I blink against the dim light, my body sluggish from last night's training but I sit up, and stare at the black t-shirt and cargo pants that I witnessed being neatly folded on the edge of my bed last night. I reach out, running my fingers over the fabric. Around me, others are beginning to stir. The sound of shifting blankets and muffled yawns fills the room.

Everyone seems to notice the black clothes at almost the same moment.

A Veilborne girl, still half-asleep, mutters, “Why black? Shouldn’t we be wearing something that represents us?” Her question hangs in the air for a beat too long, sparking a ripple of tension. "I want to wear my Veileborne robe and nothing else," she declares.

“Why? So used to hiding behind your robe, that you feel like you a nobody without it?”  Ironclad girl bites out.

"You wouldn't understand what it feels like considering you've been a nobody all your life," the Veileborne girl spits back, her voice laced with venom. "And besides, they should not have us dress the same in the first place. It's insulting---to us, Veilebornes."

All the Veilborne girls collectively respond with a snicker that hangs in the air like thick fog.

I know that stung the Ironclad girl because it stung me too but she chose to remain quiet. The Veilborne girls continue to pass insults about the Ironclad and laugh amongst themselves but the faint hum of water catches my attention and drowns their voices.

The shared bathroom is already abuzz with activity. My feet hit the cold floor, the sensation shocking me into full wakefulness. The bathroom smells faintly of cheap soap and damp tile. I join the line, waiting my turn at the showers. As I wait in the line my eyes flicker to my reflection in the mirror above the sink ahead of me. I look as if I've been drugged with heavy medication. My blue eyes are rimmed with exhaustion. My caramel skin seems paler under the fluorescent light as if I'm a walking corpse. I rake my fingers through my hair---a wild mass of dark curls that refuses to be tamed. I feel so bare in front of these people with nothing to hide my appearance. I sigh turning away from the mirror, unable to stare at myself much longer.

The fresh uniform clings to me as I pull it on, the snug fit making it feel more like a second skin than clothing. As I head to the cafeteria with the other Ironclad girls beside me, I study myself briefly by looking at myself from top to bottom—black shirt, black pants, black boots. We look like soldiers. Or prisoners.

The cafeteria hums with the noise of metal trays scraping against tables, the clink of utensils, and the occasional murmur of voices. The scent of cooked food fills the air, making my stomach growl despite the tight knot twisting in my gut. Unlike the synthetic mush we've been getting used to, this smells of bacon, sizzling sausages, scrambled eggs, baked beans, and even something that resembles toast. For a moment, the tension around me fades, replaced by the strange allure of food that looks appetizing.

I glance at Tonya, who's staring at her plate as if it might bite her. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, as she takes in the feast in front of her. Bacon. Sausages. Eggs. Toasted bread.

"Is this... real?" Tonya asks, her voice thick with incredulity as she picks up a piece of bacon, turning it over in her fingers like it might be some kind of trick.

I can't help but laugh softly, though it's more out of relief than amusement. "It's real," I confirm, picking up a strip of bacon myself. The crispy, salty taste is nothing like the blandness I'd been expecting. It's so good, I can almost forget the nerves gnawing at my insides. Almost.

The Ironclad girls around us are just as stunned, staring at the spread as if it's a dream. One girl, Sarah, practically inhales her food, scooping up spoonfuls of scrambled eggs and baked beans like she hasn't eaten in days. Her eyes are wide, and she's not even trying to hide how desperate she is to consume every bite.

"Do you think they'll give us more?" Sarah asks, her voice hoarse as she digs into her food, her spoonfuls piling higher and higher on her plate.

"I wish we had all of this back home," another Ironclad girl mutters, chewing rapidly. "Look at all this. It's ridiculous."

Next to them, the Veilborne girls are much more composed. They take small, measured bites of their food, never rushing, never overindulging. Their plates are neat, the portions modest compared to the mountains of food the Ironclad girls are shoveling in. They glance over at us occasionally, but their faces are unreadable. To them, this breakfast is just another meal, not a treasure.

