Meeting An Elite

The heavy door swings open, and I step inside.

The first thing that strikes me is the tidiness. For all the power and status an elite holds, I expected something more grandiose, suffocating, draped in excess. Instead, the office is surprisingly neat, almost scholarly. Dark wooden shelves line the walls, each one packed with books, their spines worn but carefully arranged. A simple desk sits at the center of the room, its surface clear save for a single stack of papers and an inkwell. Even the air is different, with no lingering scent of incense or depression from the halls I was just dragged through, just the faint smell of parchment and aged wood. It was nice. 

And then, sitting behind the desk, is the man of the hour.

I recognize him immediately. The same blonde-haired prick, Elite, who arrested me. The same one who launched me across the street with a swipe of his hands. Up close, he seems even younger than I remembered early twenties, 23 years old max, modest stature, around 5'9. His blonde hair is neatly kept but slightly tousled, as if he doesn't care enough to fix it properly. But it's his eyes that stand out the most: disgustingly bright blue like I remember, sharp, intelligent, and amused. Like he already knows exactly what I'm thinking. Like he's enjoying the fact that I have no idea what happens next.

I keep my expression neutral, but my gaze flicks past him, drawn to something mounted on the wall behind his desk. A rifle.

For a second, I just stare. A gun, seriously? I snort to myself; this guy fancies himself a collector. 

Guns were once the weapon of choice like five centuries ago, before the first Imperial King set foot on Avrael's shores, flanked by his cohort of Elites. Back then, sure, guns ruled the battlefield. But against an Awakened Elite gifted with their mark of power, near superhuman speed, and reflexes beyond human limits, bullets became nothing more than slow-moving nuisances.

And as the Empire expanded, close quarters combat became the standard across the continent. Blades, magic, and raw physical power replaced firearms entirely. Long-range attacks still exist, of course, but only in the form of siege weapons and city-leveling bombardments. Guns? Relics of the past, it's honestly ridiculous he would have one hanging up. And since he's an elite, it's even stranger. The elites see themselves as demigods. Shepherds of humanity, destined to lead the world into some glorious new Golden Age. At least, that's the nonsense King Malik and his damned Inquisitors beat into them at the Academy to convince the damned fools to go and die for him. They believe in honor and duty, blah blah blah. I'll puke thinking about it. Honor is nothing but a word powerful bastards invented to make young fools die and kill for them. Its nothing but a chain that wraps around their necks making them slaves. Similar to the way the Imperial sigil is a serpent that kills by strangling. What fitting irony.

It's also amusing that no one in this country talks about the fact that other nations have their own versions of elites. Well, I suppose that's not true; the Imperial Family simply dismisses them, claiming they aren't blessed by the "true" Gods and have no right to wield the power bestowed upon them from the Rite of Manifestation.

Fanatics. I hate them.

"Surprised?" His voice is smooth and casual, as if we were old acquaintances rather than prisoner and captor. His voice tears me away from my thoughts, and I meet his gaze. I don't answer. 

He leans back in his chair, that faint smirk never leaving his lips. "Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. "We have much to discuss, Ayato. My name is Cain. Pleased to meet you."

I sneer, "How do you know my name?" 

Cain folds his hands over his stomach as he watches me. He's still wearing that same amused expression.

"Of course, we know who you are," he says with a hint of humor lacing his voice. "Did you really think you could burglarize multiple houses in this city without someone selling you out? Come on now, you're smarter than that."

I snort, tilting my head in mock despair. "I was hoping for at least a little professional courtesy among my fellow city rats."

Cain chuckles, shaking his head. "You overestimate people's loyalty and underestimate their greed." His fingers tap lightly against the desk. "But that's not the only reason I wanted to meet you."

"Oh?" I lean back in my chair, copying him, feigning nonchalance. "I was starting to think you just enjoyed throwing kids into prison cells after brutalizing them."

