The transport glided through districts Mattius had only imagined. Peering through its small viewport, he caught glimpses of a world so unlike the Quarter it might as well have belonged to another planet. Gone were the rusted walkways and makeshift barricades. In their place rose sleek towers with mirrored surfaces that caught the morning sun, neat rows of streetlamps that hummed softly, and winding pedestrian walkways adorned with carefully trimmed shrubbery. He saw automated drones hovering quietly, directing orderly flows of traffic below. Everything looked engineered for comfort and order.
The vehicle descended, pivoting gracefully toward a wide structure that sprawled half above ground, half below. Its upper portion reflected a pale blue sky; its lower half, visible through transparent paneling, was clearly subterranean. Security fences traced its perimeter, humming with faint energy. Armed guards patrolled walkways, their armor far cleaner and more advanced than anything the Watch used in the Quarter. Beyond them, sealed blast doors and reinforced glass partitions hinted at layers of protection and secrecy.
Mattius’s stomach tightened. He’d known he was being taken somewhere controlled by the Empire, but this looked more like a fortress than a mere facility. With a gentle thrum, the transport settled onto a landing platform. The guards inside nudged him forward. Outside, a squad of sentries in dark uniforms stood at attention. As soon as Mattius stepped down, he felt the subtle pressure of eyes on him, everyone here knew who he was, or at least knew he was something unusual.
They guided him through a short corridor leading into the complex’s interior. The walls were pristine white, broken by occasional panels of brushed metal. Soft lighting eliminated any shadows. The air smelled faintly of antiseptics and ozone, a clean, manufactured scent. If the Quarter had been a place of grime and scarcity, this was a world of enforced sterility and precision. He felt smaller than ever, as if he’d stepped into a giant laboratory rather than a place where human beings lived and worked.
At the first checkpoint, he was halted by a drone that hovered at eye level. It shined a scanning beam across his face and body before emitting a chirp of approval. Doors slid open with a whisper. The guards—two on each side—steered him into a larger hall. Here he found more complex security: overlapping fields of translucent energy, each deactivating only when the proper code was entered on a wall-mounted console.
Through a final set of doors, he arrived in a sparse reception area. A single desk curved elegantly near one wall, behind it a figure stood waiting. This person wore a subtle uniform, not as martial as the guards, but crisp and official. Their attire bore the Empire’s insignia: a stylized star and gear entwined. She had calm, intelligent features and pale eyes that regarded Mattius with polite interest. When she smiled, it was professional rather than warm.
“Greetings,” she said, voice low and measured. “I am Serone, Psionic Adviser to the Talent Acquisition Division. I’ve been expecting you.” Serone’s gaze flicked over Mattius’s appearance: his threadbare clothes from the Quarter, the dirt under his nails, the confusion in his eyes. If Serone judged him, she didn’t show it. Instead, she inclined their head slightly. “You must have many questions.”
Mattius’s throat felt tight. Questions? He had thousands, but he wasn’t sure if he’d get any honest answers. “Where am I?” he managed, voice rough. “Why am I here?”
Serone raised a slender hand, palm outward in a placating gesture. “This is a secure evaluation facility. We have brought you here because your Drafting Test results were… unprecedented. Our protocols require careful assessment.” She paused, as if considering what to say next. “You need not fear for your well-being. We will ensure you are treated with appropriate care.”
Mattius tried to steady himself. He looked around: no windows, just sealed doors and subtle surveillance nodes recessed into the ceiling. He doubted “appropriate care” meant what he thought it should. “I never asked for this,” he said, voice shaking slightly despite his attempts to sound calm.
Serone’s expression did not change. “We understand that, but circumstances are what they are. Cooperation will benefit you. Resistance would be unwise.”
The guards behind him stiffened, as if to underscore that point. Mattius nodded numbly. He felt as if he stood on shifting sands, with no firm ground to grasp. The Quarter, for all its hardships, had been familiar. This place was too bright, too controlled, too controlled. His heart ached with a sudden longing for Karvel’s gruff voice, the Dent’s dim lamp, and even the stale taste of old grain.
