Elara woke up at the first knock. The knock was neither gentle nor polite. It was the kind that sounded like the door owed someone money.
Her eyes opened at once. Her body reacted before her thoughts did. She sat upright on the bed, flexing her limbs.
Another knock followed. This time, it was more louder.
Elara sighed and pushed herself up. After falling on the bed yesterday, she had fell asleep not long. When she woke up later, it was already night. She had stood by the window, unsure of what to do. She did not know where to eat, who to ask, or if she was even allowed to wander around. She was not very hungry anyway. So she stayed in and unpacked slowly. She washed her face. Lay back down. And then slept off again.
Now it was morning.
And someone clearly did not care about her adjustment period.Elara slid her feet into her slippers and walked to the door. The air felt warm already and the heat clung to her skin. Starfall mornings did not wait for anyone.
She opened the door just a little and the first thing that caught her attention was the... shoes. Flat shoes. Dark-colored and not fashionable in any way.
Her gaze moved up.
Stockings. Neat. Slightly too serious for the hour.
Then trousers. Then a jacket. A fitted one, buttoned like it meant business.
Elara blinked and raised her head fully.
The woman standing outside her door was short. She wore a beret tilted slightly to one side. Large glasses sat on her nose. They magnified her eyes just enough to make her stare feel intense. She was holding a tablet and staring straight at Elara. Not blinking or smiling.
Elara paused. Her brain took a moment to catch up.
"…How may I—"
"Ziva Korr."
The woman spoke suddenly, cutting her off cleanly. Her voice was sharp and confident.
"I am twenty-two years old. I wake up at five thirty every morning. I drink my coffee black. I hate inefficiency, bad posture, and people who say 'kind of' when they mean 'no.'"
She tapped her tablet once.
"I have been working at Voice for three years. I have assisted five singers. Four improved. The other quit. None disappointed me twice."
Ziva lifted her chin slightly.
"As of this morning, I am your assistant."
She leaned forward a little, peering at Elara through her glasses.
"You are Elara. Grade Three. Sponsored." She paused for few seconds and added.
"…Acceptable."
Elara stared at her strangely. For a full three seconds. She had rehearsed many conversations in her head on the train. Polite greetings. Formal thanks. Questions about schedules. None of them involved… this.
"Nice meeting you." she said,after some thought.
Ziva straightened.
"Same," she said calmly and then glanced past Elara into the room, eyes scanning quickly. "You slept in your travel clothes. You didn't eat last night. You unpacked only what you needed. You are either very disciplined or very lost."
She looked back at Elara.
"We'll figure out which."
Elara smiled awkwardly, and then made way for her to pass."I usually ask people to come in," she said and Ziva nodded immediately.
"Good. I respect that." Then she stepped forward anyway. "But of course, I'm coming in." She walked past Elara like the room belonged to her.
Elara closed the door behind her slowly. Ziva glanced once at the room like she was scanning a report, and then nodded to herself as if the space had passed inspection. Elara was still standing near the door, hair loose, her expression calm but watchful.
Ziva tapped her tablet and finally looked up at Elara again, eyes sharp behind her glasses. "Welcome to Voice," she said with a proud tone. "You may relax. Or don't. It makes no difference."
Elara blinked once in confusion. "I'm sorry…?"
Ziva raised one finger. "I will explain. Slowly. Clearly. And accurately." She took two steps forward and stopped at the center of the room, planting her feet like she was about to give a lecture to an invisible audience.
"Voice is not a school," Ziva said. "And it is not a company. It is an ecosystem. People come here to grow, to compete, to be judged, and occasionally to be broken. You are here because someone decided you were interesting enough to observe."
Elara listened quietly with a calm expression.
"Everyone here has a grade. Grades are not talent. Grades are value. Grade One is background noise. Grade Two is potential. Grade Three is a step above." She continued glancing at Elara meaningfully.
"You are a Grade Three singer. Congratulations. Condolences. Anyone you feel comfortable with." She said.
Elara nodded slightly. "I understand."
Ziva hummed, pleased. "Good. Grade Three singers are assigned assistants. And I'm yours. I cannot be changed. You may complain, but it will be archived and ignored."
She adjusted her glasses. "Grade Four singers gain more freedom. Grade Five singers gain power. Grade Six singers gain fear."
Elara's lips curved faintly. Gain fear..?
What the hell does that mean ?
Ziva noticed and snorted softly. "Do not smile like that. You have not seen Grade Six yet."
She tapped her tablet again and began pacing slowly, talking as she walked.
"There are rooms you may enter," she said. "Practice halls A through D. Observation decks. Public lounges. Dining level two. Medical wing when scheduled. You may not enter executive floors. You may not enter private studios. You may not enter the Vale wing unless invited."
Elara's gaze sharpened slightly at the last words, but she said nothing. Ziva stopped pacing and looked straight at her. "Let's go through your schedule for the day."
She lifted the tablet higher, reading clearly.
"Your schedule begins in twenty minutes," Ziva said. "You will attend identity confirmation, contract acknowledgment, and a basic health and voice check. You do not need to impress anyone. In fact, you should not try."
Elara nodded again.
"After that, you will have a meeting."
Elara waited.
Ziva looked up. "With the Vale family."
Elara did not react outwardly, but her fingers curled slightly at her side.
Ziva watched her carefully. "This is not a celebration or a thank you, it is assessment." She said.
Elara met her gaze. "What do they want from me?"
Ziva straightened. "They want to see you. Hear you speak. Decide whether your existence continues to make sense to them."
She shrugged. "Do not panic. Panic smells bad in rooms like that."
Elara almost sighed, can't she speak normally for a second..?
"You will answer what they ask," Ziva added. "You don't need to tell your life story or try to be impressive. They are not impressed by effort."
Ziva paused and then softened her tone a little.
"They do not sponsor voices," she said. "They sponsor futures."
Elara absorbed that in silence.
Ziva cleared her throat and looked back at the tablet. "After the meeting, you will attend observation sessions. You will sit quietly and listen to Grade Five and Grade Six singers rehearse. You will learn."
She glanced up again. "Then you will be dismissed for the evening. No practice. No performances. No wandering. It's your first day."
Elara frowned slightly. "No practice?"
Ziva smiled thinly. "Your voice survived yesterday. Let your mind survive today."
She lowered the tablet and studied Elara one more time, from her face to her posture, as if confirming something internally.
"You will change into something clean and comfortable," Ziva said. "You might not dress too flamboyantly. This isn't a stage."
Elara exhaled slowly, impatient. "Understood."
Ziva turned toward the door, already moving. "Good. Meet me outside in five minutes. If you are late, I will assume you are dead and proceed without you."
Then she opened the door and stepped out, her flat shoes clicking decisively down the hall, leaving Elara standing alone in the quiet room.
What a quirky lady...