* * * * * * *

  Wake up, Ren.

  Our fate is not finished.

  * * * * * * *

  A child woke up from his vision.

  Despite its familiarity, he could not remember what he dreamed of. Nor did he care.

  He wanted to spend his last moments in peace.

  The sea washed over his body.

  He was a scavenger. But he didn’t find anything today, there was no need to now.

  Letting the waves wash over his body, the child slowly took a final look at his world. The sun shone beyond sparkling waves on the horizon, soaking him in its golden rays.

  Yet he had no sign of its existence. He was unnaturally pale.

  Maybe from his malnutrition, or maybe that was just how his existence was, withering away; Even his skin seeming to fade under the blazing sun.

  Ren sat up from the water, looking out over the sea one final time.

  His time was up. He had to live up to his death.

  Gathering his things, not that he had many, Ren walked along the stony beach.

  Pulling his gaze from the water, he looked to his side and laid eyes on the walls that towered over him. A hundred meters thick, they were the first of the three giants that protected Lumoria.

  Despite its safety, today he walked beyond the walls. He knew the dangers all too well; he was not a fool. But he couldn't leave this world without seeing this beach one last time.

  When his mother and sister were alive, they used to sneak out to walk it.

  Scavenging the shores as an excuse for their bliss. They never found much, but he was happy enough. Even in a world full of monsters, his family kept their smile.

  That was the last time that feeling clung to him.

  Without them, he was barely surviving.

  With his final wish complete, Ren turned toward the city and walked.

  Through the walls. Through the slums. Through the upper districts.

  Until he came to the Precinct.

  Until he turned himself in.

  *******

  A child sat on a steel chair in the depths of the Seventh Precinct's Headquarters.

  The weight of a death sentence looming above his head. Heavy metal cuffs pressed down on his wrists, reaffirming his doom.

  His limbs felt hollow, bones aching from his travels.

  His face fared no better.

  One eye reflected a dull storm-gray; the other was a ruined white, scarred and clouded.

  Dark hair shrouded his face, slightly unkempt from days without care.

  The child — no older than seventeen, not that he was sure anymore — began to wonder why he had turned himself in.

  He wished he could say it was for the sake of his neighbors. The same ones that left him with only one working eye.

  Or a noble cause greater than his status allowed.

  But the truth was simpler. He was just tired; tired of surviving, tired of pretending it would get better.

  That truth hit him hard. Nothing would ever be the same.

  Ren sighed and chewed on the last of his Synth Paste.

  The gray sludge clung to his teeth, gritty and flavorless. In the Outer District, Synth Paste had been hailed as a miracle — the first mass-produced food that kept the slums from collapsing into famine.

  A miracle.

  The word rolled around in his mind.

  If this was a miracle, a curse must be truly dreadful.

  Still, the paste had kept him alive until now.

  Swallowing the last of it, he stared at the empty tube in his shackled hands.

  His final meal.

  For some reason, that bothered him more than the chains did.

  Not very filling.

  His stomach answered with a low, irritated growl as if nodding in agreement.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  …

  He really wanted to taste a waffle.

  Not that he knew what a waffle was, but he had overheard a wealthy couple arguing about toppings on his walk to the precinct's headquarters.

  He tried to imagine what kind of food could inspire that much passion.

  It had to be meat.

  A thick, glorious slab of it. Maybe wrapped in bread. Covered in sauces — sweet, spicy, savory. The kind of food that dripped down your fingers and demanded to be devoured.

  Now that was something worth living for.

  He quickly swallowed, forcing down the saliva gathering in his mouth.

  Maybe his death wouldn't be so bad. People died in far worse ways in the Outer District.

  But dying without ever tasting a waffle? That felt unnecessarily cruel.

  Ren exhaled softly.

  It was such a small wish. No grand plan to change the world.

  Just a fucking waffle.

  A dream so insignificant, and even that was beyond him.

  Reluctantly, Ren put his waffle dreams aside and studied the room.

  …

  He had never seen a prison before, but if he had to guess, this was one.

  Gray walls. White tile floors. Empty enough to echo his own insignificance.

  They could keep a place for criminals this clean, but the Outer District? Apparently, that was too much.

  …

  Realizing how maddening the silence was, he smiled at the officers. If he was going to lose his mind, he might as well make it entertaining.

  "Come on, guys, if I'm going to die, couldn't you have at least gotten a better chair for me?"

  The two police officers in front of Ren looked at him with fear.

  'Tough crowd.'

  But he didn't blame them since he had the Unraveling after all.

  Their disgust still tore into his emotions. The looks he got today were starting to really piss him off.

  'And today was supposed to be about finding peace.'

  "Awakened," he mulled over the word as he muttered it under his breath.

  People who survived the Unraveling came back to be stronger, more dangerous, otherworldly even. He couldn't help but be jealous of their talent. It was as if the world was playing a joke on him, dangling his freedom behind a veil of death.

  He really didn't want to fail, but there was only so much he could do.

