Chapter 03 ~ Screen (Part 2)

  The sound of boots thickened.

  From above the cell, where iron bars crisscrossed to form a caged ceiling embedded into the floor of the level above, a chorus of armored steps began to cluster. The metallic mesh above Akira and Shiroha vibrated faintly under the weight of the soldiers gathering—boots clanking over a surface meant for walking, not for watching. Their prison lay buried in the ground, like a secret kept just beneath the polished floors of power.

  Then—clink.

  A faint hiss of steam escaped the joints of a knight’s armor. From beneath the curve of a silver helmet, a voice emerged—low, coarse, and laced with command.

  “Open it.”

  A sharp screech answered him—a mechanical whine, ancient and cruel.

  From behind the stone walls, a knight turned a massive wheel—an anchor-shaped crank more suited for lowering ships than opening doors. Each rotation ground against thick gears, the sound echoing like the roar of iron whales in the deep.

  CLUNK-CLANK—RATTLE.

  Chains groaned to life, heavy and rusted, dragging taut with each pull. They slithered through unseen pulleys like metal serpents, straining as they hoisted the iron-grated ceiling upward—bar by bar, inch by stubborn inch.

  Shiroha’s golden eyes snapped to the ceiling.

  She stared, wide-eyed, as light broke through the holes in the grate—beams pouring in through the gaps like fingers of judgment. Her irises shimmered with a strange glint, somewhere between awe and defiance. Then—

  “You two!” barked the knight from above, his voice sharper now. “Out. Now.”

  Akira and Shiroha exchanged a glance.

  He didn’t understand.

  Neither spoke.

  They both moved.

  In one motion, Akira leapt toward the far wall, his palms slamming onto the stone rim of the cell. Shiroha mirrored him from the opposite side. Elbows planted. Legs bent. Their feet pushed off the wall with force, propelling themselves upward.

  Their hands gripped the stone lip—then came the final push.

  Thud.

  Akira landed first, boots skidding slightly across the polished surface of the upper floor. Moments later, Shiroha emerged opposite him, graceful even in the tight space between the encircling knights.

  Now both stood surrounded—faces calm, expressions unreadable—as a ring of armored figures closed in.

  The silence settled over them like a fresh snowfall.

  Then—Shiroha spoke.

  Her voice was light, but clear. “We were told our sentence would be three days. Why are you here… at sunset on the first?”

  A twitch of irritation passed through the knight’s frame.

  “Silence,” he said bluntly. “Don’t ask so many questions. We follow orders from those above you. So follow ours, girl.”

  Akira’s violet eyes narrowed.

  He stepped forward, just slightly, and muttered under his breath—yet loud enough to carry.

  “…That’s a poor way to speak to her.”

  Every armored head turned.

  With eerie calm, every knight in the circle turned to face the source of the voice.

  Shiroha’s hair—pale gold in the lantern light—trembled faintly.

  The lead knight stepped forward.

  His voice was cool. Measured. But dangerous.

  “What did you just say, peasant boy?”

  Before Akira could respond, Shiroha moved.

  She stepped quickly, placing herself directly between the knight’s gaze and Akira’s eyes. She held one hand behind her—shielding Akira with her body.

  “Please,” she said gently. “Forgive him. Sometimes he mutters things he doesn’t quite… understand.”

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  The knight’s expression didn’t change.

  He inhaled slowly, then exhaled through the slit of his helmet.

  “I’ve already heard,” he said coldly. “The caravan that traveled to Moria brought back two notable misfits. First, a girl who destroyed property with uncontrolled power. Second, a boy with a loose tongue.”

  He took a single step forward. His armor creaked like a closing coffin.

  “I was confused at first. Why was one of our candidates thrown into a cell on their very first day? But now… it’s beginning to make sense. This wasn’t a random decision.”

  Shiroha stood still—a wall of golden hair and unwavering calm between Akira and the armored knight. Her eyes held steady, but Akira… Akira looked conflicted. Frustrated. Lost.

  No matter how many times she warned him—Don’t speak back. Don’t challenge them. Don’t resist.—his spirit refused to yield. His defiance burned quietly behind his violet eyes like a spark that refused to go out.

  The knight’s voice cut through the standoff like a blade.

  “All of this means nothing. Follow me.”

  His tone left no room for argument.

  “Your fate will be decided in the next few minutes. Now move.”

  The soldiers obeyed without hesitation.

  With practiced coordination, they fell into formation behind him—he was clearly the leader of this unit. Akira and Shiroha were guided into the center of the column, walking side by side as the rest of the knights formed a tight perimeter around them.

  Akira’s eyes, shimmering violet, wandered cautiously through the space. His pale blue hair moved gently with each step, catching the lantern light like ripples in a stream. He kept his expression unreadable, but his eyes scanned everything.

  They were underground. Deep beneath the surface, beneath the streets and towers of Drogaran’s lower quarter.

