The train jostled side to side as it passed the final gate into the lower kingdom. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the towering buildings of the ancients beyond the inner wall to Busa-nan. The old ones had called them “skyscrapers,” and it wasn’t hard to see why. They towered above any other natural structure I’d ever encountered, built, or grown.

The mid-morning sun graced the tops of the skyscrapers, sending shimmering prisms of light down on the surrounding architecture. Many of the buildings were repaired with en munje years ago. Some of them still were under construction as we learn more and more about how to use munje.

But not all the ancient ones’ structures could be repaired. Some used methods we had yet to replicate, or even wrap our heads around. There was a spell out there we had yet to discover, something we had not mastered that they once had. They had so much to teach us, and I was hopeful that one day, all their spells would be revealed.

I hoped one day to discover a spell that even the ancient ones hadn’t dreamed of. Something wondrous that could help break us free of the energy cycle tied to agriculture. A spell that would make energy conversion from the world around us not just possible, but simple for anyone to accomplish. Then, we could all become powerful munje users, unbound by the limitations of how much food or money we had access to.

Overhead speakers came to life with the voice of the train operator as we slowed to a halt. “Final stop for non-residents of Busa-nan. All outer-city residents must depart at this stop. Identification checks will occur for anyone remaining on the train.”

The train sloped up gently as we slowed, crossing over a large platform of trains running north, to the mining operations. A massive black tram pulled up to the station under us and my mother’s words about my illegal activity rang out in my mind. A shiver raised the hairs on my arm as I imagined the backbreaking work at the mines.

The prisoners, and willing workers, disembarked below. I pulled in a deep breath and shuffled off with everyone else from outer-city. Some were headed to the platform below—the train to the mines—despite the dangers and horrible conditions. The pay was decent for an unindentured man, but there were accidents at the mines, much more than any other profession.

But the skyscrapers didn’t build themselves from nothing, and the minerals needed to repair them resided deep in the earth. It was for this reason the pay was good enough to risk the consequences: breathing diseases, dismemberment from faulty equipment or cave-ins, tunneling bear demon attacks, death…

I pulled on my father’s old black dobok—the formal dress for combat—trying to blot out the nasty thoughts in my head. The dobok was too big in the shoulders and chest, even though my muscles were well developed from daily chores and working in the arborum. I felt foolish but had nothing more appropriate to wear.

The herd of people not headed to the platform below pulled me along toward the station hub where the scents of roasted meat, floral tea, and some other not-so-savory smells lingered. A woman bumped my shoulder and I bowed, saying, “Pardon m—

Another bump, this one harder, threw me out of the bow.

Right. This was an inner-city.

I hardened my face and strode on through the crowd, looking for the door through the hub and out to the streets. People shouted from colorful popup stalls, trying to pull us in for a purchase. Some of the crowd broke away, enticed by the smells and sights, but I kept my mind focused on my destination: Guild of Historians, precinct eighteen.

When the crowd thinned enough for me to walk at my normal pace, I sped up and pushed out the front doors.

“Hey kid! Here for your assessments?” a girl who looked younger than me asked from the ground outside the hub. She pushed off her knees and kept pace beside me as I walked.

“Yes.”

She laughed. “Let me guess, you’re gonna be a Bastion?”

“Yes.” I quickened my steps, hoping she would stop hawking whatever it was she was attempting to sell me.

“You’ll tucker yourself out like this! Let me give you a ride.” She gestured to a rickshaw that appeared to be powered by steam.

I waved away the offer. “No, thank you.”

She sucked her teeth and broke off her chase. “Sangomnyon.”

I ignored the insult and returned my focus to the road ahead. I’d memorized the way to the testing facility over the last several days, but that was only a map. This was so much more than a piece of paper.

The towering buildings on either side of me were at least forty meters tall, and everything was glowing with the neon technology of the ancient ones. Signs blinked at me from every doorway with inviting jingles. Simple ghost-girls made of colorful light were dressed in short skirts and tiny shirts bursting at the seams. They waved from inside shop windows, or danced on street corners, beckoning those of us outside to come in for a coffee, and whatever other unspoken things the shop may be selling off the record.

