A New Beginning

For the third consecutive year, the Institute Council reports a rise in unsuccessful applicants. According to experts, this is due not only to the increasing psychological pressure on candidates but also to the complex dynamics of family ties.

“The Institute is not for everyone. We are preparing an elite here, one that will shape the future of our nation. Claiming admission solely based on social status is completely unacceptable,” the Council’s spokesperson stated in today’s announcement.

Ela, Beacon, City of Prim

Another day. No change.

Ela sat on the bed, staring into nothingness. The cold walls of her quarters mirrored exactly what she felt. Emptiness.

There was only a bed, a table, a chair, and a locker. Nothing more. She had thought it was enough—until now. Now it felt like the emptiness around her wasn’t just a lack of things. It was a reflection of herself.

She reached for the ornament lying on the nightstand. The cold metal slipped between her fingers as she hooked the meco onto her ear, its chilled surface brushing against her temple. She closed her eyes and focused, though she’d done it so many times before. She poured her thoughts into it, begged it, pleaded with it to awaken, to accept her—to lead her to whatever it was she kept missing.

But once again, nothing happened.

Anger and despair twisted with the bitterness burning in her throat like poison. She had failed. She wanted to scream, but only a faint moan escaped her lips. Not because she wasn’t used to failure—but because this time, it felt final. Tomorrow, the decision would be made.

She stood and dressed, pulling her hair into a knot at the crown of her head. She fastened her uniform tightly, as if its seams could hold not just her clothes together, but herself as well. It would be her last day.

Tonot, slowly waking from his dreamstate in the glass pod, looked just as he always did—monumental, cold, almost statuesque. He usually shattered that impression with the smallest of smiles, a private gesture meant only for her. But today, his face remained solemn. Ela felt it too. He knew. Their time together was running out. For a moment, she thought she saw sorrow flicker in his eyes—but dismissed the thought immediately. He was just metal. Machines had no emotions, no matter how many times they tried to convince them otherwise.

“It seems our Councilor isn’t giving up,” Tonot said in that detached voice of his, stepping toward the lab door.

Ela followed, keeping two steps behind.

“He’s waging quite the campaign,” he continued. “Suggesting we may be using the victims of last year’s attack for our experiments.”

“Technically speaking… isn’t he right?” Ela blurted, before realizing maybe those words were better left unspoken.

Tonot stopped. Turned to her, studying her face. Her honesty had clearly caught him off guard. And then—surprisingly—a faint, amused smile touched his metallic lips.

“You never cease to surprise us, Ela,” he said, tilting his head slightly, thoughtful. “If you fail the exams, we must admit—we’ll miss you.”

The words cut deep. She dropped her gaze, fixing it on the tips of her boots. He would miss her. That was all she would leave behind.

“Of course he’s right,” Tonot continued where he had left off, his voice quieter now, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Those who have nothing left to lose are the ones opening doors for others to have a better future.”

“Maybe… if you were more honest with the Councilor, he might understand,” she offered carefully.

“Perhaps,” the werren allowed, glancing at her with genuine interest. “Still, we believe things would be far simpler if there were no Councilor at all.”

Ela froze, caught off guard by the bluntness of it—but Tonot gave her no time to dwell on the remark. And besides, she wasn’t sure if he meant it literally. That was another thing that set him apart from the others—Tonot’s words often carried layers, and that ambiguity could be disorienting.

They stepped into the lab together. It looked exactly as it had in the days before—sterile, cold, filled with instruments. And filled with people.

New patients lay on the beds. New problems waited to be solved. Ela let her gaze sweep over them automatically. She had learned to look past individual pain—if she didn’t, it would crush her. But today was different. Her eyes caught on a slight figure with black hair lying on the third bed.

She stared, frozen, uncertain if her eyes were deceiving her.

Miren.

Why was she here? How had she ended up in this place? Questions whirled through Ela’s mind, each one louder than the last. I didn’t want this… or did I? She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Did she know?

She doubted it. Miren’s condition looked worse than when she had left her. Eyes clouded with infection, still blind. Unhealed wounds had drained the life from what once was a strong young body. Her dark skin had taken on a pale, ashen hue. Her thick black hair had lost its shine, as if the last of Miren’s essence was slipping away into death’s void.

