There was something different about that day. Helena felt an unusual tension as she walked through the narrow corridors of the Fifth Caste. If she focused, she could clearly hear the incessant whispers about the selection process, like a poorly kept secret being passed from mouth to mouth.
In the streets, small groups of workers gathered, exchanging opinions in hushed tones and furtive glances. Some of the older ones reminisced about past failures, sharing stories of acquaintances who never returned, as a warning to the hopeful youth. Others, with seemingly nothing better to do, eagerly placed bets on who would have the courage to register and, even more, on who might survive the first challenge.
Some elders, no longer bound by work, had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, while others simply shook their heads in disbelief. After all, many believed the process was nothing more than a trap, a cruel illusion of hope designed to shatter the hearts of the young, just as it had done to theirs in their youth.
Personally, Helena agreed that the unfounded hope most people her age harbored for the Process was cruel in the end. No matter how gifted, athletic, or strong those from her caste might be, it was almost impossible for more than two or three to succeed. Most hadn't even completed basic education, lacked proper nutrition to build strong muscles, or were worn out from heavy labor. To be honest, Helena couldn't think of a single peer who could survive the first challenge, including herself. Even the smartest and strongest in her caste rarely stood a chance against those who had been groomed from birth in the higher castes.
The problem was that hope and dreams, no matter how dangerous, had haunted Helena's mind for a long time. She didn't think about the selection process in terms of wealth or status. For her, it was a means to discover the truth—or at least part of it. She had heard, far too often to dismiss it as a lie, that a colossal library was available to the candidates during the Selection Process, a repository of all the knowledge in the world. Just the thought of it filled her with anticipation. Imagine being in the same place where the history of her entire world was stored—now that was the real prize that drew her in. For someone like her, who had never understood why the people of her caste were only taught what existed within their four walls, reading pages that explained the purpose of it all would be life-changing.
It was for the libraries that she kept studying late into the night, after the caste lights went out. It was for them that she ran home after work and always chose the heaviest sack of seeds to carry in the fields. This left her with a dilemma: was she just another fool caught up in the false hope of the Process, or would it be better to simply accept her fate?
That morning, many thoughts raced through her mind, including the conversation she had had the night before with Ethan, her neighbor and childhood friend.
"Are you going to try?" he asked, his brown eyes alive but restless.
Helena hesitated. She didn't want to answer. Admitting she was considering it felt like a weakness, as if it were something forbidden.
"I don't know. What about you?" she replied, avoiding his gaze.
"I think I will." He smiled, though his uncertain expression betrayed his words. "We've got nothing to lose, right?"
It was an obvious lie, of course. They had everything to lose. The process was brutal, and stories of failure were more numerous than any caste could count.
Now, in the fields, Helena tried to focus on her work. The strong smell of chemical fertilizer filled the air, and the heat from the synthetic lamps made sweat drip down everyone's faces, a testament to the daily grind of agricultural life.
Around midday, as she adjusted the irrigation regulators, a different sound cut through the constant hum of the day: the central caste bell. It was rare to hear it, used only for important announcements.
Everyone stopped. Voices fell silent, and workers looked up as if something extraordinary was about to happen.
High on the central tower, a loud sound, like a faulty microphone, was followed by a blurry image slowly forming. It was a hologram, the same kind projected on this day last year, and the year before that, displayed for the entire caste to see, replacing the usual sky hologram that adorned the ceiling day after day.
The figure of a man from the Second Caste appeared, impeccably dressed in the blue attire typical of official communications. His posture was rigid, and his cold voice echoed through the corridors.
"Citizens of the subterranean world, registrations for the 54th Selection Process, to be held this year, are officially open. Those who have turned twenty must register at the designated posts in their castes. This is the only legitimate path to ascension. May perseverance and loyalty to the system guide you."
The hologram disappeared, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
"It's here," murmured a woman beside Helena. "It's begun."
Back at work, no one spoke, but the exchanged glances said enough. The illusion of the sky was already reforming on the ceiling. The Process was a possibility, however slim, to change one's life. But change came at a price, and not everyone was willing to pay it.
By the end of the day, the news of the registration opening was already on the front pages of all the newspapers delivered each afternoon to the citizens. Helena returned home with her mind full of conflicting thoughts.
In the small kitchen, Mira was sitting at the table, her eyes fixed on an old notebook filled with scribbles that Helena could never decipher.
"Did you hear?" Helena asked, dropping her bag on the floor.
"About the Process?" Mira raised her tired but alert eyes. "Yes, I heard."
Helena sat at the table, absentmindedly poking at a slice of bread.
"Do you think it's worth it?"
Mira sighed, looking at her daughter with a serious expression.
"The Process isn't for everyone, Helena. It destroys more people than it saves. But…" She hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "If you decide to try, I won't stop you. I just want you to know what you're risking. The decision is yours, but talk to me and your grandmother before deciding. There are things you don't know yet… things you should."
Helena didn't respond. There was something in her mother's voice, a weight she couldn't place, but it made it clear that this decision wouldn't be simple.
That night, as Helena lay down, her mind refused to rest. No matter how hard she tried to push away the doubts, it felt as if something was calling to her, whispering that her destiny was just beginning.