Marked For execution

Yuta held the magic dagger with all his strength. His despair was palpable in his eyes, sweat dripped from his forehead, even with the freezing air.

The fresh blood on the blade dominated the environment. He did not smell it; his only focus was to pierce his own heart. His arms trembled with the fear of failure.

He wanted. He wished to be human.

In pure brutality, he drove the blade into his chest once again. The pain made the blood escape through his mouth. He pulled the dagger from inside himself — but there was no wound at all. Everything regenerated. The fear of failure devoured him inside.

He squeezed the hilt tighter, as if he could break it. All to crush his own heart.

But time did not give him another chance. The magic circles dissipated under his feet. The daggers were forced to leave the arms of each young person, returning to the floating boxes that looked like grimoires.

The ceremony ended.

In Yuta's hands, there was no longer the dagger. Wide-eyed, he stared at his own arms, painted with blood. The nervousness left him motionless. On his knees, without saying a word, tears dripped as his arms hung from side to side, as if there were no bones in them anymore.

In front of him, the small beast watched him. The golden eyes, the same as its skin, shone strangely. Inside that gaze, there was something: relief. Before, every time Yuta pierced his chest, the lizard also trembled with a small despair inside the golden eyes.

Now, it was different.

The hall plunged into silence.

From the top of the altar, the mage watched him with contempt — a failure, a flaw, a mistake that provoked hatred. Among ninety-nine young people, only one stood out as an existential aberration: the first failure since the origin of the ceremonies with the beasts.

The mage fixed his gaze, but from so high he did not even see Yuta's beast — too small to be noticed from a distance.

Whispers from the other teenagers spread through the hall, mocking the failure.

The old mage raised the crooked staff towards Yuta. Blue circles covered in runes appeared, surrounding his feet.

The mage, bearer of a Dominant-class beast, materialized as his Góia, floated through the air, leaving the altar, approaching Yuta.

Yuta's beast crawled into his pocket, hiding like a living rope.

Meanwhile, Yuta was motionless. He knew the ritual happened only once. He knew he had lost his only chance to fulfill his dream of being accepted as human. He knew he still carried the heart — a crime.

The eyes of the shirtless teenagers, ready to become human, followed the mage who floated toward the failure. The cloaks floated, touching the floor. The magic was undone.

Silence.

The staff struck the ground beside Yuta. The sound echoed through the restless hall.

— Go and enjoy your humanity, forgetting the imperfection of being bearers of a heart. Be citizens of this society.

— You are dismissed.

Without questioning, the teenagers put on their shirts and left the ritual hall, exiting through the right side door.

But the whispers continued. Mocking smiles fell upon the failure kneeling, with the beast hidden in his pocket.

The ninety-nine proud ones left. Silence returned. The mage was now face to face with the green-haired boy.

Yuta shed tears of disappointment, mixed with the anger that pulsed in his veins. He already knew what his fate would be.

The mage did not hesitate. He approached, looked at him like an aberration — a being to be eliminated immediately for still carrying a heart at seventeen years old, even after participating in the ceremony of humanized perfection. He spat on him.

— You failed in a ceremony where no one ever failed. Your existence is a threat to society, to the government, to the sacred beings.

He continued:

— For still being a bearer of a heart at seventeen, your execution will be immediate. Thus, society will not feel insecure.

One word was enough. Something in Yuta's pocket moved. The lizard felt the mage's coldness. The beast's eyes trembled with fear — clear fear of death.

From the left side door of the hall, footsteps echoed. Two men, dressed in black, with the silver symbol of the Góia on their uniforms, appeared. They were government agents.

Without permission, they grabbed Yuta's arms. He did not react, did not resist. He was taken out of the hall.

Outside, the burning sun scorched the skin. The landscape revealed the ceremony temple, built high on the mountain, with the modern city in the background — buildings, streets, impeccable urbanism.

To there, Yuta was taken by the men in black, the mark of the Góia shining on their clothes.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

After arriving at the destination, Yuta was in another place.

Darkness covered him. Damp dungeon walls. Sunlight entered in thin beams through the holes.

He was imprisoned underground, awaiting execution.

He rested his hands on the cold walls. The iron bars, rusty, were still as strong as steel.

The beast slid from the pocket, crawling to his neck. Its empty gaze meant nothing to him. Yuta only needed it for the ritual.

Now he was there, trapped between walls he had never know

n.

And he knew. The beast's expression knew too.

The execution was about to come.