The Captain

Sezel exhaled, closing his eyes. Well, there was nothing he could do about it anymore. The slums had taught him one truth: what's done is done. Dwelling on the past changed nothing; there is no point thinking much about it.

He slipped into the fresh clothes, the fabric soft against his scarred skin, a stark contrast to the rags he wore before. With a final glance at the mirror looking at those alien red eyes staring back he stepped out of the bathroom. Two new soldiers awaited, rifles slung across their dark uniforms.

'Tsk, do they think I will run?'

He gave a frustrated look to the soldiers, who mimicked his expression. They walked in front, leading him somewhere like a criminal being escorted.

Sezel realized that he would not have been able to go anywhere without the soldiers' help because all the signs were written in a different language. For a brief moment, Sez felt that his anger towards them was not rationalized, but he threw it away like a tiny rock.

'Nah, what am I thinking, they are the enemy.'

While Sezel was busy with his internal turmoil, they reached another door, but this one exuded a different kind of presence. There was a board above the gate and something was written in bold letters.

Sezel felt a little nervous looking at the door. The soldiers turned and stood straight on both sides of the gate with their backs against the wall, leaving a clear path for him to walk in.

He hesitated, then knocked. A voice called out in the foreign tongue, sharp and commanding. Sezel glanced at the soldiers, confused. 'Is he asking to go in or not?'

One soldier grimaced, shoving the door open and gesturing him inside.

Sezel peeked through the corner of the room. A cold gust swept out, brushing Sezel's face, carrying a faint metallic tang. He stepped in, eyes wide with awe. The room was pristine—gleaming white walls, a polished desk at the center, and wide windows revealing the garden outside. It was a world far from the decay Sezel had seen all his life.

"Oh, so it's you. Come on in." The sunglasses man from earlier was sitting leisurely on a chair that was spinning around. His brown hair swayed, framing his face, his sunglasses glinting under the room's soft lights. He halted it with a soft nudge of his foot and fixed his gaze on Sezel.

Sez felt a weird chill press down on him under the man's gaze.

"Come on, sit here," the man pointed at the chair right in front of his desk. Sezel obeyed, sinking into it, his short frame barely reaching the floor. He wondered how high this man's position was in this place. Apparently, he was at one of the top levels of hierarchy.

"So, uh…" The man clicked his pen, his tone disarmingly casual. "What's your name, for starters?"

Sezel kept staring at his face. He wanted to ask a main question from this man: how did he deduce Sezel's right language at the first glance? But he chose to answer his questions instead.

He met his gaze, red eyes burning. "Sezel," he said, voice steady.

The man scribbled on a paper, then looked up. "Last name?"

Sezel squinted his eyes. Last name? No one had asked him that before, and in truth, he didn't have one. The slums didn't deal in such luxuries. Orphans had no lineage, no legacy.

"I don't have one," he said, then added, softer, "Or maybe I just don't know." A reminder of his nothingness.

The man nodded, jotting something down, his pen's scratch the only sound. A barrage of questions followed, age, origin, family—all met with Sezel's grim silence or vague shrugs. He didn't know his birthdate or anything much beyond the slums' hunger.

The man paused and leaned back, his sunglasses reflecting Sezel's pale face. "Now, the real questions," he said, his voice sharpening.

Sezel gulped, feeling the pressure. 'What does he want to ask now?'

"What happened with you?" the man simply asked.

The words hung like a blade. Sezel's mind erupted into chaos. "What happened to me?" he repeated, voice trembling. The Spirit Realm's horrors, beasts, Black Knights, the black pond—flashed before him. How could he explain something even he didn't understand?

The man leaned back on his chair, pondering to the heavens. "Let's just ask, where did you come from?"

Sezel opened his mouth hesitantly, "I... I came from... the slums. But then I got lost in the Spirit Realm and don't know how I ended up here."

The man's eyes squinted. "Are you sure?" he said.

"Yes," Sezel snapped, defiance flaring. "But I'm human."

The man didn't say anything. He slid the paper across the desk, Sezel's sparse answers scrawled in neat lines, then called the soldiers in, barking orders in their tongue. They flanked Sezel, rifles ready, as he rose. At the door, Sezel turned, a question burning. "What do I call you?"

The man gave him an indifferent look and said in a calm tone, "You can call me Captain Raelion," he said, rising from his chair.

He reached into a drawer, retrieving a small, button-like device, and walked towards Sezel. "Here." He pressed it into Sezel's hand. "A translating device. Put it in your ear. It'll let you understand them."

Sezel stared, incredulous. A device to bridge languages? He had never heard of such a thing existing. It was a miracle.

Sezel hesitantly put the thing in his ear. Surprisingly, it was a perfect fit and felt like a cotton ball—so light and comfortable.

Captain Raelion tapped it, and a voice spoke in the foreign tongue, then shifted to Sezel's language.

"So, do you understand what I am saying now?" the captain spoke. Sezel's jaw dropped. The captain's words echoed in his left ear in the alien tongue, but in his right, clear as day, came the translation.

"It's amazing." Sezel jumped in excitement. He had witnessed one of the best things of his life yet.

Raelion's expression darkened. "Take him to the assessment room," he told the soldiers. "Test if he's Awakened and what Rank."

Sezel's grin faded, dread coiling. Assessment?

Walking through the corridor, Sezel thought of only one thing, his mind chaotic. 'If I am an Awakened, what Rank am I? What am I capable of?'

Just before he lost consciousness in the Spirit Realm, he heard the voice claiming that he had received a Fable, but he was unaware of what that meant.

He now stood in front of the room where he would be assessed, and the rest of his life would depend on the results of the assessment.

He gulped hard and pushed the door open.