The sound came like a whisper.
One soft chime, then another. Three in total. Rhea sat upright on her narrow bed, the early morning mist still curling at the edges of the high window.
A line of text glowed red on her wall:
"Orientation , Report to Hall A in fifteen minutes. Silence is mandatory."
She dressed quickly in the charcoal-gray uniform, the jacket pressed sharp at the seams. Her fingers hovered for a moment over the owl emblem etched beneath her bedframe the night before, but she didn't touch it again.
The corridor outside was hushed. Dozens of students filtered out of their rooms, each one moving with the same quiet tension, as though they too were being watched. And maybe they were.
By the time Rhea reached Hall A, she could already feel the weight of the building pressing in on her. The ceiling loomed high, chandeliers unlit. The room was dim but not dark, lit only by the faint glow of red panels embedded in the floor. She took a seat near the back, scanning the crowd for Julius.
She found him near the far wall, expression unreadable. He didn't wave, didn't move, but his eyes met hers. A silent warning.
The room fell into stillness.
Then the screen at the front flickered to life. Not a person. Not a live speaker. Just a recording.
A cloaked figure stood before them, faceless, featureless, voice processed into a low, reverberating monotone.
> "Welcome, Initiates.
The Order sees all. The Order selects few.
Those brought to Elaris Institute are not chosen by merit, but by necessity.
Trust is treason. Curiosity is watched.
Speak only when permitted.
Obedience ensures survival.
Disobedience ensures removal."
A shiver passed through the hall.
Rhea's eyes darted to the side, someone had raised a hand. A tall boy, maybe seventeen, with a confident air.
"Excuse me," he said, voice steady, "what exactly..."
A click echoed.
The boy's chair sank into the floor.
Just gone. No scream. No resistance. One second he was there, the next, the chair had collapsed inward like a trapdoor had opened beneath him.
Gasps stifled. A few students flinched. Rhea sat frozen, blood pounding in her ears.
The screen paused, then resumed as if nothing had happened.
> "You are here to observe, adapt, and endure.
Each of you has been assigned a clearance level. Some of you will rise. Most of you will not.
You have been marked."
At that, a compartment slid open at the end of each row. Neatly placed inside: small red-threaded pins shaped like a ring around an eye. Silent hands reached out to take them.
Rhea held hers delicately. The thread was taut, impossibly smooth. As soon as her fingers closed around it, the thread pulsed once, faintly warm.
What kind of technology was this?
Without further word, the screen flickered off. Lights remained dim. The students rose like shadows and began filtering out, silent as they had entered.
Julius brushed past her in the crowd. No words. Just a folded square of paper pressed discreetly into her palm before he vanished again.
Rhea didn't read it. Not yet.
She returned to her quadrant alone. The hallway was quieter than before, something had shifted.
When she reached her door, her heart stuttered.
It was open. Just barely ajar. And she knew with certainty:
She had closed it. Locked it.
Inside, the air was still. The bed untouched. The room just as she had left it… except for one thing:
A single red feather lay on her pillow.
No note. No sound. Just the feather. And suddenly, the message in Julius's paper felt much heavier in her pocket.