Prologue – The Farm

At that age, you don't understand. You don't ask questions. The world is just the way it's given to you. And if the adults are smiling, everything must be fine, right?I was eleven.Everything was normal.Until that day.

The light was soft. Perfect. No shadows.

Frantz sat on the edge of a medical bench, his legs dangling above the tiled floor, bare feet swinging gently in the air. He wore a spotless short-sleeved shirt and dark green pants that fell neatly to his ankles. The standard uniform. Not a stain. Not a speck of dust.

His palms rested flat on the edge of the table. His back straight. He didn't move.

Everything was quiet, muffled, almost peaceful. Even the air seemed to slide through the room softly, as if it had been filtered not to disturb.

In front of him, a woman crouched.

She was smiling.

Her face was delicate, her features gentle. Her hair was tied up beneath a white cap, and she wore a pristine coat. On her badge, clearly visible at the child's eye level:

Nima – Emotional Interaction Supervisor (Grade II).

She held Frantz's shoes in her hands and spoke softly, her voice low and sing-song, almost motherly.

— "We're just going to check one little thing, alright? Nothing scary. You'll be out of here before you even realize."

She looked up at him, still smiling. Her movements were slow, careful. She placed one hand on his ankle, the other on his calf, and gently slipped the shoe off, like she was caring for a sleeping baby.

Frantz didn't look at her.

His eyes—too pale a blue for this world—were fixed on a spot deeper in the room.

In a clean, shadowed corner, a man in a white coat was preparing a set of instruments on a metal tray. His back was turned. His face was hidden. Only the faint, rhythmic sound of tools being arranged gave him away—a quiet, precise clicking.

The supervisor kept talking.

— "You know, when I was your age, I was terrified of doctors. I used to think they could read my mind."

She laughed softly, but Frantz didn't answer. He had turned his head, just slightly. Enough to get a better look at the man in the coat.

I didn't know what he was doing yet.But I knew he was preparing something.

She removed the second shoe, still kneeling, still speaking in that same gentle tone.

— "Your feet are perfect. That's rare, you know? Not too flat, not too arched. I'm sure they're very valuable."

Frantz felt a light draft on his toes. He didn't blink.

The doctor approached.

His face was neutral. Not harsh. Not kind. Just… absent.

He wore translucent gloves. In his right hand, he held something that looked almost like a pair of scissors—if not for its strange shape, curved like two interlocking shells.

He said nothing.

He knelt too, took Frantz's left foot gently between his fingers.

The supervisor turned her head, just slightly, but her smile didn't fade.

— "You're doing great, Frantz. I'm proud of you."

Only then did the boy understand.

His eyes widened a little. Not fear. Not yet.Just confusion. A flicker of doubt.

He didn't have time to ask anything.

The blades opened.

SNAP.

The sky was blue. A pure, vast blue — almost too perfect.

Not a cloud. Not a breeze. The morning light bathed the white walls of the farm in a soft golden glow. The air smelled faintly of orange blossom — a delicate, controlled scent, almost too sweet to be real.

Frantz was lying in the grass. It was a deep, even green, trimmed like a garden rug. His arms were folded behind his head, eyes half-closed, eyelids glowing with sunlight. His mind was empty.

Around him, the garden stretched out in careful symmetry — hedges cut to angles, paths laid out with not a leaf out of place. The trees offered shade, all spaced at precise intervals. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain sang softly, like something out of a palace courtyard.

But there were no adults. No shouting. No laughter from caregivers.

Only children.

And among them: Arri, who suddenly leapt over Frantz, landing on one knee with a huge grin on her face.

— "Are you really going to sleep through the whole morning? It's almost snack time! I heard we're getting candied fruit today! And Hermann said he's going to show us a monster…"

Frantz blinked slowly. She wore the same uniform as him — white shirt, dark green pants — but somehow, she made it feel alive. Her short red braid gleamed in the sunlight. Her golden eyes sparkled, always full of laughter.

