A New Beginning

Mediator is chosen only if they prove not only their abilities and character but also the determination to surpass the limits of human capability.

— Excerpt from internal directives

Ela, Lower City of Prim

Reng often returned to her in dreams. Not as she remembered him. More like a feeling, a shadow—something between guilt and emptiness. Sometimes he spoke to her in those dreams, but mostly he remained silent. Once, he reached out to her, saying something she couldn't understand, yet it still filled her with the unbearable sense that she had lost something important.

The worst part of those dreams was waking up. Opening her eyes and having to admit that he was gone—because she had betrayed him.

The very day she received that short message, she gathered what little money she had left after running away from home and contacted the nearest oasis with ties to Karhen Rouz. A bit of searching led to a single, undeniable conclusion. The note from that evening had not lied. As far as she could find out, Reng had run away from home and ended up somewhere in the Highlands. The herders from Kaleno’s farm had gone looking for him almost immediately, but all they found was a torn-apart kernal.

And all of it because she had screwed up.

Her face twisted before she even managed to get out of bed. She wiped at her damp eyes and took a deep breath.

“I screwed up,” she whispered to herself. Again. “If only I hadn’t left him there alone…”

She heard a rustling sound from the kitchen. Miren. Her roommate and, in some ways, her only friend. The only person she had left. These past few days, she had often wondered what Reng would have thought of her. She was convinced he would have liked her—hot-blooded, sharp-tongued, and full of energy that Ela sometimes envied. A sting of jealousy pricked at her, even though she knew it didn’t matter anymore.

“Ela? Are you still asleep?” a voice called from the kitchen.

Miren’s loud, confident words pulled her back from the depths of her thoughts. That was something Miren was good at—dragging her back to reality. And right now, that was exactly what she needed more than anything else.

“No, I’m getting up,” she answered wearily. “Can you pour me some laghota?”

“Sure. But I don’t want to hear any whining,” Miren called back with a hint of irony.

It was meant to lighten the mood, but Ela felt the sting. Why would Miren even understand? She didn’t know him. She had no idea what it was like to lose someone that close.

She got up with effort and sat down at the table, where a steaming mug was already waiting. The rich aroma of hot laghota filled the small apartment. Miren slipped into the seat across from her, smiling warmly. Ela buried her nose in the scent and wondered how much longer it would hurt.

“How about a late breakfast in town?” Miren suggested.

Ela agreed. It was exactly what she needed right now.

A late breakfast meant a tucked-away stall at the edge of the market, where the air was thick with the mingling scents of spices and freshly fried dough. Miren glanced around while Ela watched the vendor pour batter in spirals onto a wide griddle, where it instantly curled into crisp, golden sheets in the hot oil.

“It’s weird how I never get tired of these,” Miren smacked her lips, sifting through a bowl full of crunchy morsels. “And you? Craving something that’ll finally pull you out of your gloom?”

Ela just smiled, grateful for how effortlessly Miren bridged the gap between her moods. She reached for her own bowl and let her gaze drift past the stalls to the towering silhouette of the Beacon, its peak shimmering in the hazy morning light.

“Are you staring at the sky again?” Miren asked, catching her expression. “I’ve got a surprise for you—no werren’s going to show up today either. Not their style.”

Ela only shrugged. “I always thought they cared about us.”

Miren laughed. “And what gave you that idea?”

Ela remained silent. How could she say that her mother once told her the werren were a blessing to their world? That they had shaped humanity and watched over it? Miren would tear her apart for that. Just like always.

“Look around,” Miren continued, gesturing at the market with a mouth full of food. “Their fancy tech might have catapulted us up a few levels, but at what cost? Communicators we can barely assemble without their technicians. Machines we don’t understand. And, of course, our beloved weapons—because if you’re going to destroy your own world, you might as well do it in style. I’d bet anything they’re watching from up there, laughing at how we bash each other to bits for their amusement.”

Ela frowned. “You’re only seeing what you want to see. We have medicine because of them. Energy. Even these frying machines that are cooking your breakfast.”

“Yeah, but what do we actually know about those machines? Just that when they break down one day, we’ll be screwed,” Miren retorted. “You wouldn’t be the first to think the werren actually care about us. But look around Raj, and you’ll see exactly where their love has brought us. Step outside Prim, and you’re knee-deep in shit. No, girl, trust me—it’s all something else entirely. We just don’t get it, because we don’t have their view of the world.”

Ela didn’t respond, instead burying her gaze in her bowl. Miren was right in her cynicism, but something about it didn’t sit well with her. Her thoughts drifted back to her mother, to the evenings when she would tell her children stories of a different world—the one that came before the one they lived in now. One story had stuck with Ela more than the others.

