The carriage’s canvas lifted abruptly, letting a flood of light spill inside.
Kael instantly raised a hand to his eyes. The sun hit him full force—a white, searing glare that almost burned through his eyelids.
“Get down,” the coachman said.
Kael obeyed. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud. For a moment he stood still, breath caught, vision drowned in brightness.
“We’re here,” the coachman said in a neutral tone.
He let a short silence pass, then added, lower, with something that almost sounded like respect:
“Raise your head, Ombrevu. Look.”
Kael lifted his gaze slowly.
Before him, the landscape opened into a monumental complex.
“That’s the Trame Institute,” the driver went on.
He extended an arm toward the vast structure.
“The central building… see it? That’s the Dawn Acropolis.”
The structure looked like an enormous acropolis supported by massive columns of white stone. Monumental staircases led to an unreal, oversized esplanade.
The fa?ades, carved with solar motifs, seemed to radiate under the daylight.
“To the right,” the driver continued, “see that grove?”
Kael followed his gesture.
“That’s the Grove of Springs. A small branch of the Soléen runs through it before disappearing beneath the gardens.”
The murmur of the current reached Kael—soft, calming.
“In front,” the driver added, “those are the Oath Gardens. Every candidate walks through them before entering the Institute. The novices tend them, to remind everyone of patience before revelation.”
Kael took in the geometric paths, carved with almost obsessive precision: hedges, pools, white statues, trees trimmed into spirals.
“And over there, on the left,” the driver said, “you can see the open-air coliseum.”
Kael turned.
“That’s the Trial Arena. That’s where they observe the bearers… at least the ones who survive.”
A chill ran down Kael’s spine.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” the man said with a half-smile.
“Or terrifying. Here, it’s often the same thing.”
He remained silent for a moment, watching the horizon.
Then he patted the side of the carriage.
“Well… my job ends here.”
“You’re heading back?” Kael asked.
“Of course. The Institute doesn’t need me inside.”
Kael gave him a tired smile.
“Sorry for dragging you out of your nap, then.”
The driver let out a raspy chuckle.
“Oh, tomorrow’s nap will be even better. I’ll sleep with a clear conscience—I did something useful today.”
Kael snorted softly.
“You didn’t even want to talk to me at first. What changed?”
The coachman nodded toward the front of the carriage.
“Diorne.”
Kael blinked.
“The horse?”
“Yes,” the man replied simply. “I saw the way he looked at you.”
He stroked the horse’s neck, its light coat catching the sun.
“Animals sense souls better than we do.”
“Better than us?”
“Much better,” the driver grumbled. “People lie. They don’t.”
Kael fell silent, unexpectedly touched.
Then he let out a small laugh.
“Well… I guess I owe him my life, then.”
“Let’s say at least your safe arrival,” the coachman said with a faint smile.
He adjusted the straps, climbed onto the step, and added:
“Go on. Over there, toward the Dawn Acropolis. That’s where everything begins for bearers.”
“And who do I talk to, exactly?”
“Go in. Watch. Listen. A sharp kid like you will figure it out.”
Kael hesitated, then called out again:
“Hey, sir…”
The man turned.
Kael held out a hand.
“Thank you. For the ride. And… thank Diorne too.”
The driver burst out laughing.
“Oh no, you stink far too much for that.”
He looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed with genuine warmth.
“But it was a pleasure all the same, Ombrevu.”
He snapped the reins.
Diorne neighed softly, and the carriage rolled away in a gentle rumble, leaving Kael alone before the towering shadow of the Trame Institute.
Kael watched the carriage disappear down the pale stone path.
The sound of wheels faded until it vanished completely.
A faint smile slipped from him.
“Turns out he’s wiser than he looks,” he murmured.
He turned toward the Dawn Acropolis, adjusted the Stabilizing Veil around his shoulders, and stepped onto the main path.
Before him, the Oath Gardens stretched as far as he could see.
The air was saturated with scents: cut grass, damp earth, white flowers, and resin.
A fragrance of balance and peace.
Kael drew in a long breath, eyelids half-closed.
He had never smelled anything so pure.
Even the winds blowing through the Crown’s canals felt heavy and thick compared to this gentle breeze.
The closer he came to the building, the smaller he felt.
The Acropolis towered over him like a mountain carved by hand: colossal columns, immense steps, white stone catching the light.
Kael set his foot on the first step.
It took him a moment to climb the others, his breathing mingling with the whisper of the wind.