Serone stepped from behind the desk and gestured to a side corridor. “We’ve prepared temporary accommodations for you. Until we complete our initial evaluations, you must remain in isolation.” She said it gently, but Mattius heard the steel beneath the courtesy.
He followed Serone and the guards through another maze of identical halls, each intersection marked by small alphanumeric codes that meant nothing to him. After several turns, they stopped at a sealed chamber with a reinforced door. One guard tapped a code into a panel, and with a pneumatic hiss, the door slid aside.
Inside was a small room, almost spartan. A cot bolted to the floor. A small sink with mirrored panel above it. Soft overhead lighting that buzzed faintly. No personal items, no blankets more than what was absolutely necessary, and no chair other than a low stool built into the wall. The camera set high in one corner blinked red, reminding him he would never be alone here.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Serone said, as if this were a guest suite. “You will be notified when testing begins.” Without waiting for a response, they stepped back, and the door closed with a crisp finality.
Mattius took a hesitant step forward and sat on the cot. The mattress was thin but clean, far better than the makeshift bedding he’d known in the Quarter’s alleys. He rubbed his wrists where restraints had pinched him earlier. His entire journey here had been a blur of fear and confusion, and he felt no closer to understanding why he was so special, why this Empire had turned him into a prize.
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Silence pressed in. The only sound was the gentle hum of ventilation. He wondered who else might be in this facility. Other Talents? People who, like him, were plucked from their homes to serve the Empire’s inscrutable purposes? Perhaps somewhere down these sterile halls, others were locked in similar cells, waiting, wondering.
Time passed slowly. Without windows, he had no sense of how long he’d been sitting there. He tried distracting himself: counting the grooves in the wall, recalling every detail of the Dent’s interior, imagining Old Karvel’s reaction if he could see this place. None of it soothed the knot in his chest.
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Eventually, a neutral, mechanical voice crackled from a speaker above the door: “Subject 00178A. Prepare for initial evaluation in one hour. Remain compliant. Disobedience will not be tolerated.”
The voice cut off as abruptly as it began. Mattius’s heart sank. They reduced him to a subject number. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them, trying to keep panic at bay. Fear wouldn’t help him now. He needed clarity.
What did compliance mean here? Obeying their commands while they poked and prodded him like a lab creature? He remembered the wild tales about Warriors, Mages, and Psionics—how they shaped the Empire’s destiny. Now he bore all three gifts, if the Tests were correct. That made him important, but it also made him a captive to their agenda.
He allowed himself a whisper: “I’m not a tool.” His voice sounded hollow against the sterile walls.
If anyone heard, they offered no reply. The camera’s red light remained steady, indifferent.
Minutes crawled by. Mattius stood, stretched, paced the narrow floor. He stopped at the mirror above the sink, studying his reflection. He looked the same as always: lank hair, tired eyes, a skinny frame from too many lean meals. Nothing about that face hinted at hidden powers. He tried to see what the Empire saw—a resource of unlimited potential—but he saw only a scared boy who missed home.
More muffled footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the corridor. He strained to listen, but the sound faded. No clues, no comfort.
As he rested against the wall, the events of the past few days replayed in his mind: rescuing the girl from the Quarter’s street, the watchers on the rooftops, Karvel’s grave warnings, the brutal Drafting Tests, and the shocking revelation that set him apart. He wondered if the watchers still kept track of him, or if they cared now that he was caged like a rare animal. He doubted they would help him.
The hum of ventilation shifted subtly as if the facility were exhaling. Mattius felt the vibration beneath his feet, imagining the complex’s hidden depths—labs, training halls, storage bays, all arranged for the Empire’s purpose. A place designed to mold him into something he’d never chosen to be.
He clenched his fists. Fear still lurked, but now simmered with anger. He never asked for Talent or glory. Yet here he was, stripped of freedom, on the brink of a future he couldn’t control. Could he bend this fate to his advantage, or was he trapped in a perfect machine that would grind him down into obedience?
