Four years later, the boy was shoved into the backseat of a car. A single suitcase thudded into the trunk—his entire life reduced to one box of grief. No farewells, no lingering goodbyes. Only rain and an indifferent driver to escort him.
He pressed his forehead to the window, watching as the storm clawed at the glass, its fury unrelenting. The road stretched on, winding endlessly beneath the weight of silence.
At last, the car slowed.
The driver stepped out, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him before speeding off without a word. The boy dragged himself onto the wet pavement and lifted his gaze.
A sign loomed through the downpour:
SUNBORN ACADEMY
WHERE STARS SHINE
He stared at the sky for a moment, reflecting on the name as the downpour continued, before shuffling forward. Walking was a chore—every step a reminder of his club foot on the right leg, each movement heavy with the weight of both his body and his grief.
Alam arrived inside the main building to find the halls quiet and empty. As he walked past the lockers lined along the hall, he heard a voice echo:
"A little help?"
Alam froze. "Where are you?"
"Locker 444."
He scanned quickly, fingers brushing cold metal until the number appeared.
"Found it."
He tugged at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. "There's a combination lock on it."
"Try 8888," the voice said casually.
The lock clicked. The door swung open, and a scrawny boy tumbled out—pale skin, green eyes, red buzzcut.
This new boy's appearance was a sharp contrast to Alam, who had brown skin, almond-shaped eyes, and dark, wavy, unkempt hair that covered parts of his face.
The redhead got up and dusted himself off. "Thank you?"
"Santuy aja, my name's Alam."
"San-tu?"
"San-tuy aja. It means just chill. Where I'm from, people use it as a way of saying no problem."
"That slaps! I'm gonna start using that. San-tu, Santu—" the boy waved his hand nonchalantly. "I'll get it."
"Yes, I've found new languages can be challenging," Alam said softly.
"So you new here?"
"Yes. I was told to head to the headmaster's office." He glanced around the empty hall. "But I don't know where it is."
"Say less. I'll take you."
"Really? Thank you, friend!"
"Least I could do after you freed me from that locker."
"I didn't get your name," Alam added.
The boy smirked, rubbing his stomach. "Low battery. Haven't eaten in a while." He chuckled, then said, "I'm Ewan."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ewan."
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. A larger boy appeared—towering, his gluttonous frame seemed to swallow the hallway, dark brown skin, mid-fade cut, high-tops squeaking against the tiles.
"Ewan!" he barked. "Why are you out of your cage?!"
Ewan's eyes darted nervously to Alam. "Uh-oh, it's Fitz the Pit. Stay cool, bro," he muttered.
Ewan's gaze shifted back to the wide boy thundering toward him. "S-Sorry, Fitz. I slipped out."
Fitz stormed forward and shoved him. "You're on punishment 'cause you didn't give me your pizza yesterday!"
Another boy slipped out from behind Fitz's wake, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He echoed, "Yeah, you didn't give him your pizza yesterday."
Opposite him, another boy emerged, holding a book. His finger scrolled the pages. "Echo's right. It looks like you've missed three tributes in the past two weeks, Ewan. This just won't do..." His tone was grim.
"You heard Ledga! This just won't do," Echo mimicked.
"I—I just get so hungry, bro. How can I keep giving tributes if I'm rockin' a toe tag?" Ewan whispered, voice trembling.
"What's that?!" Fitz snapped. "Did I ask for your life story?" He shoved again, sending Ewan sprawling.
Once again, Fitz's friend echoed, "Yeah, no one asked for your life story."
"L-leave him alone!" Alam cried, reaching to help.
Fitz's fist slammed into Alam's stomach. "Shut up, cripple! No one asked you!"
Alam gasped, bile rising. He vomited, collapsing to the floor.
"C-Com one, Fitz," Ewan begged. "He didn't know."
"I—Don't—Care!" Fitz roared, each word a hammer.
"I'll give you all my food for the month. Just let us go."
"You'll do that anyway, ginger," Fitz sneered, yanking Ewan upright.
"Please, Fitz. You don't have to—"
The shove cut him off. Ewan slammed back into locker 444. The door clanged shut, lock snapping into place.
"Let him out!" Alam wheezed.
"Shut up, cripple! It's your turn."
Fitz hurled Alam into locker 333. The door slammed, the lock clicked.
Darkness swallowed him whole. He clawed at the door, breath ragged, chest tightening. He could feel the ground beneath him rumbling, and the walls pressed closer, closer—until the silence itself felt alive.