I couldn’t get distracted.

Puttering rickshaws and motorized cycles sped by in the center of the road while bicyclists pedaled through at a more leisurely pace. People on foot weaved in and out of the traffic without much of a sideways glance and still, no one collided. I’d have to learn to navigate this mess too, but for now, I’d stick to the outsides near the shops.

It took another fifteen minutes to reach the eighteenth precinct—not so far I’d needed to pay for a ride—and looked at the growing line outside. I glanced at the old clock carved into the face of the building. It was only just past ten, when assessments didn’t start until twelve.

There is no value in complaining; it’s pointless, I reminded myself as I got in line. I spent the first hour in the sun, cultivating more li, ry, and zo munje. I was more than effective at creating ma and en on the fly, so I’d save my energy for when I needed them and save the reservoir space for what I was bad at.

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“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice broke through my meditation, but I didn’t open my eyes.

“Yes?”

“You… you’re from outer-city?” the guy asked, his tone nervous.

I opened one eye and looked his direction. He was taller than me by a good five centimeters, with light brown eyes and wheat colored hair, an uncommon variation. He had a narrow face, a telltale sign he’d come from harder times than the other wealthy kids in line. His dobok—wrinkled like mine and too big in the shoulders—absolutely gave him away as an outer-city kid.

I put my energy harnessing on hold and extended my hand. “I’m Law, Jiyong.”

He grinned, exposing a chipped front tooth, and shook my hand. “Pak, Cho-bin. But you can call me Cho.”

“What’s your specialty, Cho?” I asked, grateful to have a kindred soul in line for assessment.

“Li, mostly.” He cringed. “Honestly, just a lot of li. You?”

“Ma and en.”

He bobbed his head. “So, were you, uh, cultivating before I interrupted?”

I nodded.

“Sorry. I’m so nervous. Why am I even here?” He shook his head.

I shrugged. “Because Bastion is the best.”

“That’s true, but am I? I don’t know.” He grimaced.

“You must’ve thought so long enough to get here. Think about how you felt when you got on the train,” I offered, hoping it helped him find his courage.

“I felt like I wanted to get as far away from my life as possible,” he chuckled nervously.

I shook my head. “It must’ve been something more than that. There are many schools you could attend that have on-campus structures, not just Bastion.”

His brow furrowed and he stared off at the wall. “I’m really good with li munje. Sometimes I think I could make amazing spells if I just had better training. I could help the crops grow faster, with more raw energy. I could manipulate the warmth of the soil, keep the plants producing food for an extra few weeks per season. I could make things better at home.”

I cocked my head. “I thought you wanted to escape your home?”

He blew out his cheeks. “Right now I do. It’s complicated.”

“I get it. So, what’s your village like? What do you grow?”

He pulled in a long breath, then sighed. “Rice. Rice every day. Grow the rice, harvest the rice, process the rice, sell the rice. Rice.”

I hummed with amusement. “Our lives are for more than just rice.”

His shoulders slowly dropped away from his ears. “What’s your home like?”

I wondered if I should tell him the whole truth. No. I didn’t know him. “Chores, work, siblings. Every day.”

“How many siblings?” he asked with genuine interest.

I loosened my posture. “Five. Two brothers and three sisters.”

“That must be nice. I have one sister, older. She’s in the kingdom already. A dancer.”

I nodded. I’d heard about pretty girls from outer-city getting recruited as ry dancers in the kingdom. Given Cho’s unusually light hair and almost honey-colored eyes, it was a good bet that was what happened for her.

Cho grimaced. “I guess I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks.”

I wanted to keep talking to him, but I didn’t know what to say. Excited shouts from the front of the line drew my attention and I looked past the dozens of bodies to the entrance where an adult in instructor’s clothing appeared. “We’ll begin registration sign-in in ten minutes. Have your documentation ready.”

“Did you score well in Primary graduation?” Cho asked as he rubbed his hands down his pants. They left little wet stains as they slid past his pockets.

“Decently.” I had scored exceptionally, thanks to my father’s tutelage, but I didn’t want to make him self-conscious.