It was about a werren who remained hidden, always one step ahead of his kind.

“He wasn’t like the others,” Seren used to say. “He could see much further and understood that sometimes, you have to destroy something to make space for something new—something better. Because that’s what true protectors do.”

Ela hadn’t understood back then what her mother meant, and even now, all these years later, she wasn’t sure if she had even come close to grasping the meaning of that lofty idea. Maybe she had hoped that living near the Beacon would give her answers, but she already suspected she had been naïve. Miren was right. The werren didn’t care about the world down here.

“You’re seriously soft today,” Miren remarked, watching as Ela absentmindedly stirred the dregs of her laghota for the third time. “How about you stop worrying about things you can’t control and start thinking about something fun—like going to the bar tonight?”

“You feel like celebrating?” Ela looked at her in surprise, then remembered. “Oh, right. Your exams are today, aren’t they? You’re getting promoted tomorrow.”

Miren shrugged, feigning indifference. “Would be. If they let me take them.”

“What?” Ela frowned. Miren had mentioned the exams several times over the past few days, and even though she often put on her usual I don’t give a damn attitude, Ela had noticed she was more anxious than usual.

Miren dropped her gaze to her bowl, silent for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “Got a message this morning. My file got flagged for review. Which means I’m screwed.”

“What? Why?” Ela leaned in closer to hear her over the market noise.

Miren scoffed. “What do you think? Looks like I pissed off someone with long enough fingers.”

Ela froze for a moment. The damn hat. The thin lips whispering: You’ll like this, Red.

“That bastard!”

Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t bear the thought of Miren ending up like this. Miren looked up at her, confused by her reaction, and Ela didn’t have the courage to explain. She would have to admit that she was partly to blame for her troubles. If only she hadn’t written her name.

But she had. Maybe because she hadn’t foreseen the consequences. Maybe because, back then, she still believed that justice existed in this world.

“I’ll try to speak on your behalf. I think I know who to turn to,” Ela said.

In her mind, she could already see the doors in the upper floors of the Guard. The doors that led to rooms with framed portraits and plush carpets, where she might have to risk her own reputation just to get Miren back in the game.

“Speak on my behalf?” Miren cut in, sharper than she had intended.

She sighed, rubbing her face.

“Sorry. But do you really think anyone cares what a lab tech like you has to say? Don’t be naïve, princess. You’re just one of many, same as me. But… thanks for trying, even if it won’t make a difference.”

Ela reached for her bowl but ended up pushing it aside, half-full. She had lost her appetite. Miren, on the other hand, finished her food and leaned back in her chair, staring intently at her fingers.

“Do you know what it means if they throw me out?” Her voice caught, but her eyes remained hard. “It could ruin my family. Out there, it’s not Prim. Out there, it’s a fight to survive. The money and my position kept them safe. What happens when I lose all that?”

“You won’t,” Ela refused to accept that possibility.

“You know what?” Miren sighed. “If you want to play hero, go ahead. But don’t get your hopes up. All you’re going to get from this is trouble.”

Ela met her gaze, unwavering.

“Don’t worry. We’ll handle it,” she said firmly.

She didn’t wait for a response. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she stepped back out onto the street.

The air was sharp and cold, but instead of slowing her down, it made her move faster. She had to find someone who could help Miren. Someone who would understand that they had been the victims that night. They couldn’t punish Miren for someone else’s mistakes. She quickened her pace.

“I can’t fail someone again,” she whispered into the emptiness.

The thought of Reng hit her like a boomerang, but with it came the resolve that this time, she would make things right.

***

Ela barely slept that night. Her mind raced, searching for a solution. She didn’t have time to go through official channels—she already knew the disciplinary committee was a lost cause. This wasn’t about formalities anymore. Miren hadn’t even been allowed to take the tests. That wasn’t a coincidence; it was a deliberate move by someone powerful enough to pull the strings.

And Ela hoped she knew who might help.

A Guard officer. The man who had interrogated her. Strict, but fair. He had spoken to her plainly and seemed… human. If he had been so harsh on her, she believed he would judge others with the same sense of justice. He just needed to understand that Miren had been protecting her—she wasn’t the one at fault.

In the morning, she set out with determination, heading back to the building where she had been questioned just days ago. As she passed through the monumental entrance, her footsteps echoed softly along the halls with their towering ceilings. The cold, solemn atmosphere of the space swallowed her whole. The walls bore portraits of officers from past generations, and the door labeled “Command Office” filled her with a heavy sense of unease.