  There's a reason few awakened existed outside of the Clans. It was the reason he realized today would be his last.

  While Ren contemplated his demise, another, intertwined in his fate, was on his way to meet him.

  * * * * * * *

  In the Upper Districts, life moved at a different pace.

  An older man strolled casually through a garden, the smell of basil and thyme mixing with the cold morning air.

  The streets of this District stretched in neat rows, sunlight bouncing off windows while stones clean enough to reflect the sky carried the weight of the afternoon traffic.

  The soft hum of the endless waves of people gave the man a sense of comfort; In his eyes, the city looked beautiful.

  But he knew it held a dark contrast.

  As he neared the Precinct, the imperfections of the city broke down the illusions of beauty.

  He looked beyond the Second Wall just steps in front of him. The Outer District shot through the clean city like a bullet.

  Collapsed buildings, makeshift shelters, and streets littered with debris.

  In the Upper Districts, life was carefully maintained. Every person properly dressed, every shop beautifully crafted. But a thin veil hid the world's fragile truth.

  The government tried its best. But he knew it wasn't enough. The scene in front of him showed him that.

  Sighing, his gaze drifted further behind him, toward the distant spires of The Sanctum. It was where he and all the other Awakened lived with the clans.

  From up close, Lumoria seemed mundane. But from a distance?

  The city was a monument—one of seven that had outlasted the world's end.

  Forcing himself to look away, he strolled down the busy streets.

  He was headed to the Precinct, a military district stretched between all three layers of the city, one that existed as a place for the awakened to take their Trial.

  Soon, busy streets quieted down. Officers and guards alike now filling their place.

  Not many people came through here unless they were cursed by the Unravelling.

  As he walked, he entered a compound. The area, surrounded by thick stone walls, was built directly in the center of three Districts.

  His thoughts turned to the child he came for.

  Few people understood the terror of the Unraveling as he did. For he was one of the lucky to survive it.

  Knowing this, all he could do was pray for the child.

  May the Gods be in your favor.

  The old blessing echoed hollowly in his mind. Looking past the city, the wreckage of the world burned in his mind as if mocking his efforts.

  He couldn't help but doubt the gods —if they had ever existed at all.

  But if they had, clearly they didn't favor humans.

  Putting his gloom aside, he walked into the Seventh Precinct's Headquarters.

  * * * * * * *

  Fear gave way to relief in the officers' expressions as a new figure entered the room. The figure towered over the two men, as if the room itself had shrunk beneath him.

  One officer cleared his throat. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

  Ren realized the change from the shadows, hidden behind the thick glass in front of him. Curiosity took control as he tried his best to look at the new figure that had entered his cell. But to his dismay, he got no clarity.

  Another person I can't even see.

  Hell, can't they at least pretend I'm important enough to look me in the eyes?

  Ren paused.

  Well… eye. Not plural.

  Only having one working eye was unfortunate enough. Ruining his train of thought? That was true evil.

  The officer glanced at his partner before continuing, "We… found him on the edge of the Outer District, heading to the Headquarters."

  Found him. Of course they did. In the Outer District, you didn't walk anywhere without being noticed.

  By "they found him," they meant they saw his filth walking the streets of the Upper Districts. Amongst the crowds of proper attire, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

  That was how they "found" him.

  The shock on their faces when he explained why he came through… that almost made the whole thing feel worth it. Almost.

  "I see," he said, looking over a clipboard one of the officers handed him. "You may leave now."

  Returning his gaze to Ren, the man spoke again. "Hold off on awakening, will you? I'd rather not die today without making my preparations."

  "And by the way, for you, that chair should be a luxury. I've even handpicked it from my finest collection of scraps."

  Ren chuckled.

  Growing up in the Outer Districts, luxury was as rare as awakening. Just surviving was all he was allowed, and even that was a struggle.

  Real Furniture? Forget it. No one could waste their wishes on that anymore.

  Staring at Ren, curiosity flickered across the old man's face. Without warning, a sense of unease stirred in Ren as he stared back. Ren met many types of people since coming to the Upper Districts, but something felt different about this man.

  Suddenly, as if to answer what he was feeling, with a casual flick of his hand, the man transformed the room.

  The suffocating gray walls melted into an endless reflective void stretching in every direction. Shimmering like water under a sun he could not see, Ren sensed a power within them he couldn't comprehend.

  The floor was next as it fractured beneath him, dissolving into an endless pitch-black darkness.

  In awe, he couldn't help but wonder how reality could bend like this; he knew the awakened gained power through their trials, but this? It didn't feel real. It was as if he were put into a dream state.

  The Unraveling may be a plague, but those who Awakened… they were incredible.

  Coming out of his own shock, he realized his steel cuffs were gone.

  That's better.

  Where his crappy steel chair had now sat a grand oak replacement; its deep red cushion radiating a comfort he had never known, and behind it all a curious insignia of a skull carved into the grain of the wood.

  Now, Ren was sure, this man was undoubtedly a Reaper.

  * * * * * * *