Dawn arrived with an uneasy hush. The Quarter’s narrow alleys felt tighter than ever, as if the crooked structures leaned in to listen. Overnight, tension had settled like fine dust over every battered walkway and sagging rooftop, and now the first hints of light revealed a city on edge. The Drafting Tests were today, and no one in Mattius’s age group would escape them.

He stood by the tavern’s warped doorway, heart thrumming in his chest. Inside, Old Karvel rummaged quietly through crates, pretending to be busy while throwing occasional, furtive glances over his shoulder. Behind the tattered curtain, children whispered and stirred, sensing some great event unfolding just beyond their comprehension. One of them coughed, a small sound that echoed in the charged silence.

Mattius had slept poorly, haunted by images of yesterday’s conversation with Karvel and the trade run that yielded only meager roots and kernels. Now those concerns seemed trivial compared to the ordeal awaiting him. He wanted to delay leaving, but time pressed on. If he tried to hide, they’d find him. Rumors said the Watch employed Psionics who could sense fear and reluctance, who could drag you into the light no matter where you cowered.

Karvel’s voice broke the stillness. “You should go,” he said quietly, not turning around. He rearranged a few shriveled vegetables on the counter, as if that might distract him from the boy’s departure. “Better to face it straight on than have them hunt you down.”

Mattius nodded, though Karvel couldn’t see it. There was no point in arguing. The longer he lingered, the worse it would look.

He stepped into the street and pulled the door shut. The Dent’s dim glow faded behind him as he navigated the early morning gloom. The Quarter’s people were up, and many were already on the move. He joined a trickle of adolescents heading east, where the Watch had cordoned off a long, narrow intersection for the Tests.

The air tasted of metal and old regret. Vendors who dared to open early sold stale bread ends and watery broth to anxious parents. Others remained shuttered, hoping to vanish from notice. On a corner, Mattius saw a woman weeping softly, her shoulders shaking as a lanky boy—her son, perhaps—squared his shoulders and marched away without looking back.

At the next cross-street, barricades loomed. The Watch had improvised a testing area at the Quarter’s ragged edge, near a broken thoroughfare that once led into a better district. Mattius’s stomach tightened. He expected to see just a few officers, maybe a scanning device or two. Instead, he found a small armory’s worth of armored enforcers and drones. Each wore reflective visors and carried weapons designed for crowd control. Towering behind them were machines bristling with antennae, glowing conduits, and sensor arrays that hummed ominously.

A line of youths stretched forward, some shuffling quietly, others standing rigid with fear. Mattius took a place at the end, trying to appear calm. He glanced upward out of instinct. Yesterday, he’d looked for watchers—those silent, cloaked figures who had tracked him. This morning, he spotted them again: a pair of silhouettes perched atop a half-collapsed roof two blocks away. They resembled gargoyles, still and inscrutable. Did they guide him here, or merely bear witness? Whatever their purpose, they remained silent observers.

Nervous chatter drifted through the line. To Mattius’s left, a heavyset boy wrung his hands until his knuckles whitened. To his right, a tall girl kept running fingers through her hair, murmuring something like a prayer. Mattius shut his eyes for a moment and breathed slowly. He tried to focus on something else—the memory of the child he’d saved, now safe behind the Dent’s curtain, or Old Karvel’s grudging kindness. He tried not to imagine tomorrow or next week. Just survive this moment.

The line moved forward in increments. At the front stood a series of devices manned by technicians in gray uniforms. The first machine looked like a metal arch flanked by panels that thrummed with energy. Another device had a cylindrical core, its surface etched with spiraling runes and embedded crystals that glowed in shifting hues. Beyond them, a figure in sleek attire watched intently. Even from a distance, Mattius could guess: a Psionic examiner, one whose presence clung to the air like static electricity.

A commotion erupted ahead. A boy tried to bolt, pushing sideways through the crowd. The Watch reacted instantly. An officer lunged forward, catching the boy by the arm. Another officer pressed something against his shoulder. With a crackle, he yelped and crumpled. The line pressed back, a ripple of shock. The Watch dragged the would-be runaway to the front, ignoring his pleas. The lesson was clear: no one would escape.