Ela couldn’t take it anymore. She turned, ignoring Tonot’s startled look, and fled without a word.

***

“If you were capable of using the meco, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Nylen said, his voice calm and cold as he studied her.

His eyes—piercing and nearly expressionless—were like windows into a room filled with expectations she had never fulfilled. It was clear she had disappointed him too.

Ela had sought him out as soon as she could. Her storm of emotions had burned away any hesitation, allowing her to step into a part of the Beacon reserved for Lazzal—the werren whom Nylen served as Mediator. To her surprise, the old man didn’t seem the least bit surprised by her presence. As if he had known she would come.

“I asked you to help her,” she began without preamble. Her voice shook, just like her hands, clenched desperately behind her back.

“And I did,” Nylen replied evenly.

“This isn’t the kind of help I meant, and you know it,” Ela snapped. The words burst out before she could stop them.

Nylen sighed and slowly shook his head. “Are you questioning the program Tonot is building?”

“No… yes… I don’t know,” she stammered, caught off guard by the question. There was no certainty in her, but she also couldn’t bring herself to admit doubt in the cause she had pledged herself to.

Nylen took a step closer. Still calm, but his gaze grew heavier, almost tangible. “I understand. It’s always easier to accept human suffering when we don’t know their names or stories,” he said slowly, each word deliberate. “But it’s strange to hear that from you, Ela. From someone who is supposed to become a steady part of the mission meant to change the world out there for the better.”

“I do believe in all of this… but…” her voice faltered. Suddenly she felt small, misplaced. But what? she asked herself. She believed… yet she doubted. She knew full well how much pain this project contained. And she hadn’t wanted Miren to suffer. Surely that was something anyone could understand.

Nylen smiled—not in comfort, but as if forgiving her for being so naive.

“But… That simple word that shifts everything,” he said. “Ela, if you are to be part of Tonot’s world, there must be no but. Werrens have their goals. They don’t hesitate. They don’t doubt. The same is expected of you.”

Ela felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, but she swallowed them back. She wasn’t here to cry. “And what about Miren? What if… what if she doesn’t make it?” she asked softly, barely audible—yet the question echoed inside her like a scream.

Nylen was silent for a moment. Then:

“Everyone chooses their path, Ela. Miren made her choice. Her condition wasn’t improving through conventional treatment—quite the opposite. You saw it yourself. And so she accepted the Beacon’s offer, one I facilitated. We both know this is her chance. Likely her last.”

“I don’t know if she would’ve agreed had she known what was waiting for her here.”

“And do you know what’s waiting for you?” Nylen countered. “Maybe the problem is that you’re looking for certainty where there is none. Miren is here. That’s already a fact. She accepted the offer knowing it wouldn’t be easy. You’re here too, but unlike her, it seems you still haven’t come to terms with your role.”

Ela wanted to say something—anything—but his words silenced her. Nylen remained quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting past her into the void. She couldn’t stand the silence. It felt like she was standing trial, waiting for the final verdict.

“You think I’ve failed, don’t you?” she blurted, her voice on the verge of breaking.

Nylen slowly raised his eyes to her.

“Yes,” he said plainly.

“And do you know why it hurts more than it should?” he continued after a moment. “Because you’re not just anyone. You’re not some nameless novice. You’re the daughter of Serena—one of the best we’ve ever had. And yet, you’re still just… this.”

He made a vague gesture, as if trying to sum her up in a single motion, a single sentence.

Ela trembled, as though his words had swept away whatever balance she had left.

“But I’m not my mother,” she whispered.

Nylen nodded. “Believe me—I’ve come to understand that. Even Lazzal respected Serena. And Lazzal respects no one. When she first used the meco, it was like… like the Beacon breathed. Something I can’t even put into words—because it’s something you’ll never experience.”

His voice was laced with scorn, and yet carried a strange undertone of sorrow.

Ela turned her gaze away, as if to block his words with her silence. “That’s not fair… I can’t be her.”

“You’re right,” Nylen agreed flatly. “You’re not Serena. And that’s why it’s not working. Because you’re not just her daughter. You’re also your father’s child—and drifter Noel has always been a problem.”

