"I hear he's only ten years around the sun."
"The choreboy? Yes. He's been around here."
"A terrible happening, for both these two and for him. You do know of his condition?"
"If one can call it a condition, yes. More as though he's been abandoned by fate, and now by his parents."
"They're calling it a construction accident. I wouldn't wish working construction in this district on my worst enemy."
"Must have been gruesome."
Torment was an understatement for the young boy, who sat, head in hands, on a stone bench outside the building. He could hear everything said inside the mortuary.
His face was damp with salty rivers of tears. Heart pounding as harrowing sobs emitted from his throat. His shoulders shook in quiet rhythm with a grief too vast for words. It was as if his soul bled. Terrible, such a state was.
The boy was ten-year-old Henry Wells. His parents were dead.
"This world is filled with too much torture, kid." A voice spoke from above him, but he didn't look up. His mind was fogged up, unable to focus on anything but the devastating loss within.
The mortician standing in front of him sighed. She had done this too many times to feel sorrow alongside him, but she understood.
She had worked in the district of Bellevaux for well over a century. Even still, orphaned children resonated with her. After all, she was once one herself.
"Let's go, kid. Cry it out on the way." She said, as empathetically as she could. She grabbed Henry's hands and pulled him to his feet. He did not resist, but still showed no sign of acknowledgement. He continued to weep as they walked.
The air howled as they made their way towards the town hall, blowing the tears from Henry's face.
Wind was a perpetual mourner.
---
Bellevaux was by no means the largest district in the great fortress Montferrand, but it was a rather nice place to be. If you had talent, that was.
In the meritocracy humanity had become, that was a common occurrence.
When the crack in the sky opened, it spelled inevitable doom for humanity. A miasma of horrid plague descended, transforming wild flora and fauna into devastantly powerful creatures, all belligerent to the human race. Within a week, the population of the globe diminished by ninety percent.
Through the undying human spirit, those remaining, and those who could in time, gathered in one place and erected a great fortress. The fortress Montferrand was a testimony of willpower, and its original size was around one hundred kilometers in radius, or around thirty thousand square kilometers.
Despite the feat, humanity's failure was imminent.
But when all hope seemed lost, the greatest soldiers gathered in one battalion and ventured off into the unknown. Their goal was no longer to survive or prevail, but to understand. They voyaged without a destination and without a specific purpose.
What they found, somewhere, somewhere on the decaying, corrupted planet would change everything.
It is unknown what the battalion found, but its effect was clear. At the moment the discovery was made, every human that was living, and every human that would ever live, received a gift. A talent and an internal system geared for growth.
Each talent, sometimes referred to as skills, gave powers to its owner at birth. The range of powers was limitless, and instantly, society changed. Those who could defend and attack rose to prominence and began to lead. Those who could not, on the other hand, were left to struggle, often neglected by the race that once was so united.
Not getting blessed with a powerful talent did not spell the end, as those with unfortunate talents who still had useful skills or fame were able to maintain some standing. It was mostly those with neither the renown nor something grand to contribute who made up the lowest echelons of society.
Henry Wells was born to parents with low talent. They met and died working construction for the district. When Henry was old enough to share his talent, he was instantly the subject of ridicule. As soon as he turned six, he spent the majority of his time doing labor tasks around his town.
After the system descended on humanity, Montferrand was expanded to encompass an area of three hundred and fifty kilometers, creating an outer zone separate from the original area. The district of Bellevaux was located in the outer zone, relatively near the border wall.
Bellevaux was situated between and sprawled over multiple great peaks in what was once a named mountain range. With a population of over five million, society was spread out far and wide. The highest layer of society in Bellevaux rested directly on the highest slopes and peaks, while others with less status lived around the lower areas of the mountain and the nearby countryside.
Henry lived in an area where plains met mountains, where a town named Rocheforte rested, known for its great innovation in infrastructure.
After the calamity, old technology was lost. Architecture returned to that of the medieval ages. However, places such as Rocheforte had made great strides in progression, returning—intentionally—to a more Renaissance-esque style, making it, and the surrounding towns, which had also incorporated advancements, rely heavily on construction services.
The architectural boom brought great fortune to the town of Rocheforte. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for those who lived in poverty and relied on their constant labor to survive.
---
The mortician walked for around fifteen minutes with Henry. Winding and weaving their way through the steep roads. The town hall sat at the highest elevation in Rocheforte and overlooked the vast countryside below.
As they approached, the great gate came into view. A huge terrace loomed above, the setting of many balls and parties for the elite. The town hall was quite large. It was an antique building, created very shortly after the human expansion. The classical domed building proved to be a fascinating and historical landmark.
It was made of marble and limestone, surrounded by multiple gardens and parks. The gates at its entrance followed a beautiful path leading to the grand entrance.
When the two of them reached the entrance, the large doors swung open automatically. This was an application of an old talent, allowing for the recognition of important people.
The foyer inside was also lavishly decorated; regal, in a sense. The mortician led Henry, still in a trance-like state, to a line of desks, where at each, a bureaucrat sat. When they arrived at the desk, an older gentleman looked up at them.
"Morning, Ms. Aparo. Where to today?" He blankly said, eyes returning to his papers.
"First, the clerk, please. I also plan to stop at youth affairs."
The bureaucrat opened a small compartment and pulled out two passes. He paused briefly, looking back at the mortician, Ms. Aparo.
