As soon as Caelan entered The White Meridian, the first thing he noticed was the carriage wheels shifting from uneven slabs to perfectly cut white flagstones, laid so precisely that they looked poured rather than built. Buildings made from pale stone and white marble rose in clean, vertical lines, the walls scrubbed so thoroughly they looked dirtless. No moss, no cracks, no sign of age, as if they were recently built. Everything reflected light softly, diffusing it rather than shining—a muted, clinical brightness that made shadows shallow and short.

  People were dressed with almost uncomfortable formality, most wearing layers of white and pale stone-coloured fabric. They moved differently, their steps measured, their backs straight. They talked quietly and swiftly to each other, as if laughter was rare or forbidden. The air felt cleaner and thinner, stripped of smell except for stone dust and faint incense drifting from distant spires.

  Caelan looked curious, observing the people's behaviour—their orderly march that seemed in sync, the way they silently talked about things such as food, festivals, and the emperor's lack of appearance. No one had seen the emperor, except for a few—the ones regarded as his right hand—the Pale Executors, a group of seven considered to be the most powerful in the Dominion second to the emperor himself. They practically governed the land, made announcements for the emperor, and dictated law and punishment. To have such an opportunity and honour was everyone's dream; most people considered that dream an impossibility.

  "Ah, looks like we are here. What do you think, kid?" said the Inspector, slapping Caelan on the back.

  "Wow, this is amazing. I have never seen anything like this; it's like I'm living in a dream," Caelan ecstatically replied. It was true—this indeed was impressive and a sight to behold—but his words were so exaggerated and fake even he felt a bit disgusted.

  "Get used to it, kid. This is your home now."

  "I thank you once again, sir, for this opportunity. It is beyond my wildest dreams."

  The inspector giggled as he stared toward the warm smile of Caelan, who appeared to be overjoyed.

  They passed the markets selling dried meats, bread, fruits, and vegetables, the people walking in ordered lines. The smell flooded Caelan's nose; he had never seen food this clean and fresh—it made him salivate.

  "Just a few minutes longer, and we will enter the most prestigious academy in all of the land."

  For the first time in his life, excitement filled Caelan's body—not because he wanted to attend, but because it got him closer to the answers he wanted. His mind was curious, thirsty for the truth—he had lived a life where that was his main goal. It came to the point where he wasn't even scared of death. Logically, why should anyone fear death? It was inconsistent with the thinking mind. If people really thought for themselves, they would know death comes to all, no matter when. If that's the case, then why fear something that is completely out of your hands to begin with? Caelan found it bewildering how a species this intelligent fears something so trivial, like any other mundane animal.

  The carriage came to a stop outside a vast white gate locked securely. Two guards surveyed the gate, looked at the carriage, and walked toward the inspector in large strides.

  "Reason?" said one of the guards sharply and coldly, raising his eyebrows as he stared at Caelan.

  "Induction."

  "Where is your invitation?"

  "Right here," said the inspector as he passed the invitation letter.

  The guards carefully read the letter and nodded. There was a strange presence behind him, as if he was stronger, more strategic than the guards Caelan had met. Just from the way he spoke, Caelan knew he was different—they all were.

  The carriage slowed as it passed through the outer gates.

  From behind the narrow window, Caelan watched The White Meridian Academy unfold.

  The walls were tall and pale, carved from stone so white it bordered on blinding, their surfaces etched with shallow repeating grooves that ran endlessly without beginning or end. Towers rose in measured intervals, the buildings arranged with unnerving precision, forming a vast open courtyard at the centre. In the centre was a fountain, and hordes of students the same age as Caelan gathered around, talking—this was the loudest part of the sector he had heard yet.

  Some students stood in rigid lines, arms folded behind their backs, eyes fixed forward. Others lingered in clusters, talking to themselves, their expressions sharpened by anticipation or quiet unease. Instructors stood at the edge of the courtyard, unmoving, their white coats blending into the stone behind them. Guards lined the walls, their swords tucked away, faces flat. No one waved, no one smiled. The air was filled only with anxiety and tension, as if the academy did not acknowledge arrivals—only absorbing them into the system.

  The carriage rolled across the stone path, slowly coming to a soft halt. Caelan felt nothing stir in his chest—no excitement, no dread.

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  This was not a place for beginners.

  Caelan knew it was a place where people were sorted, shaped, and reduced to purpose, all to benefit the emperor's conquest—so-called "saving the people." They were clearly hiding something. No one knew what was going on in the world, but it was obvious it was corrupting in bizarre ways.

  Caelan hopped out of the carriage and stood on the cold, symmetrical stone that reflected his image back at him.

  "Well, this is where we part, young man," said the instructor.

  "It was nice meeting you. I have no doubt you will do wonders."

  Caelan smiled at him and shook his hand. He watched the inspector walk away past the academy gates. As he did, the guards giggled softly. They had probably seen him countless times, and for whatever reason, he seemed like someone people looked down on. Caelan didn't give it a second thought—it didn't bother him. He slowly made his way to the main courtyard, where the induction would begin.

