The blonde officer's hand rested lightly on the boy's shoulder, firm but not cruel, searching for something in the small, tense frame before him.
"Alright," the officer said, voice low, serious, almost careful. "Tell me… your name. No games this time."
The boy looked up slowly, eyes calm, unreadable. His lips parted.
"Starless," he said, voice quiet, deliberate, carrying weight beyond his years.
The officer didn't move immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, flicking it to life with a sharp click. Smoke curled around his fingers as he brought it to his lips, eyes never leaving Starless.
"This hall," he said slowly, exhaling a thin stream of gray smoke, "is full of cursed ones… like you. Four weeks old. Fresh. Raw. Dangerous."
His gaze swept the room, taking in the rows of teens—trembling, silent, eyes wide with fear. "They don't know yet. Most of them won't survive the night. But they're here… waiting."
He took another drag, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. "And now… so are you."
Starless's eyes narrowed, calm and piercing. "How many," he asked softly, almost curious, "did you… kill? When they… lost? When they… died?"
The officer's hand twitched slightly, gripping the cigarette tighter. Smoke curled around his knuckles, faintly obscuring the faint tremor in his fingers.
"My hand," he said, voice low and gravelly, "it's full of blood. Every drop, every scream… it doesn't wash away. Takes guts," he paused, glancing at Starless, "takes real guts to live with all that blood on your skin… to breathe it in every morning and keep moving forward."
He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift into the hum of the hall. "Most… can't. Most break before they even see what's waiting."
Starless stepped forward, each movement measured, silent, drawing the faintest attention from the rows of teens. He found a corner of the hall, shadowed, where the hum of machinery felt almost muted.
A blonde girl sat there, her hair catching the flickering light, a black mask covering the lower half of her face. She looked up as he approached.
He settled beside her without a word, boots scraping softly against the cold floor.
"Hello," he said finally, voice low, calm, deliberate.
The girl inclined her head slightly, a small nod. "Hi," she replied, voice muffled behind the mask.
After a pause, her eyes met his. "Tell me… are you scared?" she asked, tone barely above a whisper. "Like I am?"
Starless tilted his head slightly, considering her words as if they were something distant, almost abstract.
"Scared?" he repeated softly. "Do you mean fear… me fearing?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, thin and wrong.
"No," he said. "I don't have enough strength left to be scared. I'm a mad person."
He leaned back against the cold wall, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
"When others start shaking, I laugh," he continued quietly. "Not because it's funny. Because it's empty."
For a moment, the distant hum of the hall filled the silence.
"That's why they hated me back in the slums," Starless finished. "Fear made them human. Laughter made me something else."
Starless let out a quiet sound, something close to a sigh, something close to peace.
"The slums…" he began, voice low, steady, as if reciting a truth long settled in his bones.
"Twice a year, they gather the Awakeners. Hundreds of them."
His eyes didn't move, but the air around his words felt heavy.
"They send them down into the slums," he continued. "And they hunt. And hunt. And hunt us children."
For a moment, the hum of the hall seemed to fade.
"The nobles, the rich, the strong… they just watch. From above. From clean towers and bright screens."
His fingers curled slowly into his palm.
"I hate everyone," he said simply.
Then, quieter, almost hollow:
"I don't even have enough time to raise that hate."
A pause.
"I've never eaten good food. Not once."
Starless's gaze dropped to the floor, to the cracks in the metal, to the stains that never came out.
His shoulders sank, just a little.
"I'm just… tired," he said, voice low and sad, stripped of its edge, stripped of its anger.
The blonde girl's eyes softened slightly behind her mask.
"You… you must have grown through much," she said quietly, her voice carrying a mix of empathy and caution.
Starless glanced at her briefly, expression unreadable.
"Ok," he replied simply, words clipped, indifferent.
A pause hung between them, filled with the hum of machinery and distant whispers.
"I'm Thyssara," she said finally, letting her name settle into the space between them.
The blonde officer moved down the rows, distributing swords with deliberate efficiency. Coins clinked on metal tables, hands exchanged, murmurs of excitement and fear filling the hall.
Starless remained silent, watching everything, his eyes cold and calculating. He didn't reach for a weapon, didn't step forward—he only observed.
I'm poor enough, he thought, voice almost a whisper in his mind. The last cash I have… I'll buy a burger. My first ever burger.
The hum of the hall shifted as hundreds of new teens arrived, moving in like a tide of armor and polished steel. Every one of them carried a sword, their steps confident, rehearsed.
Starless's gaze flicked to the emblem gleaming on their chests. High-ranking school , he murmured, almost to himself.
They're evil, he thought, eyes narrowing. The nobles… they have devices. Devices that help them survive… until they reach the other world.
While they let us… fellow humans… die.
His fists clenched slightly.
If evil had a face, it would always be the nobles.
Starless pushed himself up from the corner, boots scraping softly against the floor. Without a word, he walked past the rows of teens, past the officers and machinery, and out of the massive hall.
The city air hit him immediately—cold, damp, carrying the faint stench of metal and smoke. He wandered a few streets before spotting a small, dimly lit shop tucked between two towering buildings.
He stepped inside. The hum of the city softened here, replaced by the sizzle and smell of cooking.
"Can I get… one of those?" he asked, pointing to a burger behind the glass counter.
"A burger?" the cashier said, eyebrows raised. "It's coming right up."
Starless handed over the last of his dusty, old coins. They clinked softly on the counter.
The cashier nodded and handed him the burger. Starless took it carefully, unwrapping it slowly.
The first bite was a revelation—the soft bread, the tangy sauce, the richness of the meat. He chewed deliberately, savoring every flavor, every texture.
For a moment, the world outside—the cursed hall, the hunts, the nobles—faded. There was only the burger, and the quiet joy of something finally his.
Starless finished the last bite, the taste still lingering, and rose slowly. Without a word, he walked back through the damp streets, past the flickering neon, and re-entered the massive hall.
He settled back into his shadowed corner, alone, boots crossed, hands resting lightly on his knees. The hum of the machinery and the whispers of the teens filled the air, but he paid them no mind.
Then… a voice.
It came from nowhere, echoing, terrifying, vibrating through the walls and the floor, shaking the very air of the hall. Every teen froze. Every breath caught.
"THOUGH THY NOT THY SHALL BE AFRAID."
The words hung heavy, oppressive, like the promise of a storm. Starless's eyes narrowed, his calm unbroken, yet the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.