I pick up another strip of bacon, but the moment I bring it to my mouth, a wave of unease crashes over me. My stomach churns, the knot in my gut tightening further. Mom's words play in my head. "Whatever your gut is telling you, believe it."

The food is good. There's no denying it. But I can't seem to bring myself to eat. The uncertainty about what's coming-it's all too much, too heavy.

I place the bacon back down on my plate, pushing it slightly to the side as I force myself to take a sip of the drink next to me. But even that doesn't settle the unease in my stomach. I wish I could feel hungry, wish I could enjoy the food in front of me.

Without warning, a voice booms from the speakers overhead. It's a voice that cuts through the low chatter, loud and commanding.

The clinking of utensils and soft murmurs of conversation gradually fade as breakfast winds down. Plates are pushed aside, and the Ironclad candidates exchange uncertain glances. The air is thick with unspoken questions and lingering tension.

Tonya clears her throat, breaking the silence. "How about we introduce ourselves to each other."

I shift in my seat and pull a few of my curly strands forward trying to shield my face.

Everyone nods in agreement, leaning back in his chair. Someone else continues, "Makes sense. We can't exactly form a team if we are just numbers and don't even know each other's names."

The group murmurs their approval, and Tonya takes the lead since it was her idea. She pushes her empty plate forward. "Alright, I'll start. My name is Tonya. I'm from the South district. Grew up near the main square, so I'm guessing most of you know me-or at least know of me."

"Hard not to. You're the Blacksmith's daughter, right? Your dad made my father's sword," One of the boy's say.

Tonya grins. "Yes. Wow, it's such an honour to be known by you, Damien."

Then the boy sits up a little straighter and introduces himself. "And for those who don't know me, my name is Damien. Also from the South."

"You forgot to mention the part that you and your twin brother are the Protectors sons." Tonya adds.

Damien chuckles nervously, its obvious he hates the attention.

"Well my brother sometimes forgets who he really is," his twin brother adds.

"So that means you are Daniel." Another girl states, looking at Daniel's identical twin.

He nods his head, with a little smirk.

A boy next to Daniel is next, his posture relaxed as he speaks. "Name's Liam. North district."

The next boy leans forward, his voice steady but serious. "Will. North as well."

A girl sitting beside Daniel, raises a hand slightly, her voice carrying an edge of confidence. "I'm Amara from the North district."

Sarah shifts in her seat before speaking. "My name is Sarah and I'm from the South."

All eyes turn to me, the last to go. My heart pounds in my chest, but I force myself to keep my expression calm. I can feel their gazes boring into me, waiting for my turn.

I clear my throat, leaning back slightly to appear more relaxed than I feel. "AJ," I say, keeping my voice steady. "From the North."

I say North because it's more quieter and everybody minds there own business most of the time.

Amara tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "No offense," she starts, her tone almost teasing, "but you seem like you're from the South."

The comment catches me off guard, but I keep my expression neutral. "Why do you say that?" I ask, my voice calm, though my pulse quickens.

Amara shrugs, leaning back in her chair. "I can tell a North ironclad when I see one. You've got this... presence. More South-like, you know?"

She's not wrong. My father was from the South.

A small, awkward laugh escapes me as I wave her off. "Well, I'm sorry but you're very wrong," I say lightly, though inside I'm cursing myself for drawing attention.

Amara's eyes linger on me for a beat longer before she shrugs.

My stomach tightens, but I keep my composure. "I'm from near the outskirts of the North," I lie smoothly. "My mom wasn't big on mingling, so we kept to ourselves."

The moment lingers for a heartbeat too long before Tonya shrugs. "Great, now we all know each other by our names and not just a number."

Relief washes over me as the group shifts back to the topic at hand. For now, my secret is safe. But I can't shake the feeling that someone's curiosity might get the better of them.

Before anyone can continue speaking, the voice of a Pacifier echoes through the speaker in the cafeteria.

"Attention, all candidates," the Pacifier announces. "After breakfast a Pacifer will lead you to the Chamber. Hence, the time has come to elect your leaders. Each faction is to choose a first leader and a second leader. The first leader will be responsible for representing your faction in the Chamber, while the second leader will step in when necessary. You have 15 minutes make your choice. Remember to choose wisely."