"Is that boy concerning your visit? He will require his own passes, too, if so. You can sign for him."
"He is." Ms. Aparo replied.
The man pulled out two more passes and signed his name on all four before handing them over, implying that the two visitors do the same.
After signing the passes and thanking the man, Ms. Aparo turned away and started down a hall, dragging Henry in tow.
They walked for some time, arriving at a staircase and ascending. Shortly to the right of the top stairs, a short hallway opened into a much larger room.
'Clerk's Department,' a plaque read.
They entered the room and walked to another desk in the center. After a short exchange with the woman at the desk, Ms. Aparo pointed at a few chairs in one corner of the room.
"Take a seat, kid. I'll make this quick." She then walked into another room on the side.
After slumping his way over, Henry took a seat. His head was lowered, still gazing into nothingness.
As the mortuary workers whom he overheard had said, Henry's "condition" was quite depressing. In a world full of great skills and talents, one with minimal ability was often deemed as lesser than those with great ability. This did not mean that they were useless. Those who contributed were still respected, and as long as there was something one could do, a substantial life was to follow.
However, Henry did not just have minimal ability. He had nearly none.
While the voice in his head called his skill [ Lift ], in reality, even with the greatest possible amount of exertion, he could hardly move a single grain of sand. It was as bad as it could get.
Due to his lack of talent, his only option was to do menial labor around the city. He was too young to work construction like his parents, so he often found himself sweeping streets and cleaning alleys, coming home filthy every day. His pay was meager too, barely bringing home two marks every week. He had led this life since the age of six. His parents had begged the district to allow him to stay out of the workforce, but it was the only option. The schooling systems were too expensive for them to afford, and the public schools were much too full, and entry was based on talent.
For someone like Henry with no talent, he was last in line to enter a public school. The only options for children were either schooling or labor, so from that day onward, he worked twelve hours a day, all around the city.
It was a depressing way of living, and Henry, sitting in the dimly lit corner of the City Clerk's office, was feeling it all at once.
A few minutes later, Ms. Aparo returned from the room she had entered. She walked to the center desk once more, signed a paper, and then approached Henry.
"Okay, kid..." she started, "let's find a place for you."
The two of them exited the room and proceeded deeper into the second floor of the building. A short while later, they approached another room.
The plaque above this one read: 'Youth Affairs.'
Ms. Aparo started to knock on the door, but before she could, it opened immediately. A short, stout man stood in front of them and brushed past them. He wore a brown overcoat and a black top hat, covering his half-bald head.
"My apologies." The man said. But oddly, it was Ms. Aparo who was showing grace. She was bowing, her hand on her chest.
"Third District Deputy, sir." She stated respectfully. He nodded and continued on his way. When he was out of sight, Ms. Aparo rose and continued into the room.
"Concetta. I received the referral from the clerk. I believe I have figured something out."
Ms. Aparo approached the round table at which a man sat, his glasses sitting low, eyes mulling over documents.
"Please take a seat." He beckoned to two chairs on the opposite side.
They sat.
"Henry Theodore Wells. Aged ten and four months." He read from a sheet of paper he held in his hands. "Description of talent... practically absent."
If Henry were not oblivious to what was occurring around him, he likely would have sighed.
"The crux of the problem..." He paused and looked up at Henry, squinting. "The crux of the problem is that nearly all of the town's—no, the district's—orphanages are at capacity. And with this boy's ability, he would, in normal circumstances, not be in line to enter."
"However," He grabbed two more sheets of paper. On one, a very fuzzy image of a person could be made out. The other seemed to be a letter. "A certain man owes the district a favor. Why is unbeknownst to me, but moments ago, we received this letter, seemingly written after the death of this boy's parents."
He passed the letter to Ms. Aparo. As she read, her eyes widened, and her mouth became agape.
"The great scholar of Marécourt has shown interest? How did... eh... This boy?" She stammered
"I am just as perplexed. However, it satisfies the courtesy clause, so we do not see reason to deny it." He replied.
The man looked at the dull-eyed boy. "Listen up, kid." Henry did not respond, lost in the torment of his mind.
"Listen up, kid." He said much more forcefully. The energy in the room seemed to grow darker and more malicious. Even Ms. Aparo seemed uncomfortable. Henry's eyes lifted, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes were empty. The energy returned to normal after Henry's attention was gained.
"Here is the future in store for you. You will be settled into the Rocheforte General Orphanage until aged eleven and six months. Then, you will be transported to the countryside and placed into the custody of a man there. Is that understood?"
Henry loosely nodded.
"Then it is settled."
After finalizing a few details, Ms. Aparo and Henry left the town hall. As they left, they once again passed the Third District Deputy. The stout man's brow furrowed as he watched them exit the building.
The scholar of Marécourt showing interest in trash of Rocheforte? Could he still be chasing that foolish goal? The man puzzled for a moment before sighing and turning away.
The chain of events following would only continue to amplify the man's confusion and concern, but at this time, it was a matter not worth mulling over.
Now, grief was the only pillar holding Henry's mind together.
His grief was a quiet, relentless weight that settled into his heart and refused to be lifted. It lingered in the spaces between breaths, in the pauses of conversation, in the sudden aches that rose without warning and tightened the chest.
Sometimes it is simply the dull knowledge that something precious is gone, and that the world, no matter how brightly it shines, will never feel quite as whole again.