“Wow…” he breathed, lifting his gaze.
Before him, the Institute’s great door stood shut.
As tall as a fortress wall, it looked carved from a single block of marble, engraved with golden filigree.
Beside it, a smaller secondary door—set within the massive gate—stood slightly open.
He checked the position of his Needle-Case band, brushing it off automatically.
“Might as well look presentable this time.”
He pushed the smaller door open.
Inside, the space was vast and dim.
The polished marble floor reflected the few beams of sunlight that slipped through the openings in the dome. In some places, the stone looked wet, as if the light were sliding slowly across it.
Kael stepped forward.
His footsteps echoed against the bare walls.
No voices.
No trace of life.
Not even an echo that felt human.
“It’s… empty?” he murmured, surprised.
To the right, a small counter blended into the shadows.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
He hadn’t noticed it right away.
A quill scratched across paper in the silence.
Then a voice—dry as a blade—cut through the air:
“Are you planning to stand there much longer?”
Kael jolted and turned his head.
Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman was writing under the glow of a small lamp. Her tightly wound bun pulled her face backward, and her round glasses shone with a cold glint.
“Oh—sorry, I… I didn’t see you,” Kael stammered.
“Of course. No one ever looks. They barge in, stomp around, breathe too loudly, and think they’ll be welcomed like princes,” she snapped without lifting her eyes.
She dipped her quill, scribbled something, then added in a cutting tone:
“And you’re late, on top of that.”
Kael blinked.
“Late? But I—”
“It’s written all over your face,” she cut him off sharply.
She finally lifted her gaze, sizing him up with open disdain.
“Ombrevu, I assume?”
Kael sighed.
“That obvious?”
“By the smell,” she replied without hesitation.
Kael froze, baffled.
The woman resumed writing, utterly indifferent.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Come in. You have a lot to prove and very little time to do it.”
Kael shrugged, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“You know, I’m getting real tired of everyone telling me I stink,” he said.
“Not my fault if everyone here has a functioning nose,” she replied, still not looking up.
“Lovely welcome. And… what exactly am I supposed to do?”
She let out a sigh, the quill hanging from her fingers.
“Your Trial activation will take place in one week.”
“One week?” Kael repeated. “That’s it?”
“It’s far too long, if you want my opinion.”
“Oh, I do. One more week waiting for death is gonna feel real long.”
She peered at him over her glasses, clearly unamused.
“You Trame-bearers all have the same nervous sense of humor.”
She rummaged through a stack of papers, then handed him a thick sheet and a dry quill.
“Registration form. To be filled out before noon.”
Kael took it, stared at it for a moment, then lifted his eyes.
“I… I can’t write.”
The woman froze.
“Of course,” she groaned. “Of course.”
She snatched the sheet from his hands, slapped it down in front of her with irritation, and grabbed her quill.
“Fine. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”
She began writing swiftly.
“Name?”
“Kael.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“My mother probably didn’t like me very much, I guess.”
“Hm. Charming.”
She jotted it down without looking up.
“Place of residence?”
“The Broken Crown. Canal District.”
She paused, barely lifting her chin.
“You really come from down there?”
“In flesh and in smell, yeah.”
“Wonderful. We’ll have everything this year.”
She continued filling the page, her quick handwriting looping tightly across the paper.
“Probable Trame type?”
“Fragmented, I think.”
“You think?”
“Hey, if I were sure, I’d already be dead or famous.”
“…I fail to see the difference,” she said dryly.
Kael let out a brief laugh.
“Are you always this pleasant, or is it just me that brings it out of you?”
“It’s my job that brings it out,” she replied instantly.
“You must have very enjoyable days, then.”
She looked up, startled.
“What?”
“I mean, sitting here filling out forms for people who barely know you exist… that’s gotta be a real treat.”
She remained silent for a moment, the quill suspended.
“You’re lucky,” she finally said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Usually, I don’t talk this much at all.”
Kael raised an eyebrow.
“See? We’re already making progress. You’re almost smiling right now.”
“Don’t dream, Ombrevu. It’s a spasm.”
He chuckled softly, then tilted his head.
“And between us… you’re the bravest one here.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Took guts to survive surrounded by nobles who probably ignore you or bark orders all day.”
She stared at him, hesitant, momentarily caught off guard.
“You have quite the tongue,” she said at last—though her voice had softened slightly.
“It’s all I’ve got,” Kael replied with a small smile.