— "What kind of monster?" he murmured, still halfway between sleep and waking.

— "The beast from Building D, obviously. You're not keeping up?"

— "It's probably another one of his silly games, Arri," said a quiet voice behind them.

Irene strolled up the path at her usual pace. Calm, maybe a little too composed for her age. Her silver hair fell gently around her face. Her eyes, darker than Arri's — her twin — carried a weight that didn't belong to a child.

She sat down beside them, folding her legs and placing her hands on her knees. She watched without a word.

— "You know, Irene," said Frantz as he sat up, "even if it's silly... it's not like we have anything better to do."

— "That's why I like you two," declared a louder voice behind them.

Hermann arrived at a sprint, dressed like them but with a makeshift cape tied around his neck — a dining cloth knotted like a royal sash.

He leapt in front of them, arms raised toward the sky, and shouted in his best theatrical tone:

— "Beware! Run while you still can! The beast from Building D has escaped! It devours socks… and disobedient children!"

Arri burst out laughing and ran to hide behind a tree. Irene smiled.Frantz watched his brother quietly, full of something like awe.

Hermann was taller, stronger. But he was always kind. His laugh sounded real — not trained, not taught. He had a way of making everything feel lighter. Like things could be okay, just for a moment.

He collapsed into the grass, dramatically acting out his death.

— "It's over for me… I've given it all… My final wish… bring me a slice of fig bread…"

Arri threw herself on top of him, giggling. Irene rolled her eyes.

Frantz sat next to them with a quiet smile.

There is cruelty all arround us, constantly, everyday, but most of the time, we refuse to see it. Or maybe we don't feel concerned ? The world has always been this way. and It was no different between these walls. 

They were all four lying in the grass, beneath the shade of a tree too perfectly trimmed to be wild.

Hermann had his arms spread wide.Arri was curled up against him, her head resting on his stomach.Irene sat with her knees pulled up to her chest.Frantz stared at the sky.

No one spoke.There was no need.It was one of those rare moments when nothing hurt.

Then they heard footsteps. Calm. Measured.

A woman approached along the gravel path.She wore a long white robe with wide sleeves. Her posture was straight, rigid. She held a brown leather folder tight to her chest, secured with a strap. A key, a whistle, and a gold-cornered notebook hung from her belt.

Her face was smooth. Not cold. Not kind. Just… professional.

She stopped three meters from them.

— "Hermann."

Her voice was clear. Polite. Emotionless.

He sat up instantly, without a word.Arri slipped a little off his side.He reached over and gently patted her head.

— "Come on, princess. You're crushing my stomach."

Arri looked up at him, still a little dazed.

— "You'll be back for snack time?"

Hermann didn't answer right away.He stood, brushed off his pants, and turned to Frantz.He ruffled his hair softly.

— "Keep an eye on them."

Frantz met his gaze. He wanted to speak, to say something, but nothing came out.

So he just nodded.

— "I'll tell them you won."

Hermann gave him a small smile. A real one.

— "Yeah. Tell them it was a giant monster. With crystal claws."

The woman had already turned around. She wasn't waiting.

Hermann followed without looking back.

— "Hermann!" Frantz called out, his fist clenched.

— "It's going to be fine," he said with a smile, before continuing on.

They disappeared between two hedges, cut at perfect right angles, swallowed by the scenery.

Silence settled over them again.

Arri sat up, arms wrapped around her knees. She stared at the place where he'd vanished.

— "That wasn't a joke, was it?"

Irene kept her eyes on the ground.

She didn't say anything.

Frantz sat back down, slowly.

He didn't speak either.

But he knew.

Hermann was my only brother.And even if Arri and Irene weren't bound to him by blood…He was like a brother to them too.

The room was large, bathed in soft white light. The ceiling arched high above, held by beams of painted steel. The smell wasn't blood. It was closer to wax, old wood, and chalk.

At the center stood a pedestal of white stone. Smooth. Cold.

