The cheers of the crowd struck seven-year-old Emmett Thorne like a physical blow. He pressed his back to the rough brick of a side street. Beside him, nine-year-old Frederick trembled like a frightened animal.

They had followed the noise, thinking it was a festival, a celebration. They were right—just not in the way they hoped.

At the front of the parade, two men held up two poles. On each, a head.

The first was their father, Baron Caspian Thorne, one of the six barons of the kingdom of Citadel, his features frozen in defiance. The second was their mother, Regina, her dark hair still soaked in her blood.

Frederick sobbed, muffling his mouth with his hand. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Emmett did not cry. He only stared with a hollow look, his mind incapable of accepting or comprehending the trauma of seeing their heads on poles.

My eyes are dry. Why? Father and Mother are dead. I... I should be crying. It hurts so much, but... my eyes... they're dry.

He felt something in his chest crack, then snap shut, like a vault being sealed. The chaos of his emotions—the grief, the fear, the sorrow, the intense pain—was suddenly, violently snuffed out. All he felt was the rough texture of the brick against his back and the tremor of his brother beside him. The raw, searing pain of loss was gone, replaced by a deep, unnerving emptiness. His heart was not broken; it simply ceased to be.

He turned to look around the street, and what he saw worsened the matter.

The people of the city of Thorne had filled the streets laughing and cheering. Peasants and soldiers alike. The very people his father had ruled, the very people his mother had helped. They were happy. Happy that his parents were dead.

Only hours ago, life had been different. A new copper-colored automobile was parked outside the manor. An expensive black-and-white television in the parlor with the image of a politician in a black suit. Then came the crash of glass, the shouting, Baron Calvin's men pouring into their home.

Their mother had shoved them toward the servants' door, holding nothing but a heavy book.

"Run! Don't look back!"

she screamed, hurling herself into the path of armed men.

They had run until their lungs burned. Now, in this alley, Emmett stood frozen while his brother sobbed. A cold truth settled over him: humanity was weakness, a weakness that was sure to lead to ruin.

The days that followed the parade were filled with hunger and suffering. They slept in abandoned warehouses, their teeth chattering through the nights. They stole rotting fruit from market stalls and were chased away by vendors wielding sticks, shouts of "Thief" followed behind them.

Emmett's silence became a fortress, while Frederick's tears finally dried up, replaced by a hollow stare that was somehow worse. They didn't speak of their parents or the future. There was no future. There was only their hiding place, the next crust of bread, the next moment of not being caught.

One afternoon, crouched behind a dumpster, they saw a family negotiating with three men in suits. The leader wore a grey suit, the only clean thing in the alley.

"The girl's worth more than a month's rent,"

he drawled. Her mother weeps, but her hands push the girl foward all the same. This makes the girl's shirt slip slightly, revealing a flash of a strange, intricate symbol just beneath her collarbone. The man's eyes immediately lock onto it.

"She has the Mark. We'll pay extra."

Frederick gasped.

"They're selling her!"

Before Emmett could move, Frederick broke cover, stumbling into the open, his strong sense of justice getting the better of him. ​

"Hey! Leave her alone! That's not right!"

​The man in the grey suit gave a tired sigh.

"Get lost, kid. This ain't your problem."

​Frederick planted himself in front of the girl, fists balled.

"I won't let you hurt her!"

The girl—Briar Hayes, no older than eight—looked at him, her eyes filled with hope.

Emmett only watched with a cold detachment.

He's running. Why? He knows they'll kill him. He knows he's small, weak. Still, he runs. Like a fool.

One of the suited men drew a pistol.

BANG.

Frederick's eyes widened as blood splattered across his forehead.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

His body jerked with each shot before falling to the dirt. Briar let out a raw scream upon seeing him fall to the ground.

Meanwhile, Emmett stood before his brother's body, staring at it with a cold detachment. He felt nothing. Only clarity. His brother's humanity had gotten him killed.

Mother died because she cared for us. Father died because of his ambitions. Now Frederick died because he's soft.

It's all the same. It's all weakness, and weakness is a sin, punishable by death.

The suited men seized Briar, dragging toward a polished, mahogany-paneled clockwork automobile. Then one of them, the one who had killed Frederick noticed Emmett standing before his brother's body—expressionless, silent.

"Well, look at you,"

the man said with a cruel smile.

"You're coming too. Boss has a use for children like you."

He seized Emmett's arm. The boy didn't fight. Didn't scream. He let himself be dragged away, leaving Frederick's corpse in the dirt. Emmett's mind went through his parents' deaths and his brother's death.

