The library felt heavier that morning.
Samuel zipped his bag quietly. Inside: his food, water, two notebooks, three pencils, and the small fan he had traded for. He didn't know what the day would bring, but something in his gut told him it was time to move.
He walked to the front desk where the two librarians sat, both reading by battery light. The two students still sat in the corner, flipping through half-melted books and whispering.
Samuel gave a respectful nod. "Thanks. For the space."
The older librarian looked up. "Leaving?"
He nodded. "I have to."
The younger one gave a faint smile. "Then walk softly. And keep that fan running."
Samuel smiled back.
Then he turned—and left the library behind.
---
He moved through the upper halls with practiced steps. Slow, deliberate. Careful not to let his boots scuff or echo.
His destination: the north stairwell, one of the only known routes that hadn't been sealed or caved in. He had mapped the school. He knew where the danger was.
He didn't know he'd be caught.
---
He reached the stairwell door.
Placed his hand on the handle.
And heard a voice behind him:
"Got something?"
He turned.
Too late.
A boot slammed into his back, sending him crashing against the doorframe. Before he could react, three figures rushed him, all wearing makeshift armor marked with the Empire insignia — cobbled together chest plates, duct-taped knee guards, and scavenged gym equipment.
Freshmen. Empire patrol.
One grabbed his arm and twisted.
Another smashed a fist into his ribs.
The third tore his bag away, dumping it on the floor.
Samuel struggled, swinging his elbow — caught one in the chin. But the others tackled him to the ground.
"Got a runner," one jock laughed. "Let's see what he's hiding."
They grabbed everything. His pencils. His notebooks. His food. His water.
Then, the sound of calm footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
A thin figure appeared — tall, composed, with sharp glasses and a black armband etched with a silver emblem.
An Empire captain.
He stepped into the light and glanced at Samuel.
"What's this?" he asked softly.
"Caught him trying to sneak out. He had food."
The captain didn't look impressed. He bent down, picked up one of the notebooks, and flipped through it.
Then he slowed.
Read a page.
Then another.
"Where was this student stationed?"
One jock answered, "Top floor. Class 4-A. Right under the roof."
The captain's eyes lit slightly.
"You found something rare," he muttered.
He stood.
"Bring him," he said. "To the Fifteen Kings. Now."
---
They dragged Samuel through the halls like a prisoner.
He didn't fight anymore. His ribs ached. His head throbbed. His fan had been pulled from his bag and now hung by its cord in the captain's hand like a trophy.
He passed by other students — some watched, some didn't care.
He passed the cafeteria. He didn't even look at it.
---
The Kings' Chamber was once the school's main conference room. Now, it was the throne hall of the Empire's leadership.
Fifteen teachers sat in salvaged chairs behind mismatched desks, arranged in a curved formation. Behind them, the double doors of the old principal's office loomed like a gate.
That room belonged to the Emperor.
Samuel was thrown to the ground in front of them.
The captain stepped forward and handed over the notebook.
"He was caught trying to escape. But his research is… different."
The lead King flipped through it. One by one, they read.
Heat patterns. Behavior logs. Structural decay under solar exposure. Notes on nighttime tolerances. Climate cycles. Theories about seasonal temperature variation.
One teacher glanced up. "Your class was under the roof?"
Samuel nodded.
"We've had limited perspective. You saw things we couldn't."
Another teacher stood. "Effective immediately, you will serve as the Empire's Researcher."
Samuel opened his mouth.
"You'll be given food and water weekly," another King added, nodding to a waiting aide.
The tray appeared:
Two chicken sandwiches. One bottle of water. One carton of chocolate milk.
"You'll report to us. Study everything. In return, we feed you."
Samuel stayed quiet.
His stomach hurt. His mouth was dry. He was too tired to say no.
So he nodded.
And sealed his role inside the Empire.
---
As he was led to a storage room-turned-living quarters, he saw the Emperor's door again.
Through a crack in the curtain, he spotted it:
His fan.
Placed neatly on the Emperor's desk, humming quietly.
He looked away.
But in his mind… he had already started counting weak points.