The Numbered

Tears filled his eyes as he clutched at his chest, trying to keep calm. Fear ran through his veins, twisting his stomach, making it hard to breathe. He was terrified.

When he looked down again, his teacher lay sprawled on the floor, her body surrounded by a pool of crimson blood. She had tried to stop the men in ash from doing what they were doing—and they cut her down.

He tried to stay calm, but he couldn’t. He knew one thing: anyone who opposed them would be killed. No mercy. No hesitation.

How could someone be so heartless? he thought. We’re just children…

His vision blurred, and in the chaos his mind pulled him away—to a memory. Lyra was sitting beside him with a puzzle book spread open.

*****

“The secret to solving a mystery,” she told him, “is to first observe. Every step, every word, every action made means something, even silence hides a clue. Don’t just look—see.”

*****

Her voice echoed in his head. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his heartbeat, clearing the tears from his eyes. He forced himself to look around.

His classmates were screaming, crying, clinging to one another. But as the men in ash-colored suits raised their weapons again, the whole class fell silent at once.

Nova’s chest tightened. There was no way out. Students had already begun pulling at their clothes under the soldiers’ orders.

And still, one thought held onto him, burning against the fear: You can’t control people with only fear. Fear doesn’t bind people together— if anything, it tears them apart.

Lyra stood among the crowd gathered in the assembly hall, her arms folded tightly across her chest as though she could shield herself from the chaos around her. The echo of frightened voices pressed against her ears, but she forced herself to keep her gaze steady, scanning the room.

She didn’t know what had become of Nova yet, but every instinct screamed that he was out there—somewhere in this nightmare.

The hall became silent as a figure stepped forward. This time he wasn’t dressed in ash but in stark white, the color making him seem both commanding and untouchable.

He raised a hand, and the room fell utterly still.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice calm but sharp. “You are now part of Vespera. Each of you will be assigned a number. These numbers are not random—they reflect who you are, what we have observed in you, and the potential we see. Your number is your identity here. Your roles will be assigned to you later.”

A faint hum echoed through the hall as soldiers stepped forward, each holding the sleek devices used to embed the numbers beneath their skin. Lyra’s pulse quickened.

Some students trembled, some stared silently at the floor, but no one dared voice hesitation aloud.

When her turn came, Lyra felt the sting of the device at the back of her neck. A glowing number appeared beneath her skin—07—pulsing faintly as though alive.

She swallowed hard, forcing her mind to steady itself. Her instincts had always made her sharp, silent, deadly. Umbra had claimed her before she even realized it, and the number on her neck was a reminder: she was no longer just Lyra.

Beside her, Lex received his number, and Nova’s turned faintly against the light as the device traced it onto his skin. Their futures were set, but only partially revealed. The organization had taken the first step in controlling them—numbers first, identities next.

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