Humans are monsters, that kill each other without mercy. If this is what it means to be human, then I renounce my humanity.

The automobile was so quiet it hurt. The leather seats were too clean, the windows too clear. Only the sound of clockwork and gears turning could be heard. Emmett and Briar sat side by side, not touching.

Briar broke the quiet first. Her voice was small and wobbly.

"Why didn't you do anything?"

Emmett didn't look at her.

"Do what?"

he said. His voice was flat.

"Help him!"

she yelled. Her voice cracked.

"He tried to help me! He tried to stop them

and you just watched!"

She was shaking.

Emmett could feel the anger coming off her like heat. He finally turned his head. His eyes were dark and still.

"He was being stupid."

Just as Briar opened her mouth to yell again, a loud, jarring ring cut through the air. One of the men in the front pulled a large, clunky box from beneath his seat. He flipped open the top, revealing a small speaker and a microphone. A buzz of static filled the car, and a voice, tinny and distant, spoke from the box.

"We got them, sir. Two children, just as you requested. One boy and... the other one. She has the Mark."

"The Mark?"

the voice on the other side responded, its tone shifting to a sharp, eager note.

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely, Baron. Right on her collarbone, just like the files said."

"Excellent. Bring them straight here. And be quiet about it. I don't want a single leak."

The man nodded and slammed the top of the box shut. The sudden silence was a shock.

Emmett stared at the back of the man's head, his mind replaying the words.

The Mark. God's Mark.

It was the same thing Briar's mother had cried about. He had seen the strange symbol beneath her collarbone. The men wanted her for it. The Baron wanted her for it. It was what made her valuable. What did it mean? What did it do?

He turned to Briar. Her face was pale, but her eyes were wide and filled with a new, fresh terror.

"What is it?"

he asked, his voice low.

Briar flinched, as if she had forgotten he was there.

"What?"

"The Mark,"

Emmett said.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on her lap.

"I don't know,"

she whispered.

"My parents just said it was... rare. That's all."

The automobile came to a stop.

Miles away, in the royal palace's great hall, a different kind of conversation was just beginning.

The hall was a cavernous space of polished marble and stark, brass fixtures. High above, rows of fluorescent bulbs cast a blinding white, sterile light across a long, mahogany table.

At the head of the table sat King Regis Fontaine and Queen Lilian Fontaine, their ornate crowns and robes a jarring contrast to their silent, vacant expressions.

Around the table sat the five Barons, their postures a mix of casual arrogance and coiled tension.

A Baron with a thin, almost humming voice broke the silence, tapping a manicured finger on the table's surface.

"My sources in Reed have confirmed a rumor. A commoner has been located with the God's Mark."

The Barons' casual postures straightened. The air in the hall grew colder.

"A pauper?"

another Baron, his voice a low grumble, retorted.

"In your territory, Baron Calvin?"

Calvin leaned back in his chair, a thin, satisfied smile on his face.

"My territory is vast. I am not privy to every birthmark on every child."

"This is not a birthmark,"

the humming voice insisted.

"This is the Mark. God's Mark. A girl, eight years old, named Briar Hayes possesses this mark."

The Baron's eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Calvin.

"And my sources tell me that they lost contact with her just days after your... regrettable but necessary conflict with the late Baron Thorne."

Calvin's smile didn't waver.

"As I said, my territory is vast. A number of families lost contact with their children in the riots. I am a Baron, not a nanny."

A third Baron, his voice smooth and cold, interjected,

"Do you have the girl, Calvin? A marked commoner is a powerful asset. Her existence, if left unchecked, can be a threat to the stability of the Barons."

His eyes flickered to the King and Queen, who sat motionless.

Calvin let out a soft, amused chuckle.

"My dear colleagues, do you truly believe I would hide such a thing? I am an honorable man. I have no need for secrets."

The humming-voiced Baron leaned forward, his hands flat on the table.

"Perhaps not. But we have all agreed that any such asset would be brought to the collective. To the Barons. We must work together to control the kingdom. It is what our subjects expect, and it is what our monarchs demand."

He gestured dismissively toward the King and Queen.

The Barons all nodded in agreement.

"So what now?"

the second Baron grumbled.

"We don't know if she has disappeared or if she is dead."

A tense silence fell over the room. The only sound was the high-pitched whine of the lights and the ticking of a large grandfather clock in the corner. All eyes were on Calvin.

"I say we keep him under observation for now."

the humming voice finally stated.

"We will let the matter lie. If Calvin does have the girl, his ambition will eventually make him show his hand. It always does. Until then, we can only watch."

