The long, gray corridors were quiet, with only the faint hiss of the air system making a sound. Arjun moved stiffly, still feeling the ghost ache of the instructor's brutal stick. He was heading from his tiny, cold room toward the main training cavern for the first official Initial Sensory Alignment session. His mind was shut tight, trying to block out all internal noise, determined to prove his worth before he could be sold.
He rounded a corner into a wider passage where students sometimes passed while on chores. That's where he saw him.
The other boy was of average height, not overly muscular, wearing the same drab, patched tunic. What stood out was his appearance: striking white hair that seemed to defy the darkness of the hall, contrasting sharply with his intense brown eyes. He moved with a relaxed confidence Arjun hadn't seen on anyone else in the facility.
The white-haired boy stopped directly in Arjun's path, a slight, knowing smile.
"Hey, newbie," the boy said, his voice quiet, almost like a secret. "What's your name?"
Arjun froze. He had prepared for pain, for instruction, for hunger—but not for a casual question. The name he used all his life just came out, before he could stop it.
"Arjun," he replied, the word flat and automatic.
The other boy nodded slowly. "Arjun. It looked like you are getting along well." The comment was heavy with a subtle sarcasm that Arjun couldn't immediately decipher, suggesting a dark meaning about the harsh training.
The boy gave a quick, dismissive wave and started walking away, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. Arjun, stunned by the brief, unnatural interaction, started moving toward the training hall again.
Then, a shocking realization slammed into him, making him stop dead. He didn't ask the boy's name. And more terrifyingly: I didn't know my own name here. He had been in the Mindrift for days, had faced death, and yet had never thought to verify the name assigned to his resource file. If the name the boy had just called him didn't match the record, he would be exposed as something wrong, a mistake.
He spun around to ask, but the corridor was already empty. The white-haired boy was gone.
Arjun changed direction. The training cavern could wait. He needed proof of his identity. He slipped away from the main routes and found the small, office where the student intake records were maintained—a place usually avoided by the children, who knew better than to draw administrative attention.
Inside the cramped, dusty booth, he found the student records officer, a thin, older boy with tired eyes of someone who had survived years in the Mindrift.
"What do you want?" the officer asked, not looking up from his slate.
"I need to confirm my entry file," Arjun said, his voice low and steady. "I need my official designation."
The officer sighed, annoyed, and looked at the screen. He tapped in a query based on Arjun's estimated arrival date. He looked up, his brow furrowing slightly, before reading the details.
"Designation: Arjun," the officer stated, then added the classification details. "Status: Student without Parent. Payment: Zero tribute. Now go. And don't waste my time again."
Arjun just stared for a moment, the single word ringing in the hollow space of the room. Arjun. It was the same. His name had followed him across worlds, and for some reason, the Mindrift had accepted it. The relief was a sudden, dizzying rush, quickly replaced by the heavy fear of his confirmed Zero tribute status—meaning his parents didn't know he was here.
He walked the remaining distance to the cavern, the mystery of the Mindrift settling over him. From the outside, with its rigid schedule and functional, repetitive duties, it felt like a horrifying military school. But Arjun was certain the facility was hiding something. Behind the organized work and the drab gray stone lay something ancient and profoundly wrong—a hidden purpose that the students themselves fulfilled without understanding.
He found his place, sat down, and the training session began. He closed his eyes and tried to force his focus outward, willing himself to feel air movements through his skin and combining all his senses to predict what was actually happening in the environment, even with his eyes closed.
He failed immediately. His mind, trained by years of classroom boredom, slipped away. He was lost in the memory of the white-haired boy, the missing poster, the taste of his mother's tea. He was adrift in a sea of disconnected thoughts.
This is it, he thought, panic rising. I'm too broken. I'll fail this, and I'll be sold.
But as he tried desperately to drag his mind back to the cavern, he noticed a critical difference from his academic failures. Back home, when he drifted during a lesson, the subject was a continuous, connected thread. If he missed the first minute of the Calculus lecture—the explanation of Integration by Parts, specifically the rule for designating $u$ and $dv$ in the equation—the entire complex calculation that followed was impossible. It was a chain reaction of confusion; the thread was broken, and he was permanently lost.
Here, in the Mindrift, the Initial Sensory Alignment was different. It wasn't a continuous thread; it was a repetition of a single moment.
As soon as he wrenched his focus back to the present, to the cold stone beneath his legs and the humming in his chest, the work began again at the start of the feeling. There was no thread to pick up. He simply reset the meditation. He could become perfectly lost, but the instant he refocused, he was current. His mental distraction was not a cumulative error; it was only a temporary pause.
