"Simon! Why did Estelle need to have her annual check-up on her birthday?" Propin demanded angrily.
Estelle's lips parted slightly. Everyone here was required to undergo a thorough examination at least once a year. When she was younger, they had told her it was simply to ensure they were developing properly, that it was just routine. But as time passed, she had realised it was more than that. Her mother had once been the one to decide when these check-ups took place, but now, it was one of the few decisions Estelle still had the power to make for herself.
But before she could explain, Simon was already offering a quick apology, "Next time, I’ll make sure to check the calendar properly".
Their eyes met for a brief moment. It was a silent thank you, yet he understood the message clearly. Propin ran a hand through his hazel hair and continued the conversation. Estelle closed her eyes, turning her gaze away as a heavy sigh escaped her. Cold, hateful stares pierced through her, and as she lifted her head, she saw two Monto officers walking past. Once again, that overwhelming sense of uncertainty washed over her.
But when their conversation shifted to talk of their last mission, her thoughts drifted. "What was actually produced at Finchley Company?"
"Drindalin" Simon replied.
"Drindalin?" Estelle repeated in shock, her fingers instinctively gripping her wrist. Even Propin, who had just shot Simon a spiteful face, wore a surprised expression. Apart from the fact that Monto could wield elemental powers, they were different from humans in many other ways. Their wounds healed at an astonishing rate, meaning knives and bullets weren’t enough to kill them. And even when they were injured, it didn’t diminish their elemental strength. But that didn’t mean someone hadn't found a way to kill them.
Drindalin was worse than death for anyone who came into contact with it. Though it could just as easily end your life, its true horror lay in the suffering it caused. It was an object shrouded in mystery. No one knew exactly what it was made of, and there was a reason for that. All anyone knew was what it looked like. No one could say whether it was stone or crystal, though to Estelle, it seemed like a strange blend of both, its dark grey tones glimmering with blue tips that sparkled faintly.
The effect it had on Monto was terrifying. Once it pierced the skin, a searing pain would spread through the body like wildfire. It was like bumping your knee, only a thousand times worse, a sharp sting that never truly faded. Even if the body grew accustomed to the agony, every movement sent a jolt of pain through the nerves. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The true horror of Drindalin was that once you came into contact with it, you could no longer access your elemental powers.
Humans could never understand. For a Monto, wielding and mastering the elements wasn’t just a skill, it was their very essence, the core of their existence.
“Do they know about…?” Estelle’s voice trailed off, her question heavy with fear.
Before she could finish, Simon shook his head firmly. “That’s impossible. Besides, the higher-ups ensure that no one outside a select few even knows Monto exist. It’s a tightly controlled process”.
Her shoulders relaxed a little, but the weight of her lifelong fear lingered. From the time she was a child, Estelle had been haunted by the terrifying thought of her true nature being exposed. She had grown up listening to chilling stories of what might happen if humanity ever learned the truth about Monto. That fear had burrowed deep into her, dictating her every move. It was the very reason she always wore a turtleneck or a scarf, no matter how high the summer sun climbed. It was her shield, a fragile barrier between her and a world that might never understand.
One of the men who had been glaring at her moments before now stood directly in front of her. Estelle’s eyes widened at the news he delivered. She blinked, startled. “Me?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
The man’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply. “Do you have a problem with that?” he demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory.
Propin’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes narrowing. To him, there was absolutely no justification for speaking to his friend that way. He parted his lips to retort, but Simon was quicker. The doctor’s voice cut through the tension, calm yet commanding. “I’m certain our Estelle has no problem with this” he said firmly, his green eyes meeting the officer’s unflinchingly. “She’s simply surprised. After all, it’s quite the honour, wouldn’t you agree?”
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The officer’s jaw worked for a moment, clearly taken aback by Simon’s intervention. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps brisk and rigid.
“We should take our seats,” Simon said, his tone returning to its usual measured calm. “The welcoming ceremony is about to begin". Propin gave a curt nod, his frown easing slightly. The ceremony for the new Prime Minister’s induction was the reason they were all gathered there in their military uniforms. Even Simon, whom Estelle had only ever seen in his signature white doctor coat, was dressed in a sharp black suit.