"Until then. I'll take my leave"

Calvin says as he gets up and walks to the door with steady, unhurried steps.

The other Barons watch quietly, and the fourth, the one with the hollow voice, upon seeing that Calvin was out of earshot, finally leaned forward, his shadow falling across the table.

"Yes,"

he whispered,

"But if he does have the girl, then we won't just be facing another baron, but the terrifying power of the mark of the divine. God's Mark!"

The automobile came to a smooth, silent stop. The doors glided open, revealing the immense facade of Reed Manor. It was less a home and more a palace of cold, clean marble and polished steel, its windows like dark, unblinking eyes.

Emmett and Briar were pulled from the car and led up a long staircase. They could hear the hum of generators and the soft thrum of machinery coming from deep within the building.

Just as they reached the massive doors, a loud, static-filled voice squawked from a device on the lead man's hip. He unclipped a small, brass-plated receiver and held it to his ear.

"Sir?"

The voice on the other end was a crisp, commanding bark.

"I am on my way from the capital. Ensure the children are prepared for assessment."

The call ended with a sharp click.

The men in suits pushed Emmett and Briar inside. The hall was a vast, open space, a jarring mix of grand chandeliers and stark, surgical-white walls.

They were led to a large waiting room with a single, long bench.

Sitting there were four other children, around Emmett's age. A boy with piercing, intellectual blue eyes watched their every move from the corner. Another boy with a disarming smile and warm eyes looked up from his lap. A girl with large, expressive eyes seemed to shrink in on herself, and a boy with the broad shoulders sat in calm silence, his gaze fixed on a distant point.

The man in the suit pointed at the bench.

"Wait here. The Baron will see you shortly."

Then, they left, and the heavy door shut behind them, leaving the six children in an uneasy silence.

The boy with the charming smile, Felix Vance, was the first to break the quiet. He offered a practiced, reassuring smile.

"Well, at least the chairs aren't bolted down. Small victories, right? Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding. "

Briar bristled, her chin jutting out.

"A misunderstanding? My parents were very clear. They got a nice chunk of change, and I got a one-way ticket to... whatever this is."

The boy with the intellectual blue eyes, Corbin Finch, watched her with a detached curiosity before speaking.

"Well, look at the bright side. They got a good price, and you got a one-way ticket out of a dead-end life. Crying's a waste of perfectly good water."

Briar's defiance flared.

"Oh, I see. My bad. Guess I'm not as 'evolved' as you are. Tell me, what's the formula for getting over your own family selling you? Do you even care?"

Corbin simply shook his head.

"Caring is a luxury I couldn't afford. It's much simpler to just choose this."

The girl with the large, expressive eyes, Beatrice Fontaine, flinched at the tension in the room. Her voice was soft and hesitant.

"Please... can we just be quiet? I don't want to cause any trouble."

Emmett, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice flat.

"There's nothing you can do about it. We're already in trouble."

Beatrice's eyes filled with anxiety, and she shrank back into herself.

Felix sighed, the charm slipping from his face for a moment. He looked at Emmett and Briar.

"You two are new here, right?"

"We just got here,"

Emmett said, his voice flat.

Felix offered a half-smile.

"Well, consider me your unofficial welcome wagon. I'm Felix. It's not so bad, really. You'll get used to the quiet... and the whispers."

He glanced nervously toward the door.

"Just try not to attract too much attention, and you'll be fine."

Briar scowled at his nonchalance.

"How can you be so calm? Don't you see where we are?"

"I've seen worse,"

Felix replied with a shrug, though his hands were subtly trembling in his lap.

"At least here, you know where the danger is."

Rhys Fisher, the silent boy with the broad shoulders, shifted his gaze from the wall to Briar, his expression calm and observant. The other four children looked at Briar, and a tense silence filled the room.

Just as the silence threatened to consume them, a new sound cut through the air—the soft, deliberate click of the door's locking mechanism. Every eye in the room darted to the entrance as the door opened, revealing a tall, imposing figure silhouetted in the hallway's light.

Baron Calvin stepped into the room, his black coat and polished shoes impeccable. He surveyed the children, his gaze lingering on each one as a small, smug grin spread across his face, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Look at all of you,"

he said, his voice was smooth, dripping with false sympathy.

"Lost, alone, and discarded. You all have circumstances that caused you to be where you are right now."

He paused, his grin widening into a triumphant smile.

"I'm very sure most of you have questions for me. I will provide answers in due time, but for now, I welcome you all as the first fruits of my relentless research and hardwork. From today onwards, you all will be known as my prototypes, Force 1."