Mattius’s pulse hammered. He forced himself to remain still, to keep fear from twisting his face. Psionics could pick up on panic, or so he’d heard. Did he have reason to panic? He wasn’t expecting any Talent. Wasn’t that why he lived in the Quarter, after all? His parents had never returned for him; the system had deemed him unremarkable. He’d survived on scraps and wit, not innate gifts. Probability suggested he’d stand under the scanner and be found ordinary. They’d let him go—wouldn’t they?

The line advanced slowly. Mattius drew closer to the machines, close enough now to see details. The first scanner was an intricate construct of rods and panels that emitted soft hums. It probably tested for Warrior compatibility, scanning neural patterns to detect if a brain could harmonize with mechanical interfaces. The second scanner had a subtle shimmer around it, perhaps related to energy fields that Mages manipulate. The final test station was staffed by a Psionic, a tall, wiry figure with a featureless black visor. Under that visor, a pair of eyes would be reading not just faces, but minds.

Mattius’s throat went dry. He noticed a handful of youths being marched aside by Watch officers after testing positive for something. Not many, just two or three. One sobbed openly, another seemed numb with shock. Those found Talentless stumbled back into the Quarter with hollow relief, as if they’d escaped some silent beast’s maw.

Now he stood only one or two places away from the front. The hum of machinery rattled in his ears. Someone ahead of him, a wiry kid with close-cropped hair, stepped into the Warrior scanner’s light. The machine clicked and whirred, then flashed green. The technicians murmured, and the boy was pushed along to the next station. Mattius couldn’t catch what happened after that because an officer waved him forward.

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Mattius took his place beneath the first scanner. He tried to hold still as the device bathed him in a soft, violet glow. A technician tapped on a handheld console, frowning. “Strange readings,” the technician muttered, adjusting a knob. The machine whined, then stuttered. Mattius’s heart climbed into his throat. Strange readings? He must have misheard. He forced himself not to flinch.

An officer prodded him. “Move to the next station.”

The next device hummed differently, its glow a pale blue. Mattius stepped forward, and the blue intensified around him like a haze. The technician here shook their head, confused. He heard them say something about “high resonance,” though it sounded distant and unreal. High resonance? That had to be a glitch. He’d never shown any magical aptitude. He barely understood what Mages even did beyond Karvel’s stories.

“Next,” said a stern voice, gesturing him toward the Psionic examiner.

Mattius’s legs felt like lead. The Psionic stood behind a compact machine ringed with delicate fibers that fluttered in an unseen breeze. The examiner didn’t speak. Instead, the visor seemed to tilt, as if peering right through Mattius’s skull.

His skin prickled. Suddenly he felt… exposed, as if a thousand tiny needles of thought were prying into his mind. He tried to hold steady, thinking of mundane things: the cracked floorboards in the Dent, the stale smell of old grain, the half-rotten tubers Karvel sorted each morning. Anything but fear. Anything but the anxiety pulsing in his chest.

Something crackled in the air. The Psionic examiner stepped back sharply, nearly stumbling. The technicians rushed forward. The officer nearby barked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The Psionic’s voice emerged, muffled by the visor: “He resonates with all patterns.” The examiner sounded stunned, uncertain. “This boy… I sense Warrior potential, Mage harmonics, Psionic wavelengths—impossible…”

“Impossible?” repeated the officer, incredulous. “Check again.”

They did. The machines hummed louder, lights dancing over Mattius’s body. He felt dizzy, as if the world had tilted. He caught snatches of words: “Triple reading,” “Never recorded,” “Must inform the Council.”

The crowd had gone quiet, as if everyone held their breath. The officer grabbed Mattius’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “Come with us,” he growled. This wasn’t a polite request. Guards converged, forming a ring of armor and weapons. Mattius’s protest died in his throat. He had no idea what was happening. Three Talents in one person? He’d never even manifested a spark of skill. Yet these experts sounded utterly convinced.