Around it, several figures in long coats moved with quiet precision. They measured, took notes in heavy-bound ledgers, whispered brief comments. Some wore gloves, others held tools. No one seemed in a hurry.

Hermann entered the room without resisting. He walked straight, arms at his sides. His eyes took everything in, but he didn't ask a single question.

A woman approached him — the same one from earlier. She gave him a calm, almost encouraging smile.

— "You've been selected for something very special. A private commission. It's a rare opportunity, Hermann."

He didn't answer.

She helped him climb onto the pedestal without forcing him. As if seating him on a throne. Then she gestured to the assistants.

Two men in white stepped forward, carrying thin ropes. They tied his arms into a precise position: one extended forward, palm open, the other bent at the waist. A posture of welcome. Of peace.

— "Hold still, alright? It won't take long."

She looked up at him.

— "And… if you could smile a little? Just… a small smile?"

Hermann looked at her. Straight in the eyes.

He didn't say anything.

But he understood.

Behind him, a man adjusted a strange device — a long black rod connected to a box by twisted cords. At the tip, a fine nozzle, aimed right between his shoulder blades.

The weapon. The converter. The catalyst.

He could feel the vibration of Némalys in the air. A silent hum, impossible to notice unless you'd grown up around it.

So he smiled. Slowly. A soft, quiet smile.

And a tear slid down his cheek.

That was the last time I saw him.

CLACK.

No scream. No words.

Only a dull snap, swallowed by the thick walls.

And silence, once more.

Hermann's entire body turned to crystal — a solid mass of pure white stone, speckled with gold.

That stone, the strongest known in the world, was called Némalys.

The corridor stretched ahead — narrow, straight, perfectly even.

A single strip of lighting ran along the ceiling, casting a soft, flat glow with no shadows. The walls were smooth, pale, undecorated. The air smelled faintly of warm metal, clean linen, and that scent every child here learned to recognize early: fresh Némalys, just harvested. Subtle. Like heated glass. Clinging.

Every week, at the exact same time, the children from Frantz's section were brought here for their routine blood tests.

It was a procedure.

A fixed moment, repeated exactly, taught and rehearsed so well that no one ever thought to question it.

The younger ones — six, maybe seven years old — were led by the hand. The older ones — twelve to fourteen — walked on their own, lined up in pairs.Everyone wore the standard uniform: a short-sleeved white tunic, dark green trousers, a coarse fabric belt. Bare feet. Hair tied back. Straight posture.

Frantz was in the line.

They moved forward two by two, in silence, weaving through the corridor toward the blood collection room. Irene was behind him. Arri stood to his left.

All around them, children. Maybe thirty or so. All sizes, all shades of skin. The youngest whispered to each other; the older ones kept their eyes fixed ahead, just like they'd been taught.

The walls were dotted with small metal grates, and from them came, now and then, a voice, a soft beep, a clipped instruction:

— "Next."— "Left arm."— "Face the wall."

Each time a child disappeared through the door, another stepped up.And the one who came out said nothing, a white bandage wrapped around their elbow.

The corridor felt endless.

Frantz kept moving, step by step. The routine was well rehearsed. Everyone knew what to do. No one asked questions.

But today, something felt wrong.

Arri had gotten closer to him than usual. She didn't speak. She didn't smile. She held his arm, lightly, with just her fingertips.

And Irene, normally calm but present, stayed a step behind. Her head lower than it should have been.

They hadn't seen Hermann since that morning.

He'd been called. He'd left with one of the women in white.

And he hadn't come back.

— "Where's Hermann?" Arri whispered.

Her voice was barely audible. But it broke something in the air.

Frantz didn't answer right away. He stared at the back of the child in front of him. He heard a soft scrape on the floor. The dull sound of a stool being pulled out. Then again:

— "Next."

A boy stepped into the room.

Arri's grip tightened.

— "He was supposed to be here this morning. Remember? He said we'd race after. He promised…"

Her voice wasn't whiny. Just lost. Like she was asking someone to remind her what was still real.

