The hallway was as clean as it was quiet. Nix’s room was at the far end, separated from the other occupied rooms of her age-group.

It wasn’t unreasonable of the other kids; there had been plenty of tales with contagious curses. None of Nix’s were, as far as she knew. They were blood-curses. The type that one inherited from their parents. Nix often wondered if her parents were criminals, exceedingly unlucky with rituals, or simply made themselves the enemy of the wrong cultist. She could only speculate. Nix, like every other child on Coral, was raised without any knowledge of who her parents were.

Of course, whatever had inflicted the blood-curses upon her parents had been insistent. The whole point of separating a child from their life-giver was to weaken their inherited curses by removing familial connection — at least that’s what she’d been told — but that had never helped Nix.

So, as hers were blood-curses, they shouldn’t be contagious, but that didn’t stop the isolation she’d experienced.

When Nix was younger — younger than her current body — there had been many more kids to share the dorms. They’d all done whatever they could to keep an entire empty room between themselves and her, going so far as to share rooms between three.

Over time — for better or worse — some of those kids had disappeared. It meant there was no fighting over who had to bunk on Nix’s side of the hallway.

She strode down the dorm, fingering that feather through her robe. Nix would need to plan ahead for some of her future changes. The thin cloth was decent enough for now, but what would she do once she started sprouting new limbs? What of her hair, hands, or any of the other mutations that would become impossible to hide. She had a long while before those began, but not forever.

As much as she despised these mutations, she didn’t want to mutilate herself to hide them. Her captors severed any unnatural limbs. She couldn’t do the same, no matter if they’d been the origin of her problems.

But there was much she needed to accomplish if she wanted to avoid that.

The most pressing of which; get through the ceremony. And get through it without breaking down. Only then can she prove that she’s different from her past self. Prove that things can take a different direction. Only then can she do something for herself.

Nix quickened her pace as she passed the empty — quiet — rooms and out of the dorms. The kitchen and living areas were equally empty. It was only as she passed through the metal subdivisions and arrived in the foyer did she find her seventy-odd neighbours chatting excitedly besides the thick shutters that led outside.

A few of the other fifteen-year-olds cast wary glances her way, but ignored her for the most part. It was K’tan’s relieved sigh that surprised her the most. She’d forgotten just how kind he once was. The man had been a source of comfort for the young Nix amongst the other kids that had always avoided her.

She had always steered towards the adults back when she was a true teenager, as their pity was easier to deal with than the avoidance of those who were supposed to be her fellows. At least until K’tan’s fellow carers began avoiding her, too.

I still don’t know why, Nix thought. Surely I hadn’t been that unlikable back then?

One of the women was looking her way, but as soon as Nix turned to her, she pretended like she was looking at the ceiling.

At this point in her life, K’tan had been the only one she spoke to.

But today, she wouldn’t stick by his side as she had last time. She hadn’t forgotten the declaration she’d made to herself on the night of her death. It had been moments ago in her mind, after all. But for the fist time in so long, she was free of her chains and had the chance to step out under the Great Iris.

It wasn’t for the same reasons, but she was just as excited to leave the confines of Rearing Ward as any of the other teenagers.

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They looked forward to the ceremony. Nix looked forward to what was after. Leaving early, or skipping it entirely were temptations for her, but the naming ceremony was something everyone remembered. As overwhelmed by despair as she’d been, it wasn’t a surprise she’d acted in such a way, but she still regret it. She didn’t want anyone to remember her as the girl who broke down on her naming day.

Nix only stood around for a moment before heavy screeching of thick metal sheets unlocked from each other and lifted over their heads. It was clearly in less than perfect condition. The entire Ward was pure tech and machine — no corruptive influence at all — so it was a shame the Technocult had been eradicated. At least they never forced you to worship the machine god when they offered repairs.

Wait… it is now seven years in the past. They will still be alive.