“Well, keep it. Around here, it might help you… or get you killed.”
She signed the bottom of the form with a sharp stroke and slid it into a stack.
“There. You’re officially registered.”
“I’m supposed to say thank you, I guess?”
“No. You’re supposed to get out of my office.”
Kael gave a small bow.
“Always a pleasure, ma’am.”
“It isn’t mutual,” she said without looking up.
Kael stood there for a moment, staring blankly ahead.
“Right… but where exactly am I supposed to go now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… do I get a room? A place to sleep, or something like that?”
The woman slowly lifted her eyes toward the ceiling, as if praying for a god to spare her from this kind of question.
Then she abruptly stood—the chair screeching—and disappeared through a small back office behind the counter.
Kael heard drawers opening, the click of a key, papers rustling.
When she returned, she held a small key.
“Fine. Follow me.”
She stepped around the counter and led him down the main corridor.
The marble floor sent back each footstep in a crystalline echo.
Torches fixed to the walls flickered in the draft, casting liquid reflections on the columns.
Kael walked beside her, eyes roaming the halls.
“You know,” he said, “I have to say it: you’ve got real presence. Feels like you run this place with a firm hand.”
She slowed—barely—but enough to show the words had touched something she kept buried.
“You think so?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen people give orders their whole lives without anyone listening. You, at least… people hear you.”
A thin smile, nearly invisible, brushed the corner of her lips.
“You’re clever. That much is obvious.”
“I’ve learned flattery opens more doors than punching people,” Kael said with a smirk.
“Here, it mostly gives me extra paperwork,” she sighed, “but at least you’re trying.”
They passed under an arch carved with solar symbols.
“Normally,” she explained, “each Trial activation session takes place every three months.”
“Every three months?” Kael repeated.
“Yes. The cycle resets at the end of every series of Trials. You should have been here three months ago.”
“So, if I understand this right… I’m late?”
“ Exactly. Three months behind schedule.”
“Great,” Kael muttered. “Even when it comes to suffering, I show up after everyone else.”
They continued down the long corridor.
As they walked, the woman’s tone grew slightly less sharp. She spoke more calmly now, almost out of habit.
“The next cycle begins soon. Until then, you’ll be housed and monitored.”
Kael grimaced but didn’t answer.
The key chimed softly in her hand.
“You’ll see,” she finally said in a neutral tone, “the Institute is a very… orderly place. People rarely die here by accident.”
Kael smirked.
“That’s reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” she replied flatly, picking up her pace.
They entered a vast hall where the ceiling disappeared into the heights.
The air carried the scent of warm bread, wax, and metal.
The woman gestured sharply toward the room.
“This is the Bearers’ Hall. Everyone awaiting Trial gathers here for meals.”
“Everyone?” Kael echoed, impressed.
“Everyone. When you hear the bells ring, it means it’s time.”
She looked him straight in the eyes.
“And a word of advice: the cooks do not tolerate latecomers. Try to rid yourself of that habit.”
Kael smiled.
“I’ll try to outdo myself, then.”
They turned into a narrower side hallway that soon split into two stone staircases.
“The left staircase leads to the boys’ quarters,” she explained. “The right one, to the girls’.”
Unlike the rest of the building, the corridor was brightly lit: suspended globes of light cast a warm golden glow, giving the place a surprisingly welcoming feel.
“I assume I don’t need to explain that you are not allowed in the girls’ chambers?”
Kael lifted his hands, feigning offense.
“Promise, I never wander to the wrong side… unless it’s by accident.”
She rolled her eyes, visibly exasperated.
“Try not to let anything be ‘accidental’ here. The Institute has little humor about such things.”
Kael followed her up the left staircase.
The black-and-white tiled floor gleamed under the torchlight.
At the top, a long hallway stretched ahead, lined with evenly spaced doors marked with careful numbering.
Kael frowned.
“It’s strange… I haven’t met anyone since I arrived.”
“Normal,” she replied without slowing. “The others are in class.”
“In class? Is this place some kind of school?”
She stopped abruptly, turned, and fixed him with a cold stare.
“No. It’s an asylum for assisted ignorants.”
Kael let out a short laugh.
“Charming.”
“It’s not a school in the usual sense,” she resumed, walking again.
“We give basic lessons on Trames, the nature of the Trials, and a few instructions on survival in the wild.”
“Ah. Thrilling.”