When the training session ended, Arjun was exhausted but elated. He had found a weak spot in the Mindrift's method. He realized that to survive, he couldn't just dedicate his mind during the training sessions; he had to embed the practice into his entire life.
As he was led away to his next chore—sorting through salvaged metal parts—he did not stop. While his hands mechanically moved rusted scrap, his awareness continued its silent, sensory task. He started trying to feel the air currents when he remembered, mapping the distance to the walls, the proximity of the student next to him, the faint scent of metal decay. He would forget, drift off, and then instantly remember and reset the sensory alignment, over and over again.
That evening, during the brief window of "free time," Arjun sat in the park area watching the other students. He thought about the other worlds the children came from and considered that statistically, there must be someone among them who who was many times smarter than he was—a true genius. Yet, even while observing closely, he saw no outward sign of exceptional brilliance or mental prowess. He knew, however, that genius could not always be determined by a quick look.
His observation was interrupted. Four boys, who looked to be about twelve years old, were standing together a short distance away and calling him over. Arjun could sense their bad intentions just by the way they stood and watched him. They were trouble. Yet, he chose to walk toward them, showing no sign of fear. The confrontation was inevitable.
Arjun walked straight toward the four boys. The closer he got, the easier it was to see the mean, evil smiles on their faces, confirming his immediate prediction: they were planning to hurt him.
In his old life, Arjun would have found a way to avoid the fight. He stayed silent at school even when bullies pushed him, not because he was weak, but because he did not want to cause trouble for his parents. He wanted to keep his home life calm.
But here, in the Mindrift, everything was different. He had nothing to protect. There was no one to disappoint. He was only scared of being sold into the Void. Unnecessary fights were foolish, but this one was necessary. It was the perfect opportunity to prove his strength so no one would mistake him for an easy target again.
As soon as he reached the group, the largest boy stepped forward. "Hey, you," the boy said, his voice mocking. "Let's do a friendly fight. Let's see how strong you are."
Arjun replied with a simple, calm, "Okay."
Arjun had predicted this challenge. His observation told him that these boys, despite their cruelty, had no professional fighting training. While Arjun had never fought seriously either, he had watched countless hours of martial arts matches and practiced a few moves by himself at home. This small, dormant knowledge was about to be weaponized.
The moment the match began, Arjun saw the boy's stance was exactly as he had predicted: weak and unbalanced. The boy stood flat-footed, his feet too close together, offering no foundation.
Arjun defeated him effortlessly. It was partly because his new body was stronger—he was about fourteen years old, while the boy looked only twelve. But the real advantage was his mind. Watching countless matches had taught him what to do. He stayed calmer, kept his hands up to protect his face, and avoided wild, desperate swings. He used effective moves he had seen, outthinking his opponent rather than just out-muscling him. His knowledge gave him a clear plan, while the other boy was just fighting on instinct.
The moment the first boy fell, the other three instantly jumped onto Arjun, just as he had predicted they would. He was prepared.
Arjun immediately avoided being surrounded by constantly moving, forcing his opponents to get in each other's way. He targeted the nearest attacker with efficient, disabling strikes to create obstacles, using their numbers against them. This quick, decisive action broke the group's coordination and morale, allowing him to systematically deal with the threat despite being outnumbered.
The fight was over in less than a minute. The four boys were scattered and bruised, shocked by their rapid, unexpected defeat.
Arjun stood alone, breathing heavily. All eyes in the park area were staring at him. He felt a brief pang of guilt for hurting children, but he quickly silenced it. They asked me to fight, and they attacked me as a group. This was their choice, not mine.
Soon, a small boy, around eight or nine, slowly approached him, his eyes wide with awe. "What is your name?" he whispered.
"Arjun," he replied, his voice firm. He then turned and started walking back toward the facility, leaving the stunned crowd and the bruised boys behind him.
The next day, the news of the fight had spread even faster than Arjun had anticipated. When he went to the park-like area during free time, the number of eyes targeting him had drastically decreased. He was still watched, but the look was now curiosity and caution, not malice. The message had been delivered: Arjun was not weak.
As he started to relax for the first time since his arrival, a hand landed lightly on his shoulder. It was a complete surprise; until the moment of contact, Arjun's sensory alignment practice had failed to register the approach.
He turned instantly. Standing behind him was the boy with the white hair and brown eyes, his expression unreadable.
The boy gave him a slow, knowing smile. "It looks like you've made quite a name for yourself."