In the tiny room with ten double‑decker beds, twenty teenagers lay. Some slept. Some stared into the dark. A cough broke the silence.
"Loki, are you asleep?"
Mari's whisper came from the bed opposite his. She had rolled to face him, though neither could see the other in the pitch black.
"No. About to," he whispered back.
He whispered back to her "Want me to put you to bed?"
Mari smiled into the darkness. "Yes. Please put me to bed."
"Mari, one day we will walk in the green fields. You and I. I'll be by your side. I'll be your provider, your shield, someone you can rely on."
He waited. Her breathing had already begun to slow. By the time he finished, soft snores drifted from her bed.
He sighed and stared at the ceiling.
Two years ago they had arrived at Camp 12, freshly moved from the children's camp. Thirteen years old then, now almost fifteen. Mari had been small and cried every night. He had started reciting poems to help her sleep, and somehow it had become his duty, one he never minded.
"On your feet! Wake up!"
Nun Mama's voice cut through the room as she stood in the doorway, ringing a brass bell. Her broad figure filled the frame, her straw robe rustling. "Lateness will not be tolerated at the breakfast table. You know the rule."
Teenagers groaned and threw off thin blankets.
A sharp sting landed on Loki's cheek. "Loki! Wake up!"
He sat up, rubbing his face. Tars stood at the foot of his bed, her hand still raised, a crooked grin on her lips.
"Tars, I told you to stop slapping me awake."
"And miss that handsome confused look?" She was already turning, her dark hair swinging. "Move or you'll miss the baths."
Above him, Mends dropped to the floor with a soft thud. "She's right. Come on."
They grabbed their brown robes and joined the stream of boys heading to the washroom. Loki took the first empty shower, letting the cold water shock his limbs awake.
The dining chamber was a long stone hall with rough wooden tables. The teenagers stood in two lines, boys on the left, girls on the right waiting for their bowls. Nun Mama stood at the head of the serving table, ladle in hand. Two precise scoops of thin soup, a single potato, a small piece of grey meat.
Loki took his bowl and found a seat beside Mends. Across from them, Mari sat with Tars. Loki glanced at Mari, but her eyes were fixed on her food. He looked down and ate.
The meal was over in minutes. Nun Mama clapped twice, and everyone rose to stack their bowls.
Outside the tool shed, a man in grey robes handed each teenager a pickaxe, a wicker basket, and a straw hat. The stone arch above the door read Camp 12 in faded black paint.
They walked in a loose line toward the mining field a gash in the mountain where black rock rose on both sides. The air smelled of dust and old sweat. Overhead, the sun was a pale coin behind haze.
Their allocated spot was near the western wall, where the rock face was cracked and veined with faint white lines. Loki, Mari, Tars, and Mends set down their baskets and raised their picks.
"Hammering down again," Mends muttered, swinging first.
They worked in rhythm. Pick fell, rock cracked, crystals winked in the darkness of the crevices. Loki's arms ached, but he kept his pace. Beside him, Mari worked quietly, her strokes lighter but steady.
"You know I always hear your little conversations before bed, right?" Tars said between swings, her voice carrying over the clink of metal on stone.
"You don't have to remind us," Loki shot back.
"Loki, please " Mari started.
"Will you both shut up and focus?" Mends interrupted. "We have six hours."
They fell silent. The only sounds were the clang of picks, the scrape of crystal against rock, and the occasional distant shout from another team.
Loki watched Mends bend to retrieve a fallen crystal a thumb‑sized shard of pale white. He dropped it into his basket without breaking stride.
Ten crystals a day, Loki thought. Fail three days in a row, and you get the whip. Last month a boy had gone short. Came back with marks all over his back.
He swung harder.
A bell rang across the mining field. Break time. The sound echoed off the mountain walls, and everywhere picks stopped.
They placed their baskets on the ground.
The rule was simple: they pooled everything they found, then divided equally. No one fell below ten that way. Mends knelt and began counting the crystals while Tars and Loki stacked the tools.
"Seventeen each," Mends announced. "We're good."
They handed their baskets to the inspector a thin man with a ledger and walked toward the recreation center, stripping off their straw hats.
"Do you think we'll really be tested next week?" Mari asked quietly..
"That's what the priest said." Mends' voice was flat. "We are all fifteen now. They test your blood for attribute affinity."
"And if you have it, you get the injection." Tars kicked a loose stone. "A chance to freedom. I really hate being here."
Loki watched Mari's face. She was looking at the ground, her small hands gripping the strap of her robe.
"The priest says it's our duty," Mari said. "To become strong enough to fight the monsters. To protect everyone."
"The priest says a lot of things," Tars muttered.
Loki stopped walking. They all turned.
"We don't have to decide anything yet," he said. "But when the test comes " He looked at Mari. "I'm not leaving anyone behind."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Mends clapped Loki on the shoulder. "Let's get some rest before the evening meal."
They walked on, four figures in brown robes, toward the squat stone building that served as their only shelter from the mine.