“Go on ahead” Estelle said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll be right behind you”.
At first, they hesitated, but then both nodded and walked away. Estelle lingered, her footsteps heavy as she made her way to the ladies' toilet. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.
The deep navy blue of her uniform only accentuated the pallor of her skin, making her look even more washed out than usual. Her hair, almost luminous against the dark fabric, seemed to glow like moonlight. Lately, she’d had the feeling it was growing lighter with each passing year. But perhaps that was just her imagination. After all, she couldn’t ask anyone. People kept their distance deliberately, and when they did look at her, it was rarely with kindness.
Her ocean-blue eyes gazed back at her. Nineteen. Legally an adult. And yet, those eyes felt hollow, empty like windows to a soul that had been drained of hope. They weren’t filled with the dreams or excitement that life was supposed to offer someone her age. Instead, they seemed resigned, existing only to watch the monotonous grey of each day drift past, untouched by life’s wonders.
Girls her age cared about their appearance, carefully curating their hair, their makeup, their smiles, earning compliments for looking sweet or charming. But Estelle found nothing to admire in the girl staring back at her. Her eyes were dull, her hair uninspired, her pale complexion unremarkable. At 1.70m tall, she was far from petite, far from delicate, far from the idea of beauty that others seemed to embody so effortlessly. Her reflection felt like a stranger. She didn’t like her eyes, her hair colour, her height—any of it. But then again, she was used to feeling this way. She was not alone in this.
After tidying her high ponytail, Estelle let her hands fall to her sides. Her gaze dropped, and instinctively, her fingers reached for the soul stone hidden beneath her clothes. It rested against her chest like a quiet reminder of who she was , or what she wasn’t.
The future stretched out before her, unyielding and unchangeable, so much so that she no longer even dared to look up at the moon as she once had. Night after night, she’d sought solace in its glow, silently pleading for it to make life a little easier, a little more bearable. But those prayers had long since faded into silence. Outside, everyone was already lined up in neat, obedient rows. Keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, Estelle slipped into her place beside Propin in the fourth row. She stood motionless, her presence quiet and unassuming, as if she might disappear into the uniformity of the crowd. The stillness was broken by the booming voice of Gunner Fox. Standing tall before the podium, his practised smile was wide and friendly as he began to speak.
"It is a great pleasure" he said, his words dripping with sincerity "And an even greater honour to finally stand before the members of the EFJ".
A ripple of polite applause swept through the crowd, but no warmth came with it. No smiles lit up the faces of those gathered. Every Monto knew the Element For Justice organisation. It wasn’t just a name—it was their reality, their inevitability. Membership wasn’t a choice; it was a destiny. From the moment you were old enough to understand, the EFJ claimed you, shaping every part of your life from that day forward. For Estelle, it wasn’t an honour, as Fox so passionately declared. It was a sentence.
Career opportunities within the organisation were scarce and uninspiring. Its primary function was to maintain political balance, or so they claimed. In truth, it meant this: those with a firm command of their elements were handed the more challenging—and often dangerous—assignments. Those who struggled were relegated to the dirty work, the thankless tasks no one else wanted.
Estelle stood in silence as her new boss’s long-winded speech droned on, each word more hollow than the last. The wind swirled around her, brushing against her ears like a whisper, as if nature itself mocked the futility of it all. Nothing had changed. They remained there, motionless, like meticulously arranged chess pieces on a board. Her thoughts drifted, and for the first time, Simon’s words began to make sense.
For decades, the same three political parties had governed Britannica in an endless, predictable cycle. The Advanced Identity Party, the Free Working Class Coalition, and the Loyalist Party, who currently held power. Each time, they came with the same empty promises: “We will fight for Monto rights.” “No more childhood training lessons” “A free choice of career paths for every citizen.”
They all said the right things, crafting hope out of thin air. But the big change, the one they were all waiting for, never came. Not yesterday. Not today. And deep down, Estelle wondered if it ever would.
Estelle fixed her gaze ahead as Gunner Fox concluded his speech. For a fleeting moment, her breath hitched. She could have sworn he glanced in her direction, a faint smile curling his lips as if it were meant solely for her.