Page 48 of The Blood Rites

The second is nothing like him: sandy-brown hair, unevenly cut with restless hands and eyes that dart everywhere. He looks to be in battle with a thousand thoughts and he is not winning.

They freeze when they see me, their eyes flicking from my uniform to my face. The grey-haired boy recovers first, giving me a small smile. “Luceris, right? From the Light Dominion.”

I nod, a little wary. “And you are…?”

“Alaris. Alaris Jen.” He gestures to the boy behind him. “And this is Fenwyn.”

“Fen is fine,” the sandy-haired boy corrects. His voice barely rises above a whisper.

Silence settles between us. I want to keep walking, but I don’t move. Fen’s hands are shaking, but he pockets them to disguise it.

“What are you up to?” Alaris asks, his eyes wrinkling.

“Just taking a walk,” I reply. “I needed air.”

Alaris’ lips twist. “There’s not much air in here,” he says. “None of this is real.”

“It feels real enough,” I retort.

Fen snorts, and for a second the worry seems to leave his face. “Everything here is fake,” he says. “The Mother Shard must be channelling constantly to keep us suspended in this place.”

He looks at me, then away, then back again. “What a waste of Mana.”

He starts drawing invisible patterns across his palm. "Is it true what they say? That the Light Dominion forces people to come here?”

My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

Fen glances at Alaris, but his expression is schooled. “Air Offerings volunteer.”

My mouth opens before I can stop it, and Fen rushes to explain.

“Well—our families kind of make us. Not directly, I mean, but—”

He laughs nervously. “If you volunteer at the Choosing, your family gets looked after. If you don’t, then... you get to stay poor. So, what I mean is: our families choose for us.”

He cracks his fingers, determined to look unbothered. “Seems like a fair trade, no?”

That question isn’t for me, I don’t think, but I flinch all the same. “You... chose to come here?”

I have no family to save. Still, I can see why someone would do it.

Fen shrugs, but the casualness of the gesture is lost. “I have three sisters. One needs medicine we can’t—couldn’t—afford.”

I cringe at his shift to past tense.

“My father is gone," he says. "So it’s just me and my mother looking after the girls. When the call for volunteers came at the Choosing, I was first in line.”

He can barely look at me. “Doesn't matter though. Someone had to. Better my family gets looked after than someone else’s.”

Alaris cuts in, his tone lighter than the narrow squint of his eyes should allow. “Don’t listen to his sob story. Fen makes it sound like heroism, but it’s just a numbers game to the Blessed. You die all the same.”

The words come too easily, like something rehearsed and smoothly delivered. I wonder how many times he has looked death in the face to wear that calm so easily.

“Does it help?” I ask, surprising myself. “Knowing that you chose your own fate?”

Alaris looks away, teeth clenched.

Fen answers. “At least my family will get to eat, and my sister will get the help she needs.”