Levon scanned the plaques until he found his name and sat down. A girl occupied the chair on his left, a quiet-looking boy on his right. He couldn’t recall either of their names from the introductions the night before; everything had blurred together.

Before sitting, Archie lingered near the center of the table, eyes wide as he surveyed the spread.
“Man,” he said, grinning, “if this is breakfast, I can’t wait to see what lunch looks like.”

Levon raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even a little suspicious about what you’re eating?”

Archie glanced at him, still smiling. “If they wanted to kill us, they would’ve done it already. Besides…” He reached for a glass, inspecting the golden liquid within. “…they clearly need us for something. So I doubt we’re on the menu just yet.”

Levon couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or impressed by his complete lack of concern.

Archie found his seat farther down the table and dropped into it, already eyeing a plate of glowing fruit. Levon, on the other hand, hesitated. His plate steamed faintly, releasing a scent both familiar and foreign, something like citrus and smoke. He glanced around, trying not to look too obvious as his gaze kept drifting toward Gustav, who sat upright, calm, and watchful.

The girl beside him leaned forward slightly.
“What am I putting in my mouth, exactly?” she asked, her tone cautious but direct.

Levon exhaled softly, relieved someone else had voiced it.

Gustav’s eyes shifted toward her. “Don’t worry, Warda,” he said evenly. “Each of you has been served food that resonates most closely with your Vitria. That’s why your names are inscribed on your seats, to ensure you’re given what best aligns with your composition, your taste, and your energy.”

The explanation did little to make the room feel safer.

From the far end of the table, a voice broke through the low murmurs.
“So we are test subjects,” said a tall, sharp-featured man, the same one who had challenged Gustav during the auditorium session.

“No, Xin,” Gustav replied calmly, his tone firm but measured. “You are here to learn, to understand what you are and how this world connects to you. You are part of this community now.”

“I don’t want to be,” Xin snapped, his voice rising with a restrained fury.

A faint tension rippled through the room. The hum of the aquarium walls seemed to dim for a heartbeat, the water outside slowing as if listening.

Before Gustav could respond, the man sitting beside Xin turned toward him, voice low but edged with irritation.
“You were exiled from your home origin,” he said. “How about you show a little gratitude that they even accepted you here?”

Levon recognized the speaker, Zachery, the same one who had asked what exactly Vitria was during the orientation the night before.

Xin’s jaw tensed. He turned slowly to face Zachery, eyes narrowing.
“I wasn’t cast out,” he said, each word tight with restrained anger. “I was a necessary sacrifice, to ensure the safety of my people.”

The air shifted. Even the soft hum of the walls seemed to falter for a second.

Levon’s eyes widened. Sacrifice for safety? he thought. That wasn’t the case with me…
His mind began turning fast, connecting threads that didn’t seem to belong together. My sacrifice was to ensure humanity prospered, not to protect it from destruction. Does that mean… each civilization was offered a different pact? If so, what criteria did the Xacodians follow?

He processed it quickly. One said cast out, the other said sacrifice. They sound different, but depending on perspective… they could mean the same thing. If someone was chosen to be sacrificed, wouldn’t that also make them an exile?

Levon leaned slightly toward Warda, who was watching the two men with quiet unease.
“Do you feel honored,” he whispered, “that you sacrificed yourself to save your people?”

She turned to him, startled by the question. Her expression flickered, confusion, then something unreadable, before she looked away without answering.

Levon exhaled softly. If she doesn’t know… then maybe not all of us share the same story.

Warda’s eyes flicked toward Levon, calm but firm.
“No,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sacrificed. I was awarded this journey, chosen to travel beyond the cosmos for being the top achiever in my demographic.”

Levon blinked, momentarily thrown off. Awarded?

Before he could respond, a sharp voice broke through the rising tension.

“What the hell is going on?” Malinda demanded, turning toward Gustav. “What are they even arguing about?”

Levon’s thoughts stumbled over themselves. Awarded, sacrificed, exiled… he glanced quickly at Gustav, who remained composed, hands resting neatly on the table. These people… they created a different story for every civilization. A narrative suited to each world’s values, talent, duty, punishment, or honor, all leading to the same result: taking people.

Malinda’s voice cut through the silence again, firmer this time.
“Enough,” she said, shifting her gaze between Xin and Zachery. “Whatever brought us here, we’re all stuck in the same place now, and we have a common enemy.”
Her eyes locked on Gustav. “So maybe you should start telling us the truth.”

