The convoy gates opened with a thunder of steel.
I expected a camp. Mud, shouting, drills.
Instead—what I saw made my breath catch.
Marble towers rose into the sky, white and gold. Gardens stretched across the courtyards, fountains spraying crystal water into the air. Music floated on the breeze, not war cries. Servants in fine uniforms moved like shadows, carrying trays of fruit, books, and folded robes.
This was not a school.
It was a kingdom within the Union.
The doors of the main hall swung wide. I was led inside.
The floors were polished glass. Chandeliers hung like stars. Every corner whispered power. Rows of students my age, dressed in silk uniforms with the crest of Blackwood stitched over their hearts, turned to watch me. Their eyes held no pity. Only measurement.
A tall steward stepped forward. His voice carried authority, though he was no soldier.
"By decree of the Throne, student Number 99979 shall now be enrolled. He is assigned to Chamber 34, West Wing. His personal servant awaits."
A boy my age scoffed. Another smirked. But no one dared speak louder.
I followed the steward down a corridor lined with golden lamps. The door to Chamber 34 opened, and there he was—my servant.
He was older, maybe sixteen, dressed in plain black. His head bowed as he spoke:
"I am yours to command, Master 99979. From today, your comfort, your studies, your rise—will be my duty."
The words struck me harder than any soldier's fist.
A servant. For me.
I, who ate from chipped plates at home, who shared a bed with two siblings, now had someone who would bow to me, wash my clothes, carry my books, even pour my water.
I stepped inside. The room was beyond dreams. A feather bed draped in silk. A desk carved from ebony. Shelves already filled with scrolls and books stamped with the Union seal.
The servant gestured. "Would you like to bathe before dinner, Master?"
I didn't answer.
I just stood there, staring at the polished mirror on the wall.
For the first time in my life, I saw not a boy from a small home.
I saw a child of the Union.
But deep in my chest, I heard my mother's voice:
"Do I still come home?"
And I knew—home was gone.
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