Starless sat on the edge of the dumpsite.
The screen of a broken TV flickered from a far away bar, showing Lumian's face.
"It was a tough event," Lumian said, voice smooth, eyes shining like he had won something he shouldn't have. "Team D managed a higher survivor rate than any other team. They showed resilience, strategy, true courage."
The reporter beside him nodded, scribbling invisible notes. "Incredible work, Lumian. How do you feel seeing the results?"
Lumian smiled, a little too wide. "It's proof that the academy's guidance shapes the strongest. That's what this world demands."
Starless chewed slowly on a blackened apple. He almost gagged, swallowed anyway. "I hate everything here," he muttered under his breath. "I'm too poor to even buy clean apples."
He looked past the flickering neon beyond the city's edge. The lights were beautiful, distant, like they belonged to someone else's life.
Five or more corpses lay around him. Some twisted, some broken. The stench of decay pressed against his lungs, but he kept eating.
Beside him, the rotting body of the old man he had killed leaned against a heap of garbage. The skin peeled, the eyes cloudy.
"I'm sorry, old man," Starless whispered, his voice quiet, fragile. "I didn't want you to go through the pain like this."
He stared at the city again. Neon lights, laughter, hope—none of it for him. Just the smell of rot, the taste of death, and the cold truth of nothingness.
Each bite of the apple burned. Each sound of the city mocked him. Each corpse reminded him of how alone he was, how small, how unwanted.
Starless remembered the moment clearly. The camera lights had been blinding. The microphones shoved toward him.
"I-I'm from the dumpsite," he had said quietly, almost ashamed.
The reporter's eyes had snapped to him, sharp and cold. "What did you just say?" he barked. His hand swung faster than Starless could react, striking his shoulder. "Step aside. We're done here. Move!"
Starless had stumbled back, the world tilting, his mouth open to protest. "I… I just—"
The reporter ignored him, turning to the other students. "And you? Your thoughts on the awakening?" Questions flowed easily, smiles and nods exchanged. Everyone answered respectfully. Everyone but him.
A slap to his cheek had sent him spinning away from the cameras, the words he wanted to say trapped in his throat.
Two minutes later, he had been pushed out of the broadcasting station entirely, left standing on the street, the neon lights mocking him.
Other students laughed quietly inside. Lumian had nodded politely, untouched.
No one had asked if he was okay. No one had cared.
Starless had walked back toward the dumpsite, empty-handed, every step heavier than the last.
He had whispered to himself, bitter and low, "I'm from the dumpsite. And no one will ever care."
The memory tasted like blood and ash, like the rotten apple he now held.
Starless shivered as the memory sank deeper.
The academy had chosen everyone from Hall D except him. Everyone. Their names, their bright faces, their excited steps—they were all written down while his name wasn't even a whisper.
Rain began to fall, cold and sharp, soaking through his thin coat. He stood outside the broadcasting station, waiting, drenched, teeth chattering. Hours passed. The neon lights of the city blurred into streaks.
Finally, the other awakeners came out, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. Starless followed them silently, keeping his distance, shadowed by the night and rain.
They arrived at the transportation square, bright with the hum of engines and blinking lights. Flying cars hovered above the platforms, shimmering in the wet reflections.
Everyone paid their fare and waited. Starless stepped forward, approaching each student, his voice low, shaky. "Could you spare me some money? I want to join you… to go with everyone to the academy."
Every hand shook its head. Every face looked away. Rejection clung to him like the rain on his skin.
He approached the last person, his last hope. "Jaless… could you spare me some cash? I want to join you… to go with everyone."
Jaless looked down, expression soft but firm. "Sorry, Starless. I can't."
Starless turned, walked back and forth, counting the seconds, imagining a way to get aboard. Nothing came. Only cold and wet and the buzz of neon above.
A security officer grabbed him by the shoulder, the hand like iron. "Hey, you don't belong here. Leave. Now."
Starless pulled away silently, drenched and shivering. His chest ached. His heart ached. No one had ever made room for him. No one ever would.
He remembered the moment clearly. The camera lights had been blinding. The microphones shoved toward him.
Starless wiped the rain from his face and looked around at the ruins of the dumpsite.
Life was hard. Harder than anyone could understand. He wished he was rich, even for a little while. Just enough to buy food that didn't rot, clothes that didn't smell, a bed that wasn't the damp ground.
He thought about the awakeners. How they had killed every child in the dumpsite. Not seeing them as humans. Not seeing him. Just another shadow to erase.
He stood up, letting the cold seep into his bones. His house came into view, a massive trash bag pulled over a rickety frame.
Inside, it smelled of rot, metal, smoke, and despair. His bed was a thin, damp mat, layered with rags. His clothes were torn, stained, and too small. The scent of mildew and decay made him gag.
He tried to ignore it, but the smells clawed at him, exhausting him.
He sighed deeply, collapsing onto his mat. He rolled over, trying to find comfort in the thin padding, the way he sometimes pretended it was a proper bed.
Sleep didn't come easily. The memories, the hunger, the smell, the cold—they all pressed down on him.
Slowly, he started crying. Quietly at first, then louder, letting himself break in the only place no one would see.
His tears soaked the thin rags, mixing with the dirt. Slowly, exhausted, he cried himself to sleep.
The trash bag flapped above him in the night wind, shielding him from the world, but not from the pain inside.
While Starless slept beneath trash and rain, the chosen were already on their way.
The flying cars descended in a slow, graceful arc, lights cutting through the night like falling stars. One by one, they settled onto the landing platforms, doors sliding open with a soft hum.
The awakeners stepped out, eyes wide, breath caught in their throats. Towers of polished stone rose around them, etched with glowing runes. The air felt heavier here, older, alive.
A woman stood waiting at the center of the platform. Black hair fell straight down her back, stirred gently by the wind. Her blue eyes were sharp, but not cruel. Fierce, yet carrying a quiet kindness that made people stand straighter without knowing why.
She looked at them slowly, taking each face in, as if weighing more than just their strength.
"Welcome," she said, her voice calm, warm, and steady. Serious in the way true teachers always are. "Welcome to Everlast Academy and to the journey beyond."
The name settled into them like a vow.
She clasped her hands behind her back and continued, her tone gentle but unyielding.
"Kindness is like a flower some always bloom some never come back."
Silence followed. Not fear. Not comfort. Something heavier. Something real.