Behind them, Irene lowered her head even more. Her hands were trembling, just a little.

Frantz felt something knot in his throat. He wanted to speak. He didn't know how.

So he said what he had to.

— "He went to fight a monster."

Arri looked up at him.

— "A monster?"

He nodded softly, lips barely parted.

— "Yeah. A huge one. With crystal claws."

Arri blinked, surprised. Then she gave a small smile — hesitant, fragile.

— "And… he's going to win?"

Frantz kept his eyes straight ahead. Swallowed hard. Then said:

— "He already did."

Silence.

Arri straightened a little. Her smile stayed. Fragile. Unreal. But still there.

Behind them, Irene turned her face toward the wall. A tear slid down her cheek.

I lied. Because that's what he asked me to do.

The sunlight stung their eyes for a moment.

Children were scattered across the grass, some sitting on benches, others walking slowly, the way they had been taught — not too fast, not too slow.

Frantz stepped out first, a small white bandage wrapped around his arm. Irene and Arri followed, in the same state. No one spoke. Even the younger ones kept their heads down.

They walked over to sit under the same tree as that morning. The same spot.

But the air wasn't the same.

Arri crouched down in silence, twisting a lock of her red hair between her fingers. Irene sat cross-legged, eyes distant. She wasn't crying, but Frantz could see the tension in her shoulders — like she was waiting for the ground to split open beneath them.

A few seconds passed. Still and slow.

Then Arri looked up.

— "When is he coming back?"

Frantz didn't answer right away. He felt a tight knot rise in his throat.

— "Frantz?" she asked again. "He said he'd meet us after, didn't he?"

He clenched his jaw. Lowered his eyes.

— "He won," he said softly. "You remember that monster he mentioned this morning? The one from Building D?"

Arri nodded slowly.

— "He took it down," said Frantz. "He beat it. That's why… he's not coming back."

Arri didn't reply. But her lips trembled.

Then she nodded again.

Irene looked away. She had known all along.And now that Frantz had finished the lie with such gentle care, she couldn't hold it back any longer.

Her shoulders shook. Her face disappeared into her arms. And the sobs came — quiet at first, then clearer, more real.

Frantz reached out. He pulled her in, holding her carefully. He didn't have any words. Just his warmth. His arms wrapped around the two girls beside him.

They all knew.

Even if they didn't say it. Even if they pretended.

He closed his eyes.

A scream split the air.

Every child in the yard froze.

Frantz looked up. Arri turned toward the administrative wing. Irene didn't move, but her grip on Frantz's hand tightened.

A group of four people in white walked across the courtyard.

At the center: a young woman. Maybe twenty. Twenty-one, at most.

Tall. Slim. Crying.

She was struggling, but without strength. Like she already knew it was useless. Her legs buckled. Her feet dragged against the ground.

— "No… no, please… not now, please don't…"

Two men held her by the arms, firmly, but not roughly. They moved forward like they were escorting a nervous patient. Calm. Silent.

A young man, maybe the same age, rushed in from the far side of the yard. He shouted her name. His feet pounded the stones like he was running for someone else's life.

— "Wait! Stop! Take me instead!"

He tried to reach her. One of the men in white raised a hand. Not a violent move. Just a simple, mechanical stop.

The boy collapsed to his knees, breathless.

— "You can't do this… not her…"

Frantz didn't move. But something tightened inside his chest.

Like something had just shifted — something that wouldn't shift back.

A woman followed the group. Her long white robe swept the ground behind her. Her posture was straight. Her expression serene. A gold brooch shimmered on her chest: Senior Administrator.

She flipped through a leather folder. The writing was neat, regular. She turned a page, smoothed the next, then spoke to one of the men holding the girl.

— "Unstable density," she said simply.— "Resonance levels dropping over three consecutive readings."— "No remaining aesthetic value. Out of standard calibration."

She looked up briefly.

