Morning arrived without ceremony, seeping slowly through the thin cracks in the walls and the torn edges of the curtain that hung loosely over the single window. The light that entered the room was dull and muted, filtered through a sky that never quite committed to brightness. It settled across the worn floorboards and the uneven surfaces of the room, illuminating just enough to reveal its condition without softening it.
Keynaan was already awake.
He had not slept properly, though he had closed his eyes long enough for time to pass. The events of the previous day had not replayed in his mind in fragments or flashes; they had settled instead into something heavier, something fixed. There was no confusion left, no disbelief. Only the quiet understanding that everything had already begun to move, and nothing he did now would stop it.
The room smelled faintly of dust and stale air, with traces of last night's meal lingering in the background. His siblings were still asleep, curled beneath thin coverings that did little to protect against the chill that crept through the walls. Ayaanle's breathing was uneven, his face tense even in sleep, while Hamdi lay still, her posture rigid in a way that suggested she had not rested much either.
Keynaan sat up slowly, the mattress beneath him creaking softly in protest. His muscles felt tight, not from strain, but from the kind of tension that did not ease with rest. He rubbed his hands together briefly, feeling the dryness of his skin, then stood. There was a knock at the door.
It was not loud, but it carried a certain confidence, the kind that suggested the person on the other side was not asking for permission so much as announcing their presence. Keynaan's gaze shifted toward it immediately. No one came here without reason. He crossed the room and opened the door. The man standing outside did not belong in this district. That was obvious before anything else.
His clothes were clean, tailored in a way that suggested both wealth and intention, the fabric smooth and uncreased. His posture was relaxed, but not careless, and his eyes moved quickly, taking in everything with a quiet efficiency that felt practiced.
There was a faint scent of something expensive about him, subtle but distinct, cutting through the usual smells of the district like it did not belong to the same world.
"Keynaan," the man said, his tone polite but measured. "My name is Gor. I represent a number of families who have taken an interest in newly summoned individuals."
Keynaan did not step aside "What do you want?" he asked.
Gor smiled faintly, not offended, as if he had expected nothing else. "I'd prefer to speak inside, if you don't mind. These conversations tend to be… sensitive." Keynaan held his gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back just enough to allow him entry.
Gor moved into the room with quiet confidence, his eyes briefly scanning the space, taking in the worn furniture, the limited supplies, the conditions that spoke more loudly than any explanation ever could. He did not comment on it, but the recognition was there.
Hamdi stirred, sitting up quickly as she noticed the stranger. Ayaanle followed, confusion still lingering in his expression. "Who is that?" Ayaanle asked, his voice thick with sleep.
Gor inclined his head slightly. "A man offering an opportunity." Keynaan closed the door behind him. "Say it," he said.
Gor clasped his hands loosely in front of him, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more direct.
"You've been summoned," he began, as though the statement itself required acknowledgment. "That places you in a position that many would consider fortunate, though I suspect you're aware that fortune, in this context, is… conditional." He took a step forward, his gaze steady.
"The Trails are not designed for fairness. Survival rates are low, particularly for individuals without preparation, resources, or guidance. Those from districts such as this one rarely return, and when they do, it is often at great cost." Hamdi's expression tightened. Ayaanle looked between them, uncertain. Gor continued, his voice calm, almost reassuring.
"The families I represent have long understood this reality. They invest heavily in ensuring that their children, those who are summoned, have the highest possible chance of survival. One of the methods they employ is the acquisition of additional summoned individuals, who operate under structured contracts."
Keynaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Contracts."
"Yes," Gor replied smoothly. "In exchange for a one-time payment of one hundred thousand credits to your family, you agree to serve under the direction of one of these children during your time in the Trails."
Ayaanle's head snapped toward Keynaan. "That's… that's enough to fix everything, isn't it?" Hamdi remained silent, but her eyes were fixed on Gor. "What kind of service?" Keynaan asked. Gor did not hesitate.
"You will accompany the assigned individual at all times. Your movements will be restricted to their designated path. Any resources, relics, or gains acquired during your time in the Trails will be attributed to them and their family. In return, upon survival, you will be compensated with twenty thousand credits and offered a permanent position within the family's service structure."
The room felt smaller and suddenly the air became heavier. Keynaan held his gaze. "Say it properly." Gor's expression shifted slightly, the faintest hint of acknowledgment passing through it.
"You would act as a protective asset," he said. "In high-risk scenarios, your role would include absorbing initial threats, providing support in hostile environments, and ensuring the continuity of the primary individual." Ayaanle frowned. "What does that mean?" Keynaan didn't look at him, "It means I die first," he said. Silence followed. Gor did not deny it.
"It means your chances of survival increase in a structured environment," he corrected calmly. "You would have access to equipment, guidance, and coordinated strategy. Without that, your likelihood of survival is…" He paused briefly, as though choosing the most appropriate phrasing. "Extremely limited."