The word enemy hung in the air like static.

Across the table, Marziah leaned forward, her tone sharp but measured.
“Explain yourself,” she said to Gustav. “You seem pleasant enough, but we’re running out of patience, and we’re in need of answers.”

Beside her, Artorias said nothing. He only stared at Gustav, expression unreadable, eyes cold and unblinking, the kind of silence that demanded more than words ever could.

The tension pressed down on the table like a physical weight, until a casual voice broke it apart.

“I’m damn full,” Archie announced, leaning back in his chair with a grin. He crossed one leg over the other, hands folded behind his head, completely unfazed by the stifling atmosphere.

He glanced sideways at the girl next to him, who was scribbling in a small digital notepad.
“What’s your name, by the way?”

“Parvati,” she replied without looking up.

“Oh right,” Archie said, snapping his fingers lightly. “You were the one who asked about the people who came before us, or the ones who come after.”

She gave a small nod, still writing.

Gustav sighed softly, though the smile on his face never wavered. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers interlaced beneath his chin like a man posing for a portrait.
“Calm down, everyone,” he began, his tone smooth and almost kind. “I am not your enemy. Xacodia is not your enemy.”

His eyes drifted from one face to the next, Warda’s quiet defiance, Xin’s restrained anger, Levon’s silent calculation. His gaze felt heavy, deliberate, as if he could see more than their faces, as if he were reading the pulse behind their thoughts.

“And to those of you entertaining… violent ideas, the ones thinking of attacking me, or running.” His voice lowered, soft as velvet, but something beneath it changed, a faint metallic hum threading through each syllable.
“Trust me,” he said, smile thinning, “you can’t.”

He straightened slowly, placing his hands on the table’s edge. The blue light from the aquarium above fractured across his features, giving his eyes an uncanny sheen. When he spoke again, the warmth in his tone had bled away completely.

“If I wanted to,” Gustav said, “I could kill all of you…”
He raised one hand, pale against the silver reflection.
“…with a snap of my fingers.”

The sound cracked like static.

For an instant, nothing moved. Then…

They appeared.

Nine figures materialized around the table, silent as ghosts, each wearing a smooth white mask with no mouth, no eyes, only faint outlines glowing from within. In their hands, curved blades shimmered like liquid mercury, each one resting precisely against an initiate’s throat.

Levon froze. The air itself seemed to collapse. The hum of the aquarium dimmed to a heartbeat’s throb. Every detail sharpened, the cold kiss of metal against his skin, the faint radiance from the guard’s armor, the chemical scent of ozone. His breath caught halfway through his lungs and refused to leave.

The guards weren’t human. Light pulsed beneath their armor, rhythmic, artificial, alive. The glow was too bright, too clean, flickering like energy forced into shape.

No one spoke.
Marziah’s fingers trembled over her plate, her knuckles white.
Xin’s jaw locked, a muscle twitching as rage warred with terror.
Warda’s gaze flicked toward Gustav, searching for any sign of mercy.
Archie, for once, looked completely still, his easy grin erased, eyes wide, unfocused.
Artorias didn’t move at all; he merely stared at Gustav.

Gustav’s expression softened again, disturbingly serene. “See?” he said lightly. “Violence is meaningless here. Violence…” he repeated as he tilted his head, “…is impossible.”

Then, without warning, he clapped his hands once.

A sound like glass cracking through water rang out, and the guards vanished. Not disappeared, erased. Their light collapsed inward, folding into thin threads before dissolving into the air. The chill of the blades lingered a heartbeat longer, as though memory itself needed time to fade.

When silence finally fell, it was total. The only sound came from the water beyond the glass walls, drifting in tranquil waves as if mocking them.

Gustav’s smile returned, bright, effortless, rehearsed.
“Now,” he said cheerfully, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, “let’s put this unpleasant moment behind us. You’ll be attending your first class today. A clean slate.”

He stepped back from the table, gesturing toward the corridor where the light pulsed invitingly. “Please,” he added, voice as calm as if nothing had happened, “follow me.”

No one moved at first. Then, one by one, they stood, silent, cautious, their chairs scraping softly against the polished floor. Levon lingered a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the spot where his guard had stood. The marble surface bore no mark, no shadow, nothing to prove what had just occurred.