They dragged him away from the testing line. Mattius’s feet scraped the pavement as he tried to keep balance. He glanced around, searching for a familiar face. None of the Quarter residents dared approach. They stood back, stunned and fearful. Some shook their heads as if witnessing a bad omen. Others just stared, wide-eyed.

He thought of Karvel’s warning: If Talent was found, you’d be shaped into whatever the Empire needed. If you resisted, you risked the Empire’s wrath. Mattius had no clue what they’d do with someone who had all three Talents. That must make him priceless—or a threat.

As the Watch led him toward a waiting transport, he caught a flicker of movement on a distant rooftop. One of those cloaked watchers leaned forward, then vanished behind a broken antenna. Were they satisfied? Alarmed? He’d never know. He only knew that, in a matter of minutes, his life had pivoted in a direction he couldn’t fathom.

They pushed him toward a squat, armored vehicle parked behind an old freight container. Its hull bore the Empire’s insignia: a stylized star and gear entwined. Inside, it would be cramped and secure—no chance of running. Mattius’s pulse pounded in his ears.

A technician jogged up, still holding the scanning device. “We need to keep him sedated or at least monitored,” the technician told the officer. “The Council will want a full evaluation.”

The officer nodded, signaling two guards, who grabbed Mattius’s wrists and clamped cold restraints onto him. Mattius winced. He’d done nothing wrong, yet they treated him like contraband. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words refused to form. What could he say? They wouldn’t release him. He could feel the weight of their discovery bearing down on him. He’d become a commodity, a living anomaly.

The small crowd began to disperse, some drifting away quietly, others hurrying home with a new rumor to spread. Mattius wished he could see Karvel’s face now. Would the old man regret ever feeding him, ever letting him stay? Or would he feel pride, fear, sorrow? Mattius imagined Karvel cursing under his breath, knowing the Empire’s grip would tighten on this precious find.

They shoved Mattius into the vehicle. The interior smelled of machine oil and leather. Two guards took seats across from him, rifles resting on their knees. Another stood by the door, tapping a code into a panel. The transport’s engine whirred, lifting slightly off the ground—some kind of hover function, perhaps. Mattius had never ridden in such a machine. He felt nauseous.

Through a narrow viewport, he caught a final glimpse of the Quarter’s alleys. He saw a cluster of children gawking, a few adults muttering behind cupped hands. He tried to commit their faces to memory, unsure if he’d ever see them again. Would he return someday, changed beyond recognition? Or would the Empire swallow him whole, leaving only a memory behind?

The vehicle rose higher, clearing debris and heading toward smoother avenues that led away from the Quarter’s center. The hum of its engines resonated in his bones. Mattius struggled to find calm. He couldn’t alter what had happened. He’d never asked for any Talent, let alone three. Yet fate had decided otherwise, and now the Empire would wield him like a blade, a tool, a key to mysteries he hadn’t known existed.

He let out a shaky breath. In the silence of the transport, he thought again of the legends Karvel recited: Warriors shaping battles, Mages forging reactors, Psionics healing fractures in society. He held all these potentials, if what the Tests revealed was true. What did that make him, truly? A savior, a weapon, a pawn?

The guards said nothing. They didn’t need to. Their grim faces spoke volumes: he was valuable, and therefore he must be contained. He caught sight of the restraints on his wrists, reflecting dull light. The future stretched before him as a series of unknown corridors and locked doors.

As the transport glided toward the distant skyline, leaving the Quarter’s rusted silhouettes behind, Mattius wondered if he would ever again taste the gritty air of his old life. He closed his eyes, recalling the Dent’s flickering lamp, the smell of dried root, the frightened girl peering from behind a curtain. Those memories were all he had left of his former self, now overshadowed by the Empire’s looming expectations.

Somewhere behind him, the watchers might still linger on rooftops, whispering silent judgments to themselves. Ahead lay new dangers and complexities he couldn’t imagine. The Quarter, the Dent, Karvel, those children, he left them all behind in a haze of confusion and fear, strapped inside a vehicle of the regime that had just claimed him as its newest, most improbable resource.

The transport picked up speed. Mattius steadied his breathing, preparing to face whatever waited beyond the Quarter’s borders. He had no other choice.