Rust sat in silence, watching as the first names were called. One by one, the children walked into the circle, each making their choice. The dome-born and ring-born children were confident, many of them stepping forward to take their place among the Ministry or the ranks of the builders. A few chose enforcement, knowing they would hold power over others. The miners, mostly orphans and low-status dome-born, stepped forward with their heads low, knowing they had little say in their fate.

Rust clenched his fists. His status as a badlander meant his choices were slim. He had no family name, no wealth, no influence. But he had something they didn’t know about yet—his nanoblood count. He still didn’t understand the significance of it, but it had clearly shaken those who had tested him. Could it give him another option?

“Rust,” a voice called out. His name echoed through the great hall, causing a few children near him to turn their heads.

He swallowed hard and stood up. With slow, measured steps, he walked down into the circle, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes on him. The cloaked figures watched him intently, their gazes unreadable beneath their masks. The one who had called his name gestured towards the four braziers.

“Choose your path.”

Rust hesitated. If he chose enforcement, would they even allow him in? If he chose mining or building, he would be little more than a slave. He had to think carefully.

Then, before he could speak, a deep voice interrupted the ritual.

“He chooses none.”

The entire hall fell into a stunned silence. The children gasped. The cloaked figures turned towards the source of the voice. From the darkness at the edge of the chamber, Lord Vext stepped forward. The weight of his presence was suffocating. His decorated cloak shimmered slightly in the torchlight, and though his face was hidden beneath a dark mask, Rust could feel his intense gaze boring into him.

The officiator hesitated. “My Lord, the choosing is sacred. All must—”

“Silence,” Vext commanded. The officiator immediately bowed his head. The other figures in the circle remained still, waiting for their master’s decree.

Vext turned to Rust. “You are not like the others. Your blood is different. Your potential is greater. The hierarchy would waste you in the mines or the fields. Even enforcement is beneath what you could become.”

Rust’s pulse quickened. “Then… what am I to do?”

Vext took a step closer. “You will come with me.”

Murmurs erupted through the hall. The other children whispered amongst themselves. This had never happened before. A badlander had never been chosen outside of the system.

Rust glanced at the other cloaked figures, looking for any sign of disagreement, but none spoke against Vext. The weight of the decision settled on his shoulders. If he accepted, he would be leaving behind the rigid structure of the choosing—but stepping into something unknown, something potentially even more dangerous.

He met Vext’s gaze, though he could not see his eyes beneath the mask. “What do you want from me?”

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Vext chuckled, a low and unsettling sound. “I want to see what you can become.”

Rust thought of the endless struggle in the badlands. The sandstorms, the hunger, the constant battle to survive. This was his only chance at something more. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

Vext turned and gestured for Rust to follow. Without another word, Rust left the circle, leaving behind the choosing and the hierarchy he had never been a part of. The massive doors at the end of the hall opened, revealing a passageway leading deeper into the dome.

As he stepped through, he knew there was no turning back.

The doors slammed shut behind him, sealing his fate.

Rust followed Lord Vext through the dimly lit corridors of the dome, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The murmurs of the Choosing Hall faded behind them, replaced by the rhythmic echo of their footsteps against cold metal floors. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and something else—something old and metallic, like rusted iron.

“You’re afraid,” Vext said, his voice smooth and calculating. It wasn’t a question.

Rust clenched his jaw. “No.”

A chuckle. “Good. Fear is useful, but only when controlled. Otherwise, it rules you.”

They passed through an arched doorway, entering a vast chamber illuminated by eerie blue light. Towering glass cylinders lined the walls, each filled with a strange, pulsating liquid. Inside them, figures floated—humanoid, but… wrong. Some had extra limbs, others elongated skulls, and a few bore twisted, malformed features that made Rust’s skin crawl.

He stopped, his breath hitching. “What is this place?”

“A laboratory,” Vext replied, stepping ahead without hesitation. “One of many.”

Rust forced himself to move, trailing behind the enigmatic noble. Every instinct screamed at him to turn and run, but he knew there was nowhere to go. Not anymore.

At the far end of the chamber, Vext stopped before a console. With a flick of his hand, the interface glowed to life. Data scrolled rapidly across the screen, symbols and numbers Rust couldn’t decipher.

“You were never meant to be here,” Vext mused, studying the display. “Badlanders rarely survive long enough to see the Choosing, let alone draw my attention. But you… You are something else.”

Rust’s hands curled into fists. “Because of my nanoblood count.”

“Yes.” Vext turned, his masked face unreadable. “Your blood is not just high-count—it is unmeasured. Limitless.”

Rust swallowed hard. He had suspected as much when the machine blared its warnings. But hearing it confirmed sent a shiver down his spine.

“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vext studied him for a long moment before answering. “It means you are an anomaly. A flaw in the system the aristocracy has spent centuries perfecting.” He gestured toward the floating figures in the tanks. “They have spent lifetimes trying to create what you already are.”

Rust’s stomach turned. “Why?”

Vext chuckled. “Power, of course.”

Rust looked at the grotesque experiments, bile rising in his throat. “Did they… did you do this to them?”

Vext’s silence was answer enough.

Rust forced himself to breathe. “And what do you want from me?”

Vext took a step closer, his presence almost suffocating. “I want you to survive. To grow. To become something the aristocracy cannot control.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “To burn their world to the ground.”

Rust stiffened. He had expected many things, but not this.

“You want to destroy the Choosing? The hierarchy?”

Vext spread his arms. “What is a hierarchy but a cage? You’ve lived outside its walls. You know better than anyone what it means to be free.”

Rust swallowed. Freedom. The word carried weight, but so did the cost. If he agreed to this, there would be no turning back. He would be more than just a scavenger, more than a badlander. He would be a weapon.

And for the first time in his life, he had a choice.

Rust lifted his gaze, meeting Vext’s hidden eyes. “What do I have to do?”

Vext’s lips curled behind the mask. “First, we test your limits.”

He pressed a control on the console, and the chamber doors sealed shut behind them. The hum of machinery intensified, and the lights flickered as energy surged through the floor. The tanks around them trembled, the creatures within stirring.

Rust’s muscles tensed. Whatever was about to happen, it had already begun.