty."
"Smart kid," Halloway said, his eyes gleaming. "But it pays. Three meals a day. A bed. And if you survive six months... citizenship. Real citizenship. Not this refugee status you've been clinging to."
"If I survive," Veles corrected.
"If."
Veles looked past the officer at the Miller family huddled in the kitchen. Brayden was holding an ice pack to his nose, smirking. Mr. Miller was avoiding eye contact, pretending to read a magazine. They wanted him gone. The world wanted him gone.
He looked back at the officer. Veles knew, with absolute certainty, that this man was selling him a death sentence. He could see the numbers on the officer's datapad. He was just a tick mark.
"You need five more recruits to hit your monthly bonus," Veles said. The Flaw struck again, peeling back the officer's motivation and forcing Veles to voice it.
Halloway paused, his smile freezing for a fraction of a second before returning, tighter this time. "Sharp. Very sharp. You'll do well on the front. Or you'll die in the first ten minutes. Either way, you solve my problem."
Veles tightened his grip on the duffel bag. He had six months. Six months to figure out how to survive in a meat grinder. Six months to figure out why a Slavic god of the underworld had marked him for death.
"Where do I sign?" Veles asked.
Halloway tapped the screen. "Right here, son. Welcome to the war."
Veles pressed his thumb against the glass. The device beeped.
[Contract Accepted.]
[Time until Deployment: 180 Days.]
"Get in the truck," Halloway said, turning his back. "We leave now."
Veles didn't say goodbye to the Millers. He didn't look back at the house that was never a home. He walked out into the humid afternoon air, the invisible tattoo on his hand throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
One step closer, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not the System. Something older.
One step closer to the grave.