The end of the old world had shattered families like glass, scattering the pieces across a broken world. Most teens with developing abilities had spent half their lives in school dormitories—not by choice, but because there was nowhere else to go for people like us.
This was our reality now: attend classes, return to dorms, eat in the cafeteria, sleep in assigned beds. Rinse and repeat until twenty-five, when they either promoted you to Upper if your abilities had developed, or shipped you South to whatever fate awaited the "Stuck."
School Central housed both male and female dormitories, separated by a hundred yards of concrete and an ocean of strict regulations. Not that distance had ever stopped anyone from trying to bridge the gap.
I shared room 214 with three other guys who'd become my makeshift family over the years. Derrick had been my closest friend since we were both dumped here at age ten—tall, lanky, with dark skin and an infectious grin that appeared whenever he was worried, which was often. Clinton was my actual younger brother at sixteen, still naive enough to believe the world might improve someday. Then there was James, decent enough but cursed with an insatiable curiosity that made conversations feel like interrogations.
Derrick was a level 2 shape-shifter the last time they'd tested him. Clinton showed promising development as a technopath, his abilities growing stronger each month. James was what we called "stuck"—supposedly telepathic, but with no measurable progress and running out of time for School Central.
What am I now?
The question circled my mind like a vulture as I stood before our shared mirror, scrubbing grave dirt from my face with a damp towel. The golden flicker in my eyes was fading, but that alien electricity still hummed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. Whatever those cradlewalkers had done to me wasn't going away.
I was still trying to process the impossible when footsteps echoed in the hallway—my roommates returning from dinner. I scrubbed faster, desperate to appear normal, but they burst through the door balancing plates and chattering over each other in their usual chaotic symphony.
"Sweet mother of—" Derrick nearly dropped his food when he spotted me. "Look who's back from his mysterious adventure."
His trademark grin appeared, but I could see the worry lines around his eyes. He'd been covering for me all day—I could tell.
"Ernest!" Clinton abandoned his plate and rushed over, genuine concern radiating from his face. "What happened, man? You look like you crawled through a battlefield."
More accurate than you know, little brother. But as I looked at Clinton's worried expression, something else caught my attention that momentarily eclipsed my own crisis.
"What happened to your hair?" I stared at his head in shock. Clinton's hair was pure black now—no trace of the electric blue that had marked him as a Mela since birth. "Did you actually beat the curse?"
Clinton's face lit up as he ran fingers through his transformed looks. "It's been like this for two days. Someone's been so distracted he didn't even notice his own brother's transformation."
The Mela curse. That's what we called our family's genetic quirk—the brilliant blue hair that made us stand out like beacons in a world where blending in meant survival. It marked us as different when different was dangerous.
"How?" I asked, genuinely fascinated. "I've tried every black dye known to humanity. Mine always fights back within hours."
"I'm not entirely sure," Clinton shrugged. "Marvel hooked me up with some experimental compound. Said it was cutting-edge stuff."
Marvel was one of the senior students—level 5 hypnosis with connections to supplies that weren't supposed to exist within Central's walls.
"Join us, Nesto," James called from across the room, arranging food on his bed with methodical precision. "We brought enough rice for everyone."
James occupied that uncomfortable middle ground between friend and acquaintance. He was closer to Derrick and Clinton than to me, probably because I had this frustrating habit of vanishing without explanation. Dark-haired, serious-eyed, with a talent for asking questions that made me squirm.
I settled onto my bottom bunk, but food held no appeal. My body craved something else entirely—something I couldn't identify. It was like needing... energy? Power? The sensation defied description.
"So," James said, folding himself cross-legged on his bed with his plate, "how's that Maureen situation working out?"
Derrick, you absolute traitor. I fired a look at my best friend that could have melted titanium. I'd only mentioned wanting to explore beyond the walls—I definitely hadn't said anything specific about Maureen.
"James, come on," Derrick said, guilt written across his features. "Can't you just—"
"It's fine," I lied through gritted teeth. "I didn't leave Central."
"Right," James's tone dripped skepticism. "You just happened to disappear for an entire day and return looking like you've been buried alive, but you never left the compound."
If only you knew how literally accurate that assessment is.
Clinton swung up to his top bunk and peered down with brotherly concern. "Come on, Ernest. We're family here. You can tell us anything."
Family. He was right—after eight years together, we'd transcended mere roommates to become something closer to brothers. But how could I explain what had actually happened? How could I tell them that religious fanatics had filled me with divine essence and I could apparently teleport across territories now?
"Speaking of family changes," Derrick said suddenly, obviously trying to redirect the conversation, "tomorrow's James's twenty-fifth birthday. Graduation day."
The South. They made it sound like a promotion, a reward for unsuccessful students who aged out. But we all knew better. None of us understood what actually happened in the South—they called it "graduation" and "real-world preparation," but graduates never returned to share their experiences.
Advanced Students wore watches that displayed their progress levels. They didn't need constant monitoring. James's watch had been stuck at level 1 for two years.
"Don't remind me," James muttered, prodding at his rice without enthusiasm. "I'm not ready. But I suppose this is what we've all been working toward—graduation."
"Absolutely," I said, though the word felt hollow.
"You were outside the walls today, weren't you?" James pressed, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. "I can tell. That's not standard Central dirt, Nesto. That's red clay from the outer zones."
How the hell do you know what outer zone soil looks like?
[SYSTEM ALERT: Mind Drain has been activated against you]
The system notification flashed behind my eyes. Wait—isn't James supposed to be stuck? If he's actually using telepathic abilities against me, why does his watch still show level 1? Something doesn't add up.
"I was helping in the agricultural sector," I said quickly. "They brought in new soil from—"
"The gardens don't use red clay," James interrupted. "And they definitely don't carry whatever that chemical smell is."
I glanced down at my clothes. Despite my cleaning efforts, I probably still reeked of smoke, gunpowder, and whatever exotic compounds powered those electric weapons.
"Look," Derrick interjected, coming to my rescue, "maybe Nesto doesn't want to discuss it right now. We're all stressed about you leaving tomorrow, James."
But James wasn't backing down. He set aside his plate and leaned forward like a predator sensing weakness. "Nesto, if you're getting involved with something dangerous beyond the walls, we need to know. We can help."
Help? You want to help?
Something stirred inside me, responding to my frustration and fear. For just a moment, I felt that golden energy flicker behind my eyes like a warning flame. The hunger intensified, and I had to clench my fists to keep from reaching toward James with powers I didn't understand.
You have no idea what kind of help I need.
"I'm fine," I said, the words coming out sharper than intended. "Everything's perfectly fine."
But even as I spoke, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.