— "Secondary assignment. Tool designation."

Then she smiled. Faintly. Almost apologetically.

— "Proceed."

The boy on the ground screamed. The girl called his name.

But the men in white didn't stop.

They kept walking. Steady. Unshaken.

And the courtyard exhaled.

The other children lowered their eyes, went back to what they were doing.

As if nothing had happened.

Frantz didn't move.

Are we born human?Or do we become it?

And them…The ones who kept walking without saying a word…

Had they already forgotten?

Or had they never been?

In the shared dormitory, the sound of breathing had slowly faded into silence.A thick silence, broken only by the faint glow of the wall-mounted nightlights.

And then—

The click of a lock.The overhead lights flicked on all at once. Harsh. White.

Frantz opened his eyes.

He hadn't been asleep.

Footsteps. Steady. Getting closer.

A figure in a white robe entered the room. A night supervisor.She held a leather-bound paper register in her hands.She stopped in front of their row of beds.

Her voice was calm. Mechanical. Almost a whisper.

— "Up. Arri. Irene. Frantz. Subject 044. Subject 027. Subject 093. Line up."

Behind her, two men in white stood waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, some were called.Not always the same. Sometimes one. Sometimes small groups.No one ever said where they were going.

But everyone knew.

They followed the supervisor out of the dorm.

The hallway was cold. The lighting dimmer than usual.Other children were coming too, from other wings of the compound.All barefoot. All silent.

They walked in a line. Slowly. Like a procession.

The building they were led into wasn't the usual medical wing.Here, the walls were plain, painted in a dull gray.The lights flickered faintly, tired.The guards behind them didn't make a sound. Their steps barely echoed.

At the end of the corridor, a set of double doors.

Frantz recognized it. He'd never gone through, but he knew.All the children knew.

Behind it — the transformation tests.

He felt Arri's fingers tighten around his. She didn't look at him, but she wouldn't let go.

Irene, on his other side, walked tall. Shoulders tense, rigid.She understood. She had for a long time.

The line came to a stop.A guard stepped forward near the doors.His voice was soft.

— "First group."

Five children stepped out of line.Frantz watched them go in.

They didn't look different from the others.But something in the way their backs moved — narrower, stiff.Their breathing, shallow.

The door closed behind them.

Silence returned.

Then came the sounds.

Not screams. Not exactly.

Muffled noises. Sharp thuds. A choked cry, cut off too fast.Then nothing. Then another, further away.

Frantz's heartbeat picked up.

Arri was trembling. He felt her damp hand slipping slightly in his.

She whispered, without looking up:

— "Do you think it's going to hurt?"

He wanted to answer.

But he didn't have the strength to lie.

So he just held her hand a little tighter.

That's how it always was, here.The adults said we had to be brave.But they never told us why.

The door opened softly.

— "Frantz Varrel," called a voice, calm and clear.

He flinched.

Not from fear. Not yet. But because she had said his name.Not his number.

Arri's grip suddenly tightened. He looked at her.

She didn't speak. But her eyes were screaming.

— "You'll come back soon, right?" she whispered.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to smile.But he didn't know how to lie like Hermann.

So he just shrugged. Barely.

— "It'll be quick."

He glanced at Irene. She didn't move.But in her eyes, he saw that she knew.

Frantz let go of Arri's hand.

And stepped forward.

Two steps.

Then four.

He crossed the threshold.

The room was cold.

Not freezing. Just cold enough to feel too exposed.

At the center stood a white table. A low bench, no cushion.

A man in a white coat was working in the back, his back turned.A woman was already seated on a stool, a notebook resting on her knees.She smiled as he entered.

— "Hello, Frantz. Right on time."

He didn't answer.

She tapped the edge of the bench.

— "Come sit. It'll be over before you know it."

He walked slowly.

His feet stuck slightly to the floor, damp with sweat.

He sat down.

The bench was cold.

