When the train came to a stop, silence filled the air.
Only the sound of the wheels slowing down could be heard until they finally ceased to move.
Beyond the glass, the new capital appeared.
A vast city covered in towering structures, smooth roads, and buildings that gleamed under the light.
There was nothing chaotic in the scene; everything seemed organized and cold, stripped of any visible life.
The train doors opened with a brief metallic hiss, and an announcement declared the passengers' arrival at the capital.
On the platform, officials dressed in identical gray uniforms stood with rigid faces and identical smiles.
They greeted the arrivals with a practiced precision, as if it were part of an official protocol.
Reis stepped out with the others into the cold air, the scent of iron and moisture slipping into his breath.
No one spoke, and everyone walked in a single line toward the long corridor awaiting them.
The passage was lit by a harsh white light that filled the entire space.
Their faces reflected against the glass walls as their footsteps echoed steadily through the endless hall.
At the end of the corridor, a tall glass building rose, its façade shining beneath the city's light.
They entered in silence, and as they crossed the gate, every sound vanished.
Inside, everything was arranged with meticulous precision.
The workers moved with measured steps, speaking in tones so similar they seemed rehearsed.
Every motion appeared part of a strict sequence, leaving no room for error or hesitation.
Men carried papers.
Women typed on suspended screens that floated in the air.
Commands followed one another, while mechanical voices repeated names without pause.
Every action was calculated, every gesture performing its role in a vast show that no one could tell was real or predesigned.
Reis was led to a white room that resembled a medical laboratory more than a human chamber.
The walls were smooth and soundless, the light cold and without shadow, the air filled with a scent that evoked death more than cleanliness.
A young woman from the cosmetic team approached him, carrying small tools and digital scanners.
Her eyes were sharp as a surgical blade hidden behind a polite smile.
Yet as soon as she neared him, her hand froze in the air.
There was no visible threat in his gaze, only something deeper, something that made the soul retreat instinctively before understanding why.
He stared at her in long silence, without anger or indifference.
It was something heavier than both, something resembling the stillness before an explosion.
She stepped back in uneasy hesitation and murmured to her colleagues, lowering her eyes.
"There is no need to touch him. His condition is perfect enough".
Reis made no comment, nor did he seem to have heard her at all.
He simply kept his eyes forward, in a silence so dense that everyone in the room avoided looking at him.
They continued their work cautiously while he stood still, saying nothing.
...
After hours of waiting, everyone was transferred to the main training center.
The building was vast as a small city, divided into numerous halls and wings, each dedicated to a particular skill.
There were rooms for archery, others for traps, and wide yards where candidates learned to light fires, hunt animals, or fight with their bare hands.
The air was thick with the shouts of trainees, the clang of steel, and the heavy scent of sweat and dust, an atmosphere of isolation and fear.
Reis remained on the outskirts, observing from a distance with an unreadable face.
He moved slowly between the arenas, sometimes lifting a sword or a spear, testing its weight for a moment before returning it silently to its place.
Every motion carried the sense of someone recalling a skill long forgotten by others, an art that required no rehearsal.
A few trainees tried to approach him out of curiosity or admiration, but one look from his eyes was enough to extinguish any attempt.
That single look was harsher than any weapon.
At night, when the noise faded and stillness returned, he went back to his private quarters overlooking the heart of the capital.
Through the window, he saw the wide city, its lights never dimming, its streets crowded until late hours.
He would sit there for long stretches, silent, sleeping little, eating less, aware that his stay in this place was temporary and that he would soon leave this world behind.
...
When the day of individual evaluation arrived, Reis entered the hall with calm, unhurried steps.
Behind the table sat five game architects, their faces devoid of emotion, their eyes reflecting only the cold light of the screens before them.
They handed him a wooden sword and asked him to demonstrate his skill.
He did not reply.
He simply took the sword as anyone would.
He moved slowly at first, then struck.
The blow was simple, without flourish, yet it split the training dummy cleanly in two, a strike of terrifying precision, more like a mathematical calculation than a swing.
He showed no emotion afterward, placed the sword back where it belonged, turned his back, and left the hall before anyone could speak.
The judges exchanged silent glances, each harboring the same unspoken question.
Was he hiding his true strength, or was he mocking them?
That evening, when the results appeared on the city's screens, a number glowed beside his name, ten out of twelve.
A score that inspired more fear than admiration.
...
The following day was dedicated to live televised interviews for all the candidates.
The hall was immense, its lights dancing across faces, while the famous host stood at the center with his exaggerated smile and theatrical tone rising with every name he called.
When Reis's turn came, he walked onto the stage without looking at anyone.
He sat down, his back straight, his face stripped of any readable expression.
He did not answer questions.
He did not smile.
He did not react.
The host tried to break his silence with repeated smiles and overblown remarks, but even the air seemed frozen around him.
The silence grew so heavy that the director was forced to cut the segment short.
the next morning, that silence had become the talk of the city.
Some said he was defying the system.
Others said he no longer cared for life itself.
...
On the final morning, they were all taken to the launch platform.
The space stretched wide to the horizon, the sky heavy with clouds, the air cold and dense.
Soldiers in black uniforms lined both sides as giant screens broadcast the countdown across the capital, while the national anthem played like a prayer for death.
Each candidate was placed inside a transparent metallic capsule sealed tightly shut.
Eyes were tense, breaths uneven, some whispering faint words to themselves as if clinging to fragments of hope.
Reis stood motionless.
His face was void of emotion, his eyes fixed on the horizon, unfocused and still.
He closed his eyes briefly and murmured inwardly, in a voice no one could hear.
"Now begins the real part of the world".
Then the metallic roar filled the sky as the capsules launched upward.
The ground trembled beneath them, the air tore apart in their wake, and light consumed everything until nothing remained but white.
Reis ascended amid the chaos, his body still, his eyes closed, as though his flesh was rising toward death while his soul advanced into another realm entirely.
And in the final instant before the light swallowed them, absolute silence fell.
The deep silence that comes only before an explosion or a birth.