  The passage was wide—cut from solid stone and shaped like a tunnel. The floor beneath their feet was smooth, the walls curved, lined with thick stone bricks. Lanterns hung at even intervals, casting a warm golden glow that pushed the shadows aside. Though they were underground, the lighting was so well-crafted it felt like daytime in a world with no sky.

  Yet despite the light, the place carried weight—heavy and breathless.

  Akira could hear it.

  The groaning of chains. The rumble of tremors beneath their feet. A low hum of distant energy pulsing through the stone itself.

  To his left, a heavy grate split the wall—beyond it, rows of iron bars stretched into darkness.

  “Hey… boy!” a prisoner’s voice rasped. “Free us!”

  Another. “Water—just a drop, please!”

  “Throw down bread! Anything!”

  Akira winced at the cries—raw, desperate, human.

  As they continued walking, he stepped over a familiar sight: another grate, like the one that had formed the ceiling of his own cell. He looked down.

  Beneath the iron mesh sat a man.

  Thin. Slouched. His face shadowed and his arms limp at his sides. He didn’t move. His eyes met Akira’s—and there was nothing there. No fear. No anger. No hope. Just… vacancy. A silence louder than the screams.

  A thousand unspoken words. And none at all.

  Akira froze for half a step.

  Then—thud.

  A knight behind him gave him a shove.

  “Keep moving.”

  He obeyed.

  Up ahead, the leader spoke again, voice filled with contempt.

  “All your companions from Moria were rejected. Every last one. They failed the test. What did we expect from village children?”

  Shiroha’s golden eyes flickered—shaken.

  Rejected? she thought. All of them? How?

  A voice whispered in the commander’s ear—another knight, speaking low.

  “There was one exception, sir. The boy… with the green flames.”

  The leader scoffed.

  “My memory struggles with commoners. What was his name again?”

  “Serio. Serio Surata, sir.”

  “Ah. That one. Yes… now I remember. That boy did show a rather irritating level of potential.”

  At the name, Akira lit up.

  A smile broke across his face.

  “Serio awakened?” he said, tone full of genuine joy. “He really did it!”

  Shiroha glanced at him.

  “…Didn’t he already have a power back in the village?” she asked.

  Akira shook his head. “He and I are the same age. Everyone else in our age group had already Awakened—except the two of us.”

  Shiroha slowly raised her hand to her forehead.

  “…Are you telling me he used to beat you up without even having an element?”

  He laughed awkwardly, scratching his cheek. “Don’t put it that way… ha-ha. Though… yeah. You’re not wrong.”

  Then he smiled brighter, eyes warm.

  “But I’m glad. He deserves it. Honestly, I’d be shocked if he didn’t pass. That’s just who he is.”

  Shiroha’s eyes lingered on him quietly, her golden gaze soft, unreadable.

  They walked in silence for several more minutes.

  Eventually, they emerged from the prison levels—but still remained underground. The facility was massive, sprawling far beyond the confines of any dungeon Akira could’ve imagined.

  They didn’t see sunlight.

  They didn’t see sky.

  Only stone corridors… and well-maintained torchlight.

  Eventually, they reached a new space.

  A large, open chamber—its floor made of soft, pale sand. The air was warm and still. The chamber had no roof—only more stone rising high above, and a series of observation windows carved into the upper levels.

  At the far end of the arena, a woman stood waiting.

  She wore elegant black and crimson clothing, her posture straight and poised. Her glasses were square, with brown frames that matched the deep walnut shade of her eyes. Her long black hair was pinned neatly behind her ears, and she held a clipboard with several pages tucked beneath her arm.

  As the soldiers marched Akira and Shiroha to the edge of the arena, the woman spoke without moving from her place.

  “I am Mirai Yaomomoda. I’m responsible for evaluating the elemental candidates who reach the stage of Awakening.”

  Her voice then hardened—clipped and cold.

  “I’ve been working over ten hours today, and my head is killing me. And now I’m expected to evaluate two more? Have mercy.”

  She let out a tired sigh, then raised a brow.

  “Whatever. You’ll fight each other. That’s your first and last test for acceptance.”

  Shiroha’s golden eyes widened.

  Fight?

  She hadn’t expected this.

  Of all the scenarios she had played in her mind—brutal interrogations, magical scans, physical drills—this hadn’t crossed her thoughts.

  Akira?

  She turned her gaze slowly toward him, almost hesitant to see his expression.

  He was already looking at her.

  His violet eyes were clear. Determined.

  He raised one fist gently toward the middle space between them—offering it with a crooked, encouraging smile.

  “I look forward to it,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence.

  Shiroha froze—caught completely off guard.

  Almost involuntarily, her hand moved up.

  She bumped her fist against his and whispered, “…I look forward to it too.”

  Mirai adjusted her glasses with one finger, the brown frames catching the light.

  “I like kids who don’t need everything explained to them.”

  She flicked her pen down the page, ticking a box.

  “Enter the arena.”