The woman crouched to meet his gaze. She had dark hair tied at the back of her head. A small badge on her sleeve read: Soft Supervisor – Awakening Division.

— "Do you know why you're here?" she asked.

He nodded.

She tilted her head slightly, as if surprised.

— "Can you tell me, in your own words?"

He hesitated.

— "To... check if I'm ready."

— "Exactly," she said with a smile.— "You're a very special boy. You've never had any issues, have you? We've always had good reports about you."

Frantz didn't say anything.

The man in the white coat approached silently.

In his hand, an object.Not a syringe.Not a medical tool.

His body tensed, even if he didn't yet know why.

The woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

— "It'll be alright. It's nothing. You'll see."

The doctor knelt down, took hold of his foot.

With a practiced motion, he gently spread the toes.

Frantz blinked.

— "Wait…"

The woman kept smiling. But she looked away.

— "It'll be quick, Frantz."

Then he understood.

— "No, wait. This is a mistake, isn't it? Don't you need to—"

SNAP.

He screamed.

The sound was short, strangled.Not so much from pain — but from shock.

Blood welled up instantly, bright red against the white tiles.

The doctor was already pressing a cloth to the wound.

The woman held him by the shoulders — gently, not tightly.

— "It's over. It's over, okay? You did very well."

Frantz was out of breath. His foot was burning. His throat clenched tight.A cry escaped him, swallowed by the walls.

The doctor dropped the severed toe into a small metal dish.It began to transform — turning crystalline, solid, white with a faint golden sheen.

Némalys.

The man picked it up delicately, took his tools, and began to examine it.

Frantz limped out, a crutch under one arm, his left foot wrapped in white cloth already soaked through with red.

He was in pain.But he didn't say anything.

His face was pale, tense.Not from the injury — but from what he knew.

The line hadn't moved.

Arri and Irene were still there, right where he had left them.

When she saw him, Arri immediately leaned toward him.

— "Frantz… what did they do to you?"

He wanted to answer. To find a word. Any word. But nothing came.

So he shook his head, faintly.

Arri was about to press him, but then the voice came:

— "Arri. Irene. Your turn."

The two girls froze.

Arri slowly turned to the guard.

— "Now? But… I mean, we just got here…"

She glanced at Frantz.

Her face shifted. The panic arrived all at once.

— "It's not the same thing, right? What they did to you? Tell me it's not the same."

Irene lowered her eyes.

Frantz felt his breath catch.

— "No. Wait."

He dropped his crutch. Took a step. His foot bled more, but he didn't care.

— "You can't… not them."

The guards stepped closer.

— "Get back in line," one of them said.

— "You don't have the right. They're not ready."

Frantz stood in front of the girls.

— "Touch them and I'll—"

He didn't get to finish.

Two strong arms grabbed him.He was pushed back — not violently, but firmly.His back hit the wall. He tried to fight.

— "LET GO OF ME!"

Irene stared at him. She wasn't crying.Arri just stood there, frozen. She didn't understand. Not yet.

He screamed again. Clawed at the floor. Twisted.

But they moved him aside.

Frantz was on the ground.A heavy hand on his shoulder, another on his chest.He'd stopped struggling. Not because he didn't want to fight. But because he knew it was useless.

He looked up.

They were right there, in front of him.

Arri, stiff as a branch, fists clenched to her chest.Irene, standing tall, her face locked in place — almost calm.But her eyes kept searching for his.

One of the guards held out a hand.

— "Let's go. It's time."

Arri stepped back.

— "No… I don't want to…"

No one answered.

She looked at Frantz. Her eyes wide, shining, like she was waiting for him to say something. To stop it.

He opened his mouth. But no sound came.

Irene stepped forward first.

She took Arri's hand.

— "It's okay. We'll stay together, alright?"

Arri didn't reply. She nodded quickly. She was shaking.

Frantz tried to sit up.

— "Wait. Wait, let me… I…"

They pushed him back gently. Not harshly. Just enough to remind him he couldn't do anything.

