Fragments of the Unseen

Chapter 3: Fragments of the Unseen

The air felt heavier today, and the lights above were dimmer than usual, casting long shadows across the sterile room. I could hear the other children—their voices a soft murmur that blended into the background, becoming an almost rhythmic hum. They moved with purpose now, their actions more deliberate, more controlled. They weren't like they had been before. The older ones—especially them—seemed to carry an unspoken authority, as if the world itself bent subtly to their will.

I watched, as I always did, from the edge of the room.

I hadn't always been able to stand on my own like this. I could remember the days when my body felt fragile, barely able to move without help. But now, things were different. My legs were stronger, my frame taller. I wasn't helpless anymore, though I still felt that uncertainty clinging to me like a shadow. I was still young, still unsure—but I wasn't the baby I once was.

And I wasn't the only one who had changed. The other children, too, were growing—physically and in ways I didn't yet understand. Their bodies stretched taller, their limbs filling out, their faces sharper, more confident with each passing day. And with that confidence came something else—a realization, perhaps, of the power they held. It changed them.

We weren't allowed to roam freely within the facility. None of us were. The halls weren't meant for wandering. Every step was monitored, every movement watched. The staff, with their expressionless faces and ever-present gazes, ensured that we remained in our designated spaces. They didn't have to say a word. A glance was enough—a reminder of our place. If I strayed, even by a little, that look would freeze me in place, pulling me back into the confines of their silent control.

But that didn't stop me from watching.

The older children often gathered in the far corner of the room, their voices hushed, bodies angled toward one another in secretive circles. Their movements were smooth, but there was a tension in the air, a restraint that reminded us all of the invisible walls that kept us caged. We had space to move, to interact when necessary, but the staff's watchful eyes never wavered. Whether we were awake or asleep, they were always there, their presence a constant pressure on our existence.

"…fragments…"

At first, I didn't understand. The words were muffled, distant. But I could hear them now—just pieces, slipping into my awareness in ways they hadn't before. The sounds, once indecipherable, began to form meaning. The haze that had clouded my understanding was lifting, if only slightly.

"…only the strongest…"

"…power…"

Fragments.

The word floated in the air, heavy with significance I couldn't grasp. I didn't fully know what they were, but I could tell, from the way the others spoke of them, that they mattered. The way their voices lowered when they mentioned them, the sharpness in their eyes—it made my skin prickle with curiosity. These fragments were important, even if I didn't yet understand how or why.

The older children were talking again, gathered in their corner. I edged closer, careful not to draw attention. I didn't belong in their circle, but I wanted to hear. I needed to.

"They say the fragments are answer," whispered one of the older boys. His face was sharp, angular, his gaze darting around the room to ensure no staff were listening. "That's why the staff keeps pushing us."

The others nodded, their faces serious, their eyes filled with something I didn't fully understand—determination, maybe. Or fear.

"Fragments of power," another chimed in, glancing toward the door as if the staff might walk in at any moment. "Only the strongest get to touch them. The rest… they're just failures."

Failures.

The word settled in my chest like a stone, cold and heavy. Was that what I was? A failure? Was that why I couldn't understand, why I couldn't do what they did? The thought wrapped around my mind, tightening its grip with every passing second.

I looked up at the flickering lights above me. For a fleeting moment, I thought I felt something—a faint pulse, deep inside me, something waiting to be released. But as quickly as the feeling came, it vanished, slipping away before I could grab hold of it.

I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling up inside me, hot and sharp. I wasn't like them. I didn't have their abilities, their power. But I wasn't a failure. I couldn't be. I needed to know more. I needed to understand what these fragments were. Why did they matter so much?

I watched them for a little while longer, their conversation fading into a distant hum as my thoughts consumed me. They were all so confident, so sure of themselves. Meanwhile, I remained on the outside—unseen, unnoticed. Just a shadow.

But that would change. It had to.

I didn't know how, but I would find out what these fragments were. I would figure out why they mattered so much, and I would prove—if not to them, then to myself—that I wasn't a failure.

I had to.