“What does my father have to do with anything?” she asked sharply.

Nylen smirked. “More than you think. Noel’s always been a thorn in the Beacon’s side. He stole a lot from us—but most of all, he stole your mother. Maybe that’s why the Beacon rejects you. It senses something of him in you.”

For a moment, Ela couldn’t breathe. His words struck her chest like a heavy stone.

“I don’t believe that,” she said at last, softly—but she wasn’t as certain as she tried to sound.

“Don’t believe it, then. It doesn’t change the fact that you failed where you were meant to excel,” Nylen said, his words brittle and sharp, like broken glass.

Ela drew in a breath, ready to speak, to make him believe her—but the words caught in her throat, and all she could do was let out a defeated sigh.

Nylen straightened, then shrugged. “Either way, you don’t have much time left. Tomorrow, there may be no opportunity at all. But maybe—just maybe—it will be the day you finally decide who you really are.”

***

The wind tousled her hair, pulling loose a few unruly strands from the tight knot at the crown of her head. Absentmindedly, she tried to tuck them behind her ear as she walked toward Vin, who was leaning against the railing at the far edge of the observation terrace. The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, but she was too agitated to appreciate its beauty. Since the conversation with Nylen, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that her time in the Beacon was coming to an end.

Vin noticed it before she even reached him. Wordlessly, he handed her a bottle of anak—something he’d managed to smuggle up here thanks to the right connections. It wasn’t the first bottle, and likely wouldn’t be the last, judging by how often she’d seen him drink. This time, Ela didn’t turn him down. She took a swig, her throat burning, hoping the buzz would dull the storm of emotions inside her.

“What is it this time?” Vin asked, taking the bottle back and gulping deeply.

Ela wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Still the same thing, really,” she said with a bitter smile, pulling the meco from her pocket just long enough to show it to him before tucking it away again. She’d spent the whole day trying to get it to activate—but the result had been the same as always.

“Their loss,” Vin smirked before taking another swig. “Sometimes I really hate this place, so if they kick you out, I might actually be jealous.”

Ela leaned on the railing and watched the sun sink. Vin hadn’t been given a choice. She could walk away anytime—at least in theory. He couldn’t. For him, it had been Beacon or the penal colonies. And for her… staying was no longer an option. Even if she wanted to.

“Ever thought about running?” she asked. “If you headed west...”

Vin burst out laughing and cut her off. “No offense, but don’t even try. I know exactly where this is going, and I’m telling you right now—no. With all due respect, I’m not that desperate yet. Not enough to end up in Karhen Rouz.”

Ela fell silent again. She hesitated for a moment, considering whether to tell him that she’d found Miren among Tonot’s test subjects in the lab—but decided against it. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about it herself yet. The whole thing sat somewhere between horror, revulsion, and hate. She didn’t believe Vin would understand.

“When are your trials, anyway?”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, resigned. Tomorrow would be the end of it all. She already knew the hangover waiting for her when she returned from the heights of the Beacon to the ground-level concerns of Prim would be a brutal one.

Vin raised the bottle of anak again, but this time he didn’t drink. He just stared at it, as if trying to find something at the bottom that had long since vanished.

“You know what pisses me off about you, Ela?” Vin said suddenly.

His tone had a mocking edge to it, but she caught the flicker of something else—interest, maybe.

“Go on,” she replied wearily, not lifting her eyes from the orange line stretched across the horizon.

She’d already heard enough about herself today—nothing he could say would surprise her now.

“You’re always on alert, all stiff and locked up. You try so hard, but you can’t do it—I see it all over you,” he said, taking another long swig. “It’s like you think you can brute-force it.”

Ela frowned and looked at him. “That’s not true. I did everything you told me to—including staring at a wall for hours.”

Vin gave her a sideways glance and smirked. “Exactly. It’s not about staring. Connecting with the meco is something more. And as long as you keep gripping so tight to whatever’s holding you back, it’s going to bite you for it.”

He pointed toward the pocket of her uniform where she kept the meco. “The fact that you’re fighting it—that’s why it’s winning.”

“You don’t understand,” she snapped. “I’m doing everything I can. I’m trying everything.”