The two girls walked past him. Slowly.

Just before Arri stepped through the doorway, she turned.

She looked him straight in the eye.

— "You told me he won, right?"

Frantz clenched his jaw.

— "Yeah," he whispered.

— "Then we'll win too."

The door closed.

And he was left there.Sitting on the floor, breath short, chest hollow.

Frantz got back up. Slowly. Blood trickled down his foot. He didn't care.

The door was shut.

His two best friends were on the other side.

And he hadn't done a thing.

Until now.

He glanced at the two remaining guards.

One of them — a younger man — was bending down to pick up the crutch he'd dropped.

Frantz took a breath.

Then, without thinking, he lunged forward.

He grabbed the crutch, raised it with both hands, and struck.

A sharp crack. Wood against skull. The man dropped instantly.

The second guard turned, but only halfway.

Too late.

Frantz was already running. Limping. But running.

He slammed into the door. Locked. He pounded on it. Screamed.

— "IRENE!! ARRI!!"

His fists hit the door again. And again.

He threw it open with all his weight.

Inside, Arri was strapped to the table. Motionless.Irene stood beside her, eyes wide with shock.

The doctor stood in front of them, scissors already in hand.

He turned as the door burst open.

Frantz limped in, foot bleeding, crutch in hand, eyes burning.

— "STOP!!"

The doctor froze for a second.

Then turned toward the supervisor.

— "Who let him in?"

Frantz was trembling.

— "Touch her again and I'll break you in half."

His voice was dry. Sharp.

He stepped forward.With every step, a new drop of blood.

Irene looked at Arri.Arri looked at Frantz.No one moved.

I didn't know what I was doing.I just knew I couldn't let them do it.

The doctor raised his hand.

A guard entered behind Frantz. Then another. And another.

They grabbed him. Slammed him to the ground.He screamed.

— "NO!! NO!! THEY DON'T DESERVE THIS!!"

The blade inched closer.

Arri shut her eyes.

Frantz thrashed wildly.

— "SHE'S NOT READY!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!"

And then—

CLANG. A low, metallic thud.

Then another.Then the siren.

Alert.

The lights turned red. The alarm blared through the entire building.

A voice echoed over the loudspeakers, calm but firm:

"Intrusion code. West sector. Isolate priority subjects. Protocol 73."

The guards froze.The doctor stepped back.

An explosion rang out in the distance.Then another. Closer.

A guard appeared in the hallway, out of breath, mouth half open.Then another.And behind them—

Someone came running.

He wasn't wearing white.

That was the first thing Frantz noticed.Dark clothes. Torn. Covered in dust.A stain in a world that was too clean.

The first guard tried to react. Raised an arm.But the man was already on him.

He didn't speak.He struck — right to the throat.

The guard collapsed without a sound.

Another reached for something on his belt. Too slow.

The man turned, hit him in the shoulder, and slammed him against the wall without breaking stride.The body slid to the floor.

It happened fast.Frantz saw everything.But he couldn't process it.

Then the grip on him loosened.

And a hand landed on his shoulder.

— "Can you walk?"

The voice was rough. Not harsh. Just urgent.

Frantz nodded. He didn't think. He lied.He didn't know if he could walk.

— "Up."

The man pulled him — not violently, just firmly enough to keep him steady.

He stepped past Arri. Stopped. Untied the straps.

Irene looked at him. Didn't move. Then reached out her hand.

They ran into the hallway together.

The red lights blinked on the walls.Children ran. Some fell.Guards shouted orders.No one listened.

Frantz limped.Arri gripped his hand like she might lose him.Irene walked ahead, lips parted, eyes wide.

There was no more order. No more polish.Everything shook. Everything screamed.

But for the first time,Frantz breathed.

Even with the pain in his foot. Even with the blood. Even with the fear.

He breathed.

And he ran.

That was the day the world changed for me.I didn't know where we were going. Or what would happen to us.

But I knew one thing:

That world wasn't made for us.