Thoughts of the cult fated to die in the next few years fled Nix’s mind as she followed the cheers and chatter of the dozen teenagers on their way to receive their names. K’tan, along with his helpers, tried to keep them in check, and away from the dangerous, corrupted sections of Coral.

Nix fell behind. The bright light raining down from above was glorious. She’d spent the past few years of her confinement within the Under-Coral, so the intensity was almost too much, but she enjoyed the warmth as it burnt her skin.

A wide ring of white hung above. It illuminated everything. Within that thick ring was the endless expanse of stars, and outside it, lay the impenetrable darkness of the black hole. Everyone knew the black hole was only beneath their platform, and yet the Darkness of its core spread through the sky.

They lived within the Great Eye. The ring of illumination was the iris, while the pupil was entirely stars. Stars and distant galaxies.

It remained impossible to tell if the Great Eye was constantly looking in on them where they nestled, unmoving on the black hole, or if it were gazing out into the depths of space and what lay beyond their world.

Beneath the Great Iris, a half-shattered dome of glass rose from the edges of The Platform. Once in the long past — Nix had been told — the barrier had separated them from space. She didn’t know why any ancestor would have wanted that; the true dangers of space could ignore glass entirely.

Nix breathed deep of the pressure void, and ran after the others. She loved how her legs didn’t waver beneath her.

Like a cluster of ducklings, Nix and the other teens were led through the unmutilated alleys of the topside. Before she knew it, they had arrived at the ritual chamber. Well, this one wasn’t so much a chamber as an open-aired courtyard with an alter in the centre. There were plenty just like it up here; the chambers cultists used when there was no need for subtlety.

She tried her best not to stare at the alter. It wasn’t the same. Not nearly as ornate, the stone block was covered with a crimson cloth to signify it had no use in our ritual. For that, she was thankful.

As they were marched to the centre of the courtyard — where the dozen cult prospectors and the ritualist that would perform their naming watched from their front — Nix nestled herself at the back of the pack, behind a rather tall boy she had forgotten the name of. She wanted to remain unseen for this ceremony. Yet, as much as she wished for it, she still found K’tan glancing her way with a sickening expression of concern.

The first time she’d experienced this day, she’d stood right by his side. But now, she couldn’t. Nix knew it would be best to act as if nothing had changed — to act how she once had so that K’tan’s suspicions wouldn’t be raised — but she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her hatred. If she so much as looked at the overseer for too long, Nix feared she would be revealed. She had her whole life ahead of her; she wasn’t about to let fate repeat.

Thankfully, he had a job to do.

“Everyone, I’m sure you are all very excited to be here,” K’tan said after the crowd grew quiet under the gazes of those they needed to impress. “But please do not be disappointed if your name is not exactly what you wanted. The name unveiled to you reflects your soul. If you do not like who you are now, you have time to become more. With effort, you can extend your true name. Maybe some of you will even achieve a Feat if you work hard enough.”

The overseer turned to address the man standing a step before the line of cultists. “Onomastician A̱l'Darvi-Thalnor, I shall leave them in your care.”

“Right,” the cultist droned. The voice of a man who’d done this a thousand times and found the process entirely miserable. “One by one you will approach. I will enact the ritual, and when you see your name, you will announce it for all to hear. With all inflections pronounced clearly. Do not try to mislead. It is obvious, and only makes you look the fool.”

The specialist in name analysis cast his hand back over the dozen cultists behind him. “Some of you may have already begun your journey with your cult of choice, but these men and women will observe the process of your naming. If your additive interests them, they may offer you a position in the higher divisions of their respective cult. Remember to be respectful.”

Nix had heard it all once before, but she didn’t remember the onomastician being this disinterested in the ritual. Maybe she had simply been too excited last time to notice.

Finally, the ceremony began. She wasn’t interested in hearing her name — she knew how horrible it would be — but she would make it through the naming to the end. Nix would prove that she was different from the pitiable girl she’d been last time. Nix would make sure the timeline deviated.