“Really?” he squinted at her. “’Cause from where I’m standing, looks like you’re still holding back. But hey—maybe I’m wrong.”

He turned his back to her and headed toward the workshop.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

Ela hesitated. She was tempted to stay there and watch the sun until it vanished behind the horizon. But his words had gotten under her skin—and worse, she knew he’d hit a nerve. This wouldn’t be the first thing she’d failed to face head-on. So she sighed, stood up, and followed.

She wasn’t surprised when they ended up in his workshop. Vin immediately went to a cluttered table in the corner and began rummaging through a pile of

components, muttering words she didn’t understand.

Meanwhile, she glanced around the workshop. The various projects scattered across the tables looked chaotic—but in a strangely captivating way. One of them in particular caught her attention. She leaned in, needing to be sure she wasn’t seeing things.

“Are those… eyes?” she asked, unable to hide the mix of disgust and curiosity.

There was something morbid about it, but she couldn’t look away.

Vin looked up and frowned, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, those? Yeah. Those are eyes,” he said, completely unfazed, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. “Even I was surprised when they gave me the assignment. I’ve had all kinds of crap on my table, but this? First-timer. And you know what? I think it’s actually gonna work.”

Ela straightened and gave a visible shiver. “Functional? What do you mean?”

“I mean they’ll work. As replacements,” Vin replied. “It’ll still need a whole mess of metal to link it up to the nervous system, but Tonot’s got that part down. Precision work, if you ask me.”

“It’s for Miren,” Ela whispered.

Her voice cracked as the pieces fell into place. Those eyes were meant for her. While Vin kept digging through his chaotic pile, Ela just stood there, staring at them with growing unease. She should have felt relief—that there was a way to help her friend—but instead her stomach turned. The merging of living flesh with dead metal still unsettled her.

She quickly looked away and stepped back from the table, as if afraid the eyes might come to life and fix their gaze on her. She regretted that Vin had put the bottle of anak away when they entered—she could’ve used it right now.

Then Vin let out a victorious noise—he’d found what he’d been searching for. He held up a small box, plain and metallic, with two prongs and a single button. It didn’t look like anything special.

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“You’ll see,” he replied with a hint of mischief and placed it on the floor beside him. “But first, answer me something. Are you really sure you’ve tried everything? That this is your last shot?”

Ela tensed. She pulled the meco from her pocket and let it rest in her palm. She hated it—and yet, more than anything, she wanted to uncover its secret. It enraged her that something others could use with ease had remained out of reach for her. That tiny ornament had become her sentence of failure.

“I’ve tried everything,” she said at last, firmly—but her voice betrayed a glimmer of hope. Hope that Vin might finally help her.

The young technician sat cross-legged on the floor and gestured for Ela to sit across from him. He placed the strange little box next to them.

“What do I do?” she asked tensely.

She still held the meco tightly in her hand, as if afraid someone might take it from her.

“Put it on, just like you always do,” Vin said calmly. “But this time, focus differently. Don’t think about what they expect from you. Don’t think about being someone else. Just… be.”

Ela shot him a doubtful look, but did as he said. The meco settled against her temple—its cold touch was familiar by now, but still lifeless. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to focus only on herself.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asked after a moment, impatient, as nothing happened—just as she’d expected. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“Nothing yet,” Vin replied. “But something’s coming.”

Before she could grasp what was happening, a sharp crack split the air. A sudden jolt of pain shot through her body, her muscles tensed, and a convulsion wracked her so violently it nearly knocked the breath out of her lungs. She could hear Vin shouting something, but his voice was lost in the roar of blood surging in her ears.

And then… silence.

Not quite total. More like a strange, deep stillness. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the workshop. A golden light filled the unfamiliar space around her. It felt like a dream—yet impossibly real. And in that light, a figure stood.

“Who are you?” she whispered. Her voice sounded fragile and uncertain—just like she felt. Lost in an endless space.

The figure smiled. A calm, sorrowful smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” came the reply, in a voice Ela knew all too well.

Seren.

She looked exactly as Ela remembered her—tall, solid, with soft features and eyes that held both wisdom and deliberate sternness.

“How is this possible?” Ela felt tears welling up. A thousand questions spiraled through her mind, but none could cut through the flood of confusion.