Cho’s eye’s bulged in exasperation. “You really don’t say much, do you?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m better with machines and artifacts than people.”

“I think that’s the most words you’ve said all morning.”

“When I asked you about home, that was more. So was this.” I smiled slyly.

He laughed. “You’re alright, Jiyong. I hope you get in.”

“You as well, Cho.” I bowed to him, and he returned the gesture.

There was no more time to cultivate from my surroundings as the line moved steadily along to begin registration. Primary registration was simple. The student found their name on the list for the school closest to where their parents lived, tested for aptitude placement, and got a class-list.

Primary ended at thirteen, giving teens a chance to apprentice for two years before Secondary started, which had a much more rigorous aptitude test. Every child was guaranteed Primary schooling, and it was illegal for children to not attend a Primary school—but Secondary was where all the important knowledge came from.

It was critical to get into a good Secondary school because the classes’ well of knowledge was only as deep as the instructors’. Most of the instructors in outer-city worked jobs during the off season, but many of the inner-city and kingdom instructors would simply practice their craft, improving their skill for the next semester. They would continually bring new spells and knowledge into the academy, enriching it. Outer-city, not so much.

Cho and I parted ways as we entered the testing building, his family name taking him to a line on the other side of the hall. We wished one another well, and began the wait in our new, shorter lines. I’d hoped the testing was going to take place at Bastion, but it made sense with so many students applying that they would have to open additional testing centers. Since this was the closest center to me, it was the one I had to register at.

I cycled more and more energy through my core, keeping my eyes on the body in front of me, and my mind’s eye on the band around my core. My reservoir was nearly full, and I felt confident I was prepared for whatever they could throw at me.

At the front of the line sat a woman wearing artifact goggles behind a desk. The shimmer of the lens told me she was corroborating information between her colleagues and possibly a nearby database registry, as she sized me up.

“Name?” she asked flatly.

I cleared my throat. “Law, Jiyong.”

She grunted as she made an upward gesture with one hand. The glow behind her goggles flickered and shifted at the movement. “Namnak?”

“Yes.”

She pulled out a clean sheaf of parchment and pulled her finger across the page. Scrawling black lines appeared as silvery ry munje leaked from the tip of her sharp nail. “Floor three, corridor nine, room six. Ten minutes.” She pushed the paper towards me. “Go.”

“Thank you.” I took the sheet with a brief bow, then looked for the stairs. When I found them, I glanced down at the page. It was my Primary information—which highlighted my li deficiency in clear red text.

Worrying is a waste of energy, I heard Do-hwan’s voice in my mind and blew out my cheeks. I took the polished limestone stairs two at a time up to the third floor and exited to a deserted hallway. It was unsettling after being surrounded by chattering teens, but after a moment, the quiet was welcome.

My dull shoes clopped hollowly against the polished stone as I walked past important artifacts showcased in glass cases, frames of ancient art, and podiums defining the purpose of each piece. The ancients were a wondrous mystery.

I found corridor nine and hurried down the hall to the room marked with a six. There was no one waiting outside, and the door was closed, so I knocked.

No reply.

I knocked a little louder.

Nothing.

It had to have been at least five minutes since she handed me the paper. I waited, my toe tapping idly as I counted down the seconds in my head. When I’d counted another three minutes, I knocked again.

Silence.

Was this a joke? Or was it part of the test? Would I open the door when I was not invited to? Would it be locked?

I couldn’t do nothing, and I couldn’t keep doing more of the same when it yielded no results, so I turned the handle. The door was unlocked. It opened with a whining creak that demanded oiling.

“Welcome to the assessment,” an older woman’s voice came from the left of the enormous room. It was at least four times larger than my entire house!

The floor was all polished limestone, the ceiling farther away than seemed natural, and huge black velvet drapes covered the windows. There were no artificial lights in the room, and the streams of sunlight peeking through the tiny gaps in the drapes were not enough to see beyond a few meters.

I leaned a little farther into the room, keeping my feet squarely on the other side of the threshold. “May I come in?”

“Enter at your own risk,” a man warned.

I filled my chest, trying to push down the fear with air. This was it.

The test had begun.