Aliyya_Olowolagba

Four hundred years ago, a man named Vasilus stole a crown and drowned an empire in blood.

When he finally died stabbed by on hairpin of a woman he’d raped  the priests said his sins were too great for hell alone to deal with.

So his descendants would pay.

That’s how it started.
One cursed bloodline. Then thousands. Then millions.

We’re called the Tainted Ones now.
Branded at birth. Hated by law.

I’m 06/50.
I don’t have a name.

My sister was all I had. Then she was raped and killed like her life meant nothing.
When I asked for justice, they nearly beat me to death.

So I ran.

I made it to Nalara, where I could finally breathe. Where no one looked at me like filth.

But Sanctem is still standing. And they’re still killing.

Even if I die for it,
I have to fight for my future — and the future of those after me.

How do you fight a future that’s already branded you worthless?

Children Of The Mark : Story Of The Tainted Ones

Two days later, during morning assembly, he sees the guard who once promised to help him again. He glances at him with tired, sunken eyes.

By noon, he's escorted back to the breeding wing.

That evening, the officers guarding his room are switched, and for the first time, the Warden enters.

The man introduces himself—"Warden Thorne," he says, with a cold smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

06/50 turns his head, lips parting slightly in disbelief. "He has a name?" he mutters bitterly, jealousy biting into every syllable.

Warden Thorne wastes no time. "It's time for him to work in the ash pits."

06/50 stands suddenly. "Can 05/85 come too?"

The Warden eyes him for a moment. "Yes."

The day is spent burning corpses—bloated, eyeless, most missing organs. The air is thick with the smell of death and rot, clinging to their skin like oil. Their hands blister. Their eyes sting. Their stomachs rebel.

At some point, 05/85 finds a paper slipped into his glove.

"Fall into the pile that's being moved to burn."

He stares at the words. Madness. Insanity. Death.

So when the next batch is lifted, he staggers forward, lets his body drop like he's lost consciousness—right into the heap of rotting bodies.

The heat of the furnace creeps closer, like claws dragging toward his skin. He holds his breath, fighting the urge to gag as something wet and cold brushes his cheek.

Just before the fire touches, he sees a Warden looking far too closely.

The man gestures—barely—and 05/85 knows.

He leaps from the pile, gasping, trembling, landing beside the Warden.

"You took too long," the man says curtly. "I thought 06/50 was already ash."

They drag him into a room hidden within the pit walls. A disguise is waiting. Warden clothes. A mirror. Makeup.

His face is altered—just enough.

The Warden House is attached to every labor zone, and now he's inside. All day, he pretends. Walks, nods, listens. The other Wardens speak to him kindly. Smile at him. Offer food. One even laughs at something he didn't say.

By nightfall, he slips out through the main gate, accompanied by the two Wardens and 08/85.

He stares, lost—his mind unable to understand how such a world exists beside the one he escaped.

The Warden beside him leans down and murmurs:

Chapter 11: Escaped