Where Courage Costs Your Life

In Kael's world, corruption wasn't a flaw in the system.

It was the system.

He was born and raised in High Sky, a forgotten town buried between gray mountains and broken roads.

There, life had no worth.

There, every person wore their destiny on their skin: a number tattooed on the forearm, branding their place in society.

Kael carried the number 1.

The lowest stratum.

Being a One meant no rights.

No school.

No future.

Only hunger, debt… and silence.

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That morning, standing before a cracked mirror, Kael adjusted a cheap black suit. It wasn't stylish. It didn't fit perfectly. But it was clean.

And in High Sky, clean was rare enough to pretend dignity.

He stared into his own eyes.

Empty.

Tired.

But still alive.

"One more day," he muttered. His voice was dry. Mechanical.

He dabbed on some knockoff cologne, slipped into his worn-out shoes, and stepped out into the bitter wind.

The door creaked shut behind him with the sigh of someone used to being ignored.

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The bicycle shop was just a few blocks away. The owner, an old man with skin like dried bark, didn't even glance up from his newspaper.

"The usual?" he grunted.

"Yeah… How much today?"

"One hundred liros."

Kael frowned. "What? It was sixty two days ago."

The man snorted. "Governor raised taxes. You think I'm enjoying this?"

Kael clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Arguing wouldn't change a damn thing.

He handed over the coins.

"Here."

The man grunted again.

Kael took the bike and pedaled off, the cold morning wind slicing at his skin like razors.

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The journey was hell.

Three hours on a rusted bicycle through dead land and fog-choked roads.

The world was silent. Colorless. Just mud, gravel, and twisted trees that looked like corpses clawing at the sky.

By the time he reached San Boreal, his legs were shaking.

He had barely chained the bicycle to a rusted pole when a voice stabbed through the air like a whip.

"Kael! You're late again, you useless rat!"

His boss.

A greasy man with sunburnt skin and a permanent sneer.

Kael lowered his head.

"It was only a few minutes—"

"One hundred liros off!" the man barked, showing his yellow teeth. "Next time, maybe I'll dock your whole pay."

Kael clenched his fists so tightly they trembled. But all he could say was:

"…Yes, sir."

He turned away and headed to the fruit stand.

Twelve hours of labor without rest awaited him.

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By nightfall, Kael's body was a crumbling husk. His hands were numb. His stomach hollow.

He picked up the bike and began the long, frozen ride back.

But fate had something worse planned.

Out of the fog, a man stepped into the road and slammed a boot into Kael's chest.

He hit the ground hard, pain exploding in his knees.

Before he could recover, the stranger jumped on the bicycle and vanished into the mist.

Kael staggered up and tried to run after him.

But his legs betrayed him.

He collapsed into the dirt and pounded the ground with both fists.

"DAMN YOU!

DAMN THIS SHITTY WORLD!"

The wind swallowed his voice like it always did.

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He kept walking.

Limping through the dark, too exhausted to feel anything except fury.

Then—

A scream.

Sharp. Terrified.

It came from the forest just off the road.

He could've ignored it.

He should've.

But something inside him… moved.

He stepped into the shadows between the trees.

And found hell.

A large man was beating a woman into the dirt. She was barely conscious. Her arms twitched as she tried to protect herself.

"Please… anyone…" she whispered.

Kael looked around and spotted a thick branch.

His fingers wrapped around it without thinking.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Get away from her!"

The man turned, knife in hand, eyes blazing.

"You've got a death wish, freak?"

He charged.

Kael hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Then he moved.

He ducked, then slammed the stick into the man's skull with everything he had.

A sickening thud.

The attacker crumpled. Face-first. Motionless.

Kael's arms dropped.

He was shaking.

He stumbled toward the man and pressed trembling fingers to his neck.

No pulse.

His stomach turned to ice.

"No…"

He backed away, horror rising in his throat.

Then his eyes landed on the man's forearm.

The tattoo.

A 3.

Third stratum. A citizen. Higher than him.

"Gods…" Kael whispered. "They're going to execute me…"

His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the dirt, breathing like he was drowning.

And for the first time in years…

He was truly afraid.