“You… you’re not her,” she whispered, and suddenly panic overtook her. Something was wrong. Something bad.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“She’s dead!” she screamed at the apparition, and the image of Seren shattered before her eyes.

The golden light lingered in her mind for just a heartbeat longer—even after she was back in reality. Just a flicker—but it clung to her. There had been something familiar about that light.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the floor of the workshop, gasping for air. Vin stood over her, his expression shifting from concern to curiosity the moment he saw she was awake.

“What the hell did you do to me!?” Ela shouted, yanking the meco from her ear as she struggled to sit up. Her body refused to cooperate—her hands trembled uncontrollably.

“I… I… It’s a shock paralyzer,” Vin stammered apologetically, holding up the little box. “I thought it might break through the mental block.”

Ela turned to him, fury blazing in her eyes. “You shocked me!?” Her voice was sharp enough to cut steel.

“Damn right I did,” he shrugged. “So tell me… did it work?”

Ela hesitated. She couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d think she’d gone insane.

“No,” she lied, and slowly got to her feet. “If I’d known you were this much of a lunatic, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Vin scowled but said nothing. Ela turned away from him and picked up the meco from where it had fallen on the floor. As she slipped it back into her pocket, her fingers paused for just a second. It felt cold and dead—but different. As if it had left a mark inside her. She blinked, trying to shake off the feeling. Nothing had changed.

“Next time, do me a favor and don’t help,” she added before walking out of the workshop without looking back.

***

It was long past midnight, but Ela still sat on her bed, unable to sleep, staring at the meco resting on the nightstand. The device looked the same as always. A spiral—utterly inert, foreign. And yet, she knew something had changed. It no longer felt like a lifeless object. She could sense it… waiting.

She was afraid. A fear that gripped her soul, squeezing it until there was nothing left but hollow emptiness. She had two choices. She could give in to it—or face it. The only thing she couldn’t do… was ignore it.

At last, she made her choice.

Hesitantly, she reached out and placed the meco back on her ear. The metal was cold, just as always. Nothing happened. For a brief moment, doubt crept in. Maybe it had all been a dream—a confused hallucination brought on by the shock. She shook her head. No. She was sure now. What she had seen was real. It hadn’t been just an image her eyes perceived. It had been a feeling—as if her soul had stretched out in all directions. In that moment, she had connected to the Beacon. And unlike the others, someone had already been waiting for her there.

She drew a deep breath and sat back down on the bed. Legs crossed, hands resting on her thighs, eyes shut tight. Her exhausted mind drifted through memories and emotions, slowly blending together. She focused on what lay beneath them. Raw, unspoken truths about herself.

A longing for knowledge and understanding. She didn’t want to be just a spectator in her own life—she wanted control. She wanted to steer, to seek, to choose. But with that longing came fear. The kind of fear that could tear your insides out. It was always there, lurking, waiting for her to slip—so it could take over.

And finally… sorrow.

It ruled now, heavy like a shroud she couldn’t shake. It surfaced with the image of her mother… Seren. Tonight, she had seen her again, after so many years—if only for a fleeting moment. But that was all it took to tear open the scar she’d carried ever since she lost her. All those years trying to be strong, and the pain was still the same.

She felt tears sting her eyes. She held them back. She didn’t want to cry. But that hidden world inside her—that delicate tremor—wouldn’t let go. It was still there.

Buried beneath layers of pain and childhood fear. She had to find it again.

She focused on the threads that led to it. Fragile and faint—but real. And then… she opened her eyes.

Seren stood before her.

Ela gasped. A wave of grief and relief crashed over her, sweeping her away. After all this time in the dark, it felt like the light had finally returned.

It was so real, she forgot to breathe. The tears couldn’t be stopped—they streamed down her face, uncontrolled, like a river unleashed.

“Mom…” she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. She felt like a child who had lost—and now, somehow—found the one solid thing in her life.

Seren smiled the way only she could. She knelt beside her.

“Let it out. It’ll help.”

And Ela obeyed. Each sob stabbed like a blade, yet the tears washed her clean. The pain she had locked away began to flow out—replaced by a sense of overwhelming release.

“I’m here,” her mother whispered. “And now… I’ll always be.”