For the first time, his smirk fades slightly. "I won't lie; I actually felt bad about how hard I hit you. I don't make a habit of giving people concussions over theft, believe it or not. I'm not used to having to use such little power to subdue someone." His gaze sharpens. "But anyways when I saw your name in the report after I took you in, WOW man, you have a story, huh?"

My eye twitches in barely suppressed anger, but I keep my expression neutral. I refuse to give this pompous bastard the satisfaction of upsetting me. 

Cain watches me carefully, the hint of amusement back in his voice. "The child of executed traitors… the ones who harbored enemy elites." He exhales, shaking his head. "I didn't expect that."

"You were lucky to avoid capture when they came to take your parents; they would have sent you up river to work in the mines until you were 16 if you lived that long." 

A sharp, bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. "Yeah? Must've been such a shock for you." I give him a mockingly thoughtful look. "So, what now? Public execution? Branding? Oh, let me guess, you're going to have me flogged in the city square for dramatic effect and then hanged just like Ma and Pops?" 

Cain doesn't take the bait. He just smirks again, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "No, Ayato. Nothing so dramatic." He leans forward slightly. "Normally, for someone in your position, we'd sentence you to hard labor, as a child of convicted traitors and a criminal yourself you don't do yourself many favors as an upstanding citizen. A few years of breaking stone in the mines would be the norm here. But…" He tilts his head. "You're almost 16 now, so I have a better idea." 

I scoff, "Lucky me."

"You're going to be my servant."

That takes me off guard. I expected pain, suffering, maybe even death. But his servant what the fuck does he take me for? Do I really deserve such humiliation?

I laugh out loud, genuine tears of humor coming out of my eyes. "Oh, wonderful. Do I get a uniform? Maybe a fancy little hat?"

Cain just smiles at my display. "You'll serve me until you turn sixteen." He leans back again, watching my reaction. "And when that time comes, I'll personally oversee your Rite of Manifestation."

He must notice my surprise because his smile widens his blue eyes glinting with mirth. "I have a good feeling about you, Ayato. I think you'll be blessed with a mark."

I laugh in disbelief, shaking my head. "Great. So, I get to play housekeeper for a pompous elite until I'm old enough to be judged by the gods. That's just so perfect."

Cain chuckles. "It's better than the mines, don't you think, boy?"

I don't answer. Because as much as I hate to admit it… he's right.

"Wait a second" I say perplexed. "Do you even know when my birthday is?"

Cain tilts his head, looking genuinely puzzled. "Of course I do. Just because you went and played ghost in the outskirts for a few years doesn't mean we don't have records of you. Your parents registered your birth with the Church, like everyone else." He waves a lazy hand. "Didn't take long to send a scribe over to the archives and pull the only file with the name Ayato on it in the entire city."

I snort in derision. "Great. So all that effort staying off the radar, and I got caught because my parents actually followed the law for once how rich. 

Cain chuckles. "Should of used an alias" 

I roll my eyes but internally cursed myself for being so naïve.

I cross my arms, leveling Cain with a skeptical look. "And what if I'm not chosen? What happens then?"

Cain shrugs, completely unfazed. "Then I release you from my service. You'll be free to go." He smirks, tapping his fingers against his desk. "But I wouldn't worry about that. I have a good feel for these things; you'll be chosen."

I scoff, not even bothering to hide my contempt. "Oh, well, if the great Cain says so, then it must be true."

He just chuckles, shaking his head. "You'll see soon enough."

I bite back another sarcastic remark and glance away. I'm pushing my luck talking to him like this anyways; I'm kind of surprised he hasn't killed me already. My mind returns to his comment of letting me go. If he's wrong on this, I can leave. Back to my life of hiding in the shadows. 

But if he's right?

Then I'm as good as damned. Because if Cain gets his wish, I won't just be his servant; I'll be shipped off to Lusa, straight into the heart of the Empire, to be trained at the Imperial Academy for Elites.

And once I'm there, escape won't be an option.