Deep within the fallen city lay the sacred grove, shrouded in an eerie stillness, a stark contrast to the throngs of bodies flowing in and out of the compound. The air was thick with anticipation as hearts pounded in unison, each soul yearning for the dawn of a new world.
For the children gathered here, life had been anything but kind. While others boasted walls adorned with pictures and achievements, theirs were draped in peeling wallpaper, mold, and decaying insects. Where others snuggled under plush blankets, they huddled beneath thin, tattered covers, patched from years of wear.
While some rode buses to school, they trudged an hour each way, braving rain and snow. Where others colored on fresh sheets of paper, they carved their art into the dirt, finding satisfaction in the simple act of creation. And as the fortunate received praise for their efforts, they faced ridicule and punishment for the minor mistakes all children inevitably make.
Yet they never complained. From a young age, they were taught that their struggles were insignificant, that someone, somewhere had it worse. Threatened with expulsion or violence at the slightest inconvenience, they buried their sorrows in study. As they matured, the value of hard work eclipsed that of education; their primary goal became to ease the burden on the younger children at the orphanage. Amidst the bleakness, they clung to a fragile hope—the belief that they might be chosen by the universe's mystics during the Ritual, a chance to transcend their painful pasts.
The memory of their first encounter with the promise of a new world lingered in their minds. At eleven years old, they had met an injured crone on their way home from school. After helping her to her destination, she revealed four bags hidden beneath her tattered cape. One contained old fabric, another coal, a third dried beans and scraps, and the last held sweets.
She laid them out in front of the three girls and told them they could any three to take back home.
"Why did you choose the rotten produce and beans?" the crone asked Aysha.
"They might smell bad and look mushy, we're accustomed to spoiled food and the beans we can plant and grow ourselves," Aysha replied, her eyes bright with hope as she accepted her choice.
"And what about you, Chaya? Why old fabric?" the crone inquired.
"They may be dirty, but I'm skilled with my hands, see!" she showed the old lady her small hands, scared with little bumps and callus. "I can wash them and make something useful for us," Chaya chimed, her smile infectious.
"And you, dear Leyna, why coal over sweets?" the crone asked gently.
"Well, the sweets would be nice" she mumbled as she stared at the candies. "but they won't last long. With coal, we can stay warm in winter or cook our meals," Leyna murmured shyly, her gratitude barely a whisper as she accepted her bag.
The crone's gaze softened. "What fine young girls you are. Remember my words"
"Heed my words young soul, as I stare into the eyes of the past, the present and the future, let this stay with you, when the heart blooms, a sacrifice is called forth, when the hearts become one, will all be seen, look into its eyes and the end you shall see." The crone sang and she looked down on the three.
With a grin, she began to tell them a tale, her cane echoing through the still night as she guided them home. It was then that they first heard the story of the New World Order—the tale of how the beasts withdrew from humanity, carving out their own realms on land, in the skies and the depths of the ocean. The crone explained the different beasts and their divisions, describing a society built on merit and community, as if the little children would understand—comforts the orphans had never known.
What captivated them most was the idea of eternal love—how beast folk honoured their bond for life. The notion of unconditional love, tied together by fate until death severed their ties, filled the girls with a longing they didn't yet understand. Though the crone's words faded into the background as they grew older, the concept of a eternal bond lingered, a flicker of hope in their otherwise bleak existence.
Eleven years passed, and while they often dismissed the crone as a senile old woman, her tale remained a vital thread in the tapestry of their dreams. To those like them, hope was a lifeline; without it, they would have succumbed to the world's cruelty.
As their thoughts returned to the present, they blinked in disbelief at the banner hanging above them, proclaiming that their years of hardship led to this moment. They silently prayed to leave their past behind as they approached their destination.
"We've finally made it!" Leyna exclaimed, a bright smile illuminating her face as they joined the line of participants waiting to enter.
"Here is where I leave you," Vladmir said solemnly, a hint of sadness in his voice. "For the unfortunate ones, I will be here to guide you home."
"May the gods favor those from the Mu district," he prayed, before he was led away, leaving the girls to face the uncertain future that awaited them.