As the hour crawled onward, no answers came. Only the same stark walls and the silent scrutiny of the camera’s unblinking eye.
In the last minutes before the promised evaluation, he resolved to face whatever tests they inflicted on him with open eyes. He’d learn what he could about this place, about his abilities, about those who held the leash. If he ever got a chance, he’d need knowledge to escape this gilded prison.
A chime rang softly. The door lock clicked. Someone would be coming soon. Mattius drew a shaky breath and steeled himself. He might be trapped, but he was alive, and he’d hold on to that sliver of identity no matter what.
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The corridor smelled faintly of ionized air and antiseptic. As Mattius followed the guards and the technician with silver-rimmed spectacles, he kept trying to catalog details: the pattern of lights overhead, the subtle numbers etched into each doorframe, the muted hum of distant machinery. He wanted something, anything, that could help him understand this place. But everything was pristine, symmetrical, and maddeningly anonymous.
They halted before a set of reinforced doors marked only by a single emblem: a stylized star entwined with a gear—the Empire’s seal. The technician tapped a code into a recessed panel, and the doors glided apart without a whisper.
Inside, Mattius expected to see another white-walled lab. Instead, he stepped into a cavernous space bathed in low, bluish light. Rows upon rows of cylindrical pods stretched out like soldiers standing at attention. Each pod was roughly human-sized, a metal and glass capsule balanced on a slender base, cables snaking up to the ceiling. The air buzzed with energy, and monitors flickered on consoles arranged along walkways, manned by silent technicians in uniform gray attire.
The technician turned to Mattius. “We will run your evaluation in here,” they said. Their voice echoed slightly in the vast chamber. “It is more… integrated than separate tests. More efficient.”
Mattius’s heart tightened. He’d imagined being poked with instruments or forced to perform feats under close scrutiny, but this scene felt more ominous. The pods reminded him of hives, each containing who-knew-what kind of simulation. He glanced around, searching for Serone or someone he recognized, but all he saw were strangers with impassive faces.
Two guards escorted him down a narrow aisle between pods. He passed sealed capsules glowing softly from within. Some were empty, their glass dark. Others showed only frosted interiors. He guessed this was a testing ground—one that merged Warrior, Mage, and Psionic evaluations into a single immersive trial. The thought of having his mind plunged into some artificial scenario made him shiver.
Finally, they stopped beside an open pod. It stood upright, its interior padded with a strange, gel-like lining. Translucent cables draped inside, and at the base, a small cradle for his feet. A set of delicate sensors dangled from above. The pod’s curved glass door waited to seal him in.
“Step inside,” said the technician, adjusting their spectacles. “Do not resist the systems. They will guide you through several scenarios designed to test your aptitudes.”
Mattius hesitated. “Scenarios? What do you mean?”
The technician’s tone remained flat. “A virtual environment. You’ll face certain challenges tailored to Warrior, Mage, and Psionic traits. The system monitors your responses, neural patterns, and emotional states. It is thorough—and painless if you cooperate.”
Painless if he cooperated. Mattius didn’t miss the implication. He had no choice. His eyes flicked to the guards, their stances rigid, weapons in hand. He stepped up, placing one foot into the pod, then the other. The gel lining was cool against his back as he leaned in. The sensors adjusted automatically, brushing against his temples with spider-like delicacy. The technician tapped a command into a console on the nearby station.
With a soft hiss, the glass door slid shut, sealing Mattius inside. The world outside became muffled. He could still see the chamber’s dim blue lighting through the tinted glass, the silhouettes of technicians moving along walkways. Then the pod’s interior lights brightened, and a gentle hum filled his ears. He felt pressure around his limbs, as if gentle hands were holding him in place.
A whisper sounded in his ear, the same neutral, artificial voice he’d heard before: “Initiating VR sequence. Remain calm. Resistance is futile”
Mattius opened his mouth to protest, but the world went dark.