  As he entered the courtyard, the chatter of new students crowded his ears. He paid close attention to their voices, their postures, their expressions. Some squinted in fear, others looked calm and composed but were sweating with eagerness beneath the surface. Some were chatty, sticking around in large groups, their hands moving with their mouths. Others stood alone, fidgeting with their fingers. A lot could be learned from a person by the way they talked and stood.

  At that moment, Caelan felt a nudge from someone behind him.

  "Look at you, lad. I've never seen you before. Who are you?" said a young boy. He was shorter than Caelan and had vibrant, spiky black hair and blue eyes.

  "Ashen Line. Doesn't really matter," Caelan replied coldly, locking eyes with the boy. He knew if he told the truth, they would look down on him like an inferior species. He couldn't allow that—he had to establish dominance right away. The Ashen Line was home to the military grounds; it wasn't unusual to see children raised there and later transition to the main sector.

  "Ahh, so that's why. Well, my name is Gale," he said, reaching out his hand.

  Caelan shook it reluctantly.

  "Caelan."

  Gale's eyes were fixed downward, occasionally glancing up and then back to Caelan. He breathed abnormally, his hands tight. People like this usually lacked social skills—he appeared outgoing on the outside, but internally he was screaming to get away. Did he have no friends?

  "So, how did you like the sector? First time here, right?" asked Gale.

  Caelan didn't care. He wanted to be out of this conversation. Out of all people, why did he choose him to talk to?

  "Yes, it was fine." Caelan stepped away slowly.

  "Yeah, it is, isn't it? I always dreamed about being within these walls."

  Caelan didn't reply, instead staring at him blankly before looking away.

  "Don't mind him. He always ruins everything he gets his hands on. I'm surprised he even got in," said a girl, eyeing Gale, her lips curled back in disgust.

  Amazing. If this was how someone with low status from The White Meridian was treated, Caelan couldn't even imagine how he would have been treated had he revealed the truth.

  The girl beside him had long black hair reaching her shoulders and a round face.

  "Anyways, my name is Cassandra. Yours?"

  Caelan wanted to walk away from the whole situation. He felt suffocated inside, but on the outside he remained unbothered. He knew if he wanted to rise and gain answers, he needed to fit in with people for a little while—especially the popular ones.

  "Caelan. Nice to meet you," he said warmly, smiling at her.

  Gale gritted his teeth, his head bowed, his palms curling into fists. He silently walked away.

  At that moment, a woman stepped to the front of the courtyard. She wore long, layered coats that fell to her ankles, the fabric a matte white, thicker than the student uniforms.

  Her voice carried without effort.

  "Students."

  A single word was enough to silence the murmurs and chatter.

  "You have arrived at the White Meridian Academy. From this moment onward, you are no longer individuals in transit. You are entrants under evaluation."

  She let her gaze pass over the courtyard, unhurried.

  "You will stand when instructed, move when directed, and speak only when addressed."

  A pause.

  "Those who fail to comply will be noted. Those who believe they will not be noticed are mistaken."

  She turned slightly, gesturing with one hand.

  "Form ranks by height. Four lines. No gaps."

  Her eyes narrowed in calculation.

  "Once inside, you will be processed. Your marks will be verified. Your conduct will be recorded."

  Another pause, longer this time.

  "Do not ask questions. If information is required, it will be provided."

  The students quickly lined up in four lines, ranked by height. They did so quietly and immaculately, without uttering a single word.

  Caelan slowly walked through the academy doors. The walls and floors were made from pale white marble, decorated with paintings and intricate patterns of fractal marks. The air was thinner, easier to breathe, with no smell whatsoever.

  Inside was a large, empty room—the first they entered—with staircases leading upstairs to other areas. The room had three doors: one on the right, one on the left, and one straight ahead, each leading elsewhere. Four staff members sat before them at desks, one for each line, with elaborate, oddly shaped tools. There was a chair for the students to sit on.

  One by one, they called the students forward.

  "Step forward and give your name." They spoke in unison.

  "Remove your garments where your mark is."

  "Stand still. Do not speak."

  They took out their notes, eyes shifting between the paper and the mark itself. They grabbed a black wooden staff and gently tapped the mark, looking for reactions or twitches.

  "Mark confirmed. Hold position and breathe normally."

  The students seated in the chair inhaled deeply.

  "Noted. Low-complexity. Proceed to the left."

  "Noted. High-complexity mark confirmed. Proceed and stand to the right."

  It seemed the students were being grouped by the potential they possessed.

  "Step forward. Give your name," said the instructor, signaling Caelan to sit at the chair.

  Caelan sat, spoke his name, and calmly removed his upper garments, showing his back to the instructor.

  The instructor examined it carefully, eyebrows raised, hands resting on his chin.

  "Interesting," he whispered under his breath.

  Caelan was taken by surprise—this was the first word he had heard them utter something that was their own.

  The instructor grabbed the metal staff and tapped Caelan's back gently. He tapped again.

  Was something wrong? As far as Caelan knew, one tap was enough.

  He tapped a third time.

  The other students watched, confused.

  "Noted. High-complexity mark confirmed. Proceed and stand to the right."