Keynaan's voice remained steady. "And if I survive?"
"You serve," Gor replied. "You would be integrated into the family's operations. Protection, exploration, enforcement. It is not an unpleasant life, all things considered."
"All things considered," Keynaan repeated quietly. The conversation stretched on.
Gor adjusted his approach, softening his tone, emphasizing opportunity, stability, the certainty of immediate financial relief. He spoke of families who rose through such contracts, of individuals who found purpose and structure within systems that rewarded loyalty.
Keynaan listened and then he asked a question, precise ones.
About movement restrictions. About ownership of resources. About autonomy. Each answer confirmed what he had already understood.
After nearly an hour, Gor shifted his stance slightly, his patience thinning just enough to be noticeable. "You are thinking emotionally," he said. "Which is understandable, given your circumstances. But emotion does not change outcomes." Keynaan's eyes remained fixed on him. "Neither does being owned." Gor exhaled slowly.
"Your mother is dying," he said, his tone sharpening for the first time. "The credits I'm offering would not cure her, but they would ensure comfort. Proper care. Dignity in her final months. You cannot provide that otherwise."
The words struck not because they were the wrong words but simply because they were accurate. For a moment, something shifted in Keynaan's expression. Not doubt. Something closer to strain. Then it broke "Get out." Roared Keynaan fury seething from him like subtle waves, the words were not loud, but they carried enough force to alter the room.
Gor studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, as though marking a conclusion. "You will not receive another offer of this value," he said.
"I don't want it." Replied Keynaan, almost hissing at the man. Gor turned and left without another word. The room felt different after he was gone, now it was definitely quieter. But not lighter. Keynaan sat down slowly, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. Hamdi spoke first, her voice careful. "You could have taken it." Ayaanle looked between them, confused and upset. "Why didn't you?" Keynaan leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. "Because I wouldn't come back," he said. They ate in silence after that.
What little food they had was simple, dry, barely enough to satisfy hunger, but it filled the space between them with something tangible. The taste was bland, the texture rough, but it grounded them, reminded them that this moment still existed.
"I'll bring it back," Keynaan said eventually, his voice steady again. "The cure. From Harlaa."
Hamdi looked at him carefully. "You don't know what's there."
"I don't need to," he replied. "I just need to come back."
Later, the city felt sharper. More defined.
The clinic smelled strongly of antiseptic, the sharp scent cutting through everything else. The cold touch of metal instruments against his skin made him tense slightly, though he didn't show it.
Samira worked efficiently, her hands steady as she checked his vitals, her eyes flicking briefly to the results.
"You're underfed," she said plainly. "And there's signs of early infection. Nothing severe yet, but it will become a problem if you don't address it." He didn't respond.
She glanced at him again. "Do you know the return rate from District 3?"
"No."
"Below point one percent," she said. "And most of those who return don't stay well for long."
The library was quieter. Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by movement. The pages of old records felt rough beneath his fingers, the ink faded in places, incomplete in others.
Three days inside the trail lands was equal to just 1 day on the outside. He memorised it, knowing deep down the more information he had the safer he'd be.
Time was moving against him so rushed with what little knowledge was allowed to be placed in the lower districts, and before knew it was time for him to leave, the sky had shifted again, darker now, the air cooler.
He stopped briefly at a small vendor, the smell of sugar drawing his attention. Xalwo and buskud, simple and sweet, wrapped in thin paper that still held warmth.
He saw 3 girls and 2 boys from his neighbourhood being led into a polished vehicle that didn't belong in this district. Their clothes were already different and their posture uncertain, but nevertheless they had accepted the offer from an agent. He looked away.
The hospital felt quieter this evening, not less full but just… quieter, so they laughed and they told stories. Their mother's voice was weak, but it carried warmth, carrying memories of moments long past, of songs their father used to sing, of the small, strange things each of them had done as children. For a while, it almost felt normal.
And all of a sudden they were asked to leave, it came too soon. The embrace lasted longer than it should have. Her hands trembled as she held his face. "Be careful," she whispered. "Don't be foolish." She held for a moment longer reading a prayer on him and told him to always be mindful.
The walk home felt shorter for the first since their mother came to this hospital or maybe heavier from a farewell that came all too soon.
Inside, the house felt smaller, the air had become tighter. Keynaan placed the credit cards in Hamdi's hand. "Ten thousand," he said. "Use it properly." Ayaanle broke first. "I don't want you to go," he said, his voice collapsing into itself. Hamdi held him, her own composure fragile but holding.
Keynaan pulled them both in, holding them firmly, pressing his forehead briefly against theirs. "I'll be back," he said quietly. "Believe that."
When he entered his room, the space felt different, not unfamiliar but just… temporary. He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Waiting.