The receptionist behind the desk raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I need to speak with the officer I met here a few days ago,” Ela replied. “It’s urgent.”

“His name?”

Ela hesitated, realizing she didn’t know it.

“He was tall, short hair, strict-looking,” she started, but the woman only sighed.

“You just described most of my superiors, miss.”

“Valis Noret. He was investigating his case.”

The receptionist eyed her skeptically but eventually just shrugged.

“Second door on the right, miss. If anyone has time, they’ll call you in.”

Ela sat in the waiting area, which, with its stark simplicity, felt almost like an interrogation room. White walls, a plain bench, a glass window overlooking the city.

As the minutes dragged on, she felt her resolve slipping.

What if no one cared?

And even if they did—would they even be willing to help?

Maybe she had overestimated herself. Miren had been right. Why would anyone care what a lab technician thought? To the Institute, she was nothing. Her evaluations were excellent, just like every test she had taken, slowly inching her up the ranks. But she had barely cleared three hurdles, and there were dozens more ahead of her.

She shook her head angrily, forcing the thought away. If she already felt defeated, how could she possibly win?

Her gaze drifted to the Beacon, perfectly visible from the window. A strange mixture of fascination and something else—something that sent a shiver down her spine—washed over her. Her mother had once spoken of the werren Beacons as symbols of hope. But this one? It was cold, devoid of humanity.

She tore her eyes away just as a crimson, fiery bloom erupted beneath its massive peak. The ground trembled, the glass shuddered in its frame, and her heart pounded wildly. Flames shot toward the sky. The Beacon itself seemed untouched, but everything around it was turning into a searing inferno.

Long sirens cut through the air as the fire consumed everything in its path—including the people desperately fleeing its reach.

“What in the curled void is happening?” she whispered, unable to look away.

Another explosion rocked Prim. This time, it struck the Terraces—the city’s elite quarter, lush with greenery. The skyline darkened, smoke billowed through the trees, expanding like a rolling wave of shadow. Ela pressed herself against the window, an unsettling certainty growing inside her. This chaos wasn’t random. The attacker knew exactly what they were doing. First, the Beacon—a symbol of both past and future. Now, the Terraces, where the present was decided.

She barely finished the thought before the third blast.

Glass shattered in an earsplitting crash.

The shockwave slammed her against the wall, jagged shards slicing through her skin. Scorching air burned her face, and acrid smoke clawed into her lungs. For a moment, she lay still, stunned and unable to move.

The wind howled through the broken window, tangling her hair as the stench of smoke clawed at her throat. A coughing fit forced her upright. The room was in ruins—shattered glass, ash, debris.

She had to get out.

Dazed, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled toward the door. Out in the corridor, the panicked screams of people mixed with the distant rumble of more detonations. She fell in with the crowd surging toward the stairwell, focusing on one thing only—staying on her feet.

Outside, a gust of fresh air struck her face.

She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Relief nearly buckled her knees.

She was alive.

Around her, people poured through the exits, but she remained frozen on the steps, trying to suppress the fear and panic threatening to consume her.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

A guardsman stood before her, a blanket in his hands, watching her with concern. Ela nodded, though her mind felt numb. Accepting her silent response, he handed her the blanket. She wrapped it around herself and, for the first time, looked up.

In the distance, another building was cloaked in thick smoke, with only jagged remnants of its structure piercing through the haze.

Just moments ago, the Institutional Laboratory had stood there. Now, almost nothing remained of the once-tall, slender structure.

“Miren…”

Her chest tightened. She had been lucky. But Miren had been at work.

Ela lunged toward the rubble.

“Miren!” Her voice tore at her throat as she clawed at the heavy debris with trembling hands.

Her own blood ran down her arms, but she didn’t feel it. Every lifeless body she glimpsed sent a wave of nausea rolling through her. What if it was too late?

“You have to step back!”

The guardsman grabbed her firmly, pulling her away from the wreckage.

She fought against him, but in the end, she gave in. She was too drained to resist.

Now, she sat on the ground, wrapped in a blanket reeking of smoke, struggling to make sense of what had happened. People handed her water, asked for her name, added her to the list of survivors.

By the time dusk settled, she knew there was nothing more she could do.

What if Miren stayed home?

The thought kept her from breaking as she made her way back. Maybe she’s sitting on the bed, paralyzed with fear, waiting for me to come back.

With every step, she convinced herself it was true.

But when she opened the door to their room, all hope drained from her. The bed was neatly made. Her belongings were scattered just as she had left them that morning.

Ela sank onto her own cot, staring into nothing.

Night fell outside, but she remained motionless until exhaustion finally pulled her under.