A wave of unease washes over the cafeteria; the 8 of us in our ironclad table exchange looks. I set my fork down, my appetite faltering completely. The task ahead has shifted from surviving the day to something much more weighty. A leader. It's not just a title-it's a responsibility. A symbol of who we are.

Tonya looks up at me, her eyes narrowing. "You know what this means," she says, her voice low. "The leader will be the one to lead us into the Chamber. They'll decide how we fight, and what we do. We can't pick just anyone."

I nod slowly, glancing around the room. The Veilborne candidates have gathered around their table, their voices hushed but serious, as if they've already decided who will take the lead.

I look at the Ironclads one by one. I don't know them, and they don't know me, but it's clear they know each other. There's a natural familiarity in the way they glance at one another, a silent communication that speaks of shared history. I feel like an outsider more than ever, but I keep my face neutral, refusing to show any weakness.

At our table, the hum of low conversation starts to build as we grapple with the announcement.

"It has to be one of the Protector heirs," Sarah says, her voice firm as she sets her fork down. She gestures toward two of the candidates sitting at opposite ends of the table- the pair of twins, Daniel and Damien. "They're the only ones who've been trained for this."

Daniel leans back in his chair, exuding quiet confidence. His broad shoulders and sharp jawline make him look every bit the leader, and his reputation precedes him. Damien, on the other hand, sits with his arms crossed, her piercing eyes scanning the room as if he's already assessing threats. He's hair is a shade brighter compared to Daniel's but that's the only difference between the set of identical twins. Sons of the most respected Ironclad Protector. Of course, uncle Sirius told me about them.

"Training doesn't mean everything," Liam says coolly, but there's no denying the edge in his voice.

"We need someone who can actually lead us," He argues. "Not just someone with a famous name."

"But they're Protectors' heirs," Sarah shoots back. "If anyone knows how to keep us alive, it's them."

The conversation quickly devolves into a heated debate, with half the group backing Daniel and Damien while the rest argue for a more democratic process.

"Okay, okay!" Daniel's voice cuts through the noise like a blade, silencing everyone. "As thee Protector's heirs, I can guarantee you that my brother and I know a lot about leadership. My father taught us well. Rest assured."

"Mind sharing the kinds of things you've been taught?" I ask before I can stop myself, my voice cutting through the air like a challenge. All eyes turn to me, and I feel the weight of their stares. Daniel narrows his eyes, clearly not expecting to be questioned.

Daniel's gaze sharpens, locking into mine with a stare so intense that it almost feels like a warning. There's something in his eyes---like he'ssizing me up, assessing whether I'm trying to test him or genuinely questioning him. "I know strategy. I know how to command. And I know how to win. That's what we need-a leader who can get us through this competition with skills."

"That's great and all," I say, leaning forward slightly, "but that's a generic answer. What makes you really different from other leaders?"

Daniel's jaw tightens, and for a moment, the tension is so thick I can feel it pressing against my skin. The rest of the table goes silent, waiting for his answer.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving mine. "When I was younger my father would take my brother and I missions---even the dangerous ones," he says finally, his voice low and deliberate. "I didn't understand why a father would want to do this. I thought a father's sole duty was to protect his children. T twelve, I had already seen things that people thrice my age couldn't handle. I learnt the hard way that leadership isn't just about hearing stories. It's about being in the thick of it, watching my dad making calls to save and protect lives."

The group murmurs in agreement, nodding their heads as if his words are gospel. But Daniel's eyes remain locked on me.

I lean back in my seat, as I meet his stare. "Fair enough," I say evenly, keeping my neutral tone.

The group murmurs in agreement, nodding their heads as if his words are gospel. But Daniel's eyes remain locked on me.

I lean back in my seat, meeting his stare. "Fair enough," I say evenly, keeping my tone neutral.

But as the murmurs settle and the others begin exchanging glances, I can’t help the thought that creeps into my mind. Words can win people over. They always do. But words are just that—words.

And trust? That’s not something I give easily.