“Useless in your case,” she said with a shrug. “You’re a Fragmented in the making. It’s like trying to teach a wildfire not to burn.”
Kael pretended to think, then said softly:
“Maybe… but the human mind is the most hostile and untamed wilderness I know.”
She paused briefly, without looking at him.
“That’s the kind of line that won’t save you, but it will make you sound intelligent,” she replied with a faint smirk.
“I’ll take what I can get,” Kael said, amused.
She shook her head and finally stopped before a solitary door at the end of the corridor.
“Here. This is it. Your room.”
She handed him the bronze key.
“Try not to set anything on fire or talk to the walls. They’ve suffered enough already.”
She slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open with a measured gesture.
“Your room. Go on.”
Kael stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was the smell—not stale air or dust, but freshness, clean linen, polished wood.
The room was simple, but surprisingly spacious.
A large bed sat beneath the window, covered with white blankets.
To the right, a light wooden desk stood beside a chair, facing a tall wardrobe on the left.
A small wall shelf completed the space, holding a few volumes with plain bindings.
“The desk won’t be of much use to you,” the woman said, still standing in the doorway.
“You can’t read or write, if I’m not mistaken.”
Kael turned back to her with a crooked smile.
“Wrong. I can read. Writing is the part I haven’t mastered.”
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Interesting. One without the other is a bit like knowing how to speak without being able to think, don’t you agree?”
Kael stifled a laugh.
“Let’s say people often have… preconceived ideas.”
He walked further in, running his hand across the desk, then added lightly:
“Look at you: you despised me ten minutes ago, and now here you are in my room.”
The woman jolted slightly, then looked away, hiding an embarrassed little laugh.
“You have far too much confidence for someone about to face a Trial,” she muttered.
Kael noticed her discomfort but didn’t comment.
“And that door?” he asked, pointing at the small one near the desk.
“What’s in there?”
“That?” she said.
“That’s the most important room for you: the bathroom.”
Kael lifted his brows, pretending to be impressed.
“You mean I’ll finally be able to look like a human being?”
“If that’s even possible,” she replied dryly.
Kael let out a soft laugh.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you, impossible,” she shot back, though the edge in her voice had dulled.
Kael dropped his bundle of belongings beside the bed.
The woman watched him, then extended her hand brusquely.
“Give me that.”
“That?”
“Your pack, your clothes, and that… rag you wear on your forehead.”
Kael froze.
“Why?”
“Disinfection. It’s procedure. Every new arrival goes through it.”
Kael clenched his jaw.
He removed the Needle-Case band from his head slowly, holding it by the edges as though it were something fragile.
“Fine… but be careful.”
His tone suddenly sharpened, cold.
“If you damage this, I’ll know.”
The woman stilled, caught off guard.
The irony she’d always heard in his voice was gone.
His eyes held a hardness she hadn’t expected.
“Noted…” she said finally, torn between respect and unease.
She gathered his belongings, cleared her throat, and added—sharper than she intended:
“I’ll go to the dormitory reserve to fetch a uniform.”
She sighed and stepped out.
Left alone, Kael approached the window.
From there he could see the grove, bathed in golden light.
The wind made the branches sway, and he could faintly hear the murmur of a stream winding between the trees.
He was high up; the courtyard below looked small, distant, like another world entirely.
He lingered there a moment, thoughtful, before the door opened again.
“Here,” the woman said, setting a pile of cloth on the bed.
“Your uniform.”
Kael turned.
On the bed lay a black tunic, black trousers, and a pair of shoes utterly devoid of style or soul.
He stepped forward, picked up the tunic, and felt the texture of the thread.
“This is… atrocious,” he said bluntly.
“Excuse me?” she replied, surprised.
“The seams are stiff, the thread poorly twisted, no reinforcement on the joins… Look, not even a proper collar binding.”
She stared at him, bewildered.
“Are you always this particular?”
“It’s the eye of a weaver,” Kael answered calmly.
He let the tunic drop onto the bed with a sigh.
“You know, for a place that claims to judge the worth of souls, they could at least respect the worth of the thread.”
The woman turned her head aside, but a small laugh escaped her despite herself.
“Put it on, Ombrevu. Everyone wears the same uniform here.”
Kael looked up at her, amused.
“Even the nobles?”
“Especially them,” she said, a spark of mischief in her eyes.
Kael grinned, lifted the tunic, and held it up.
“Well then… if they hate it, I might end up loving it.”
