The following morning, the atmosphere in the Fifth Caste was different. The usual murmurs of workers heading to the fields were replaced by heated discussions about the Selection Process. Young people debated their chances with fear and hope, while the older ones shook their heads in disapproval, muttering that it was a complete waste of time.
Helena walked through the streets with quick steps, trying to avoid the conversations. The same thoughts from the night before lingered in her mind. The promise of knowledge, the risk of death, the enigmatic look from her mother—it all felt like a whirlwind.
Ethan was waiting for her on the way to the fields. He had a confident smile, but his eyes showed a certain uneasiness he was trying to hide.
"Have you decided yet?" he asked, crossing his arms.
Helena let out an irritated sigh. She felt nervous that morning, carrying an invisible weight on her shoulders.
"No. What about you?"
"If I don't try, I'll be stuck here forever," Ethan replied with a shrug. "You should think about that. You're the only person I've spoken to who's still undecided, Helena. There's not much time left."
Helena looked at him, trying to gauge how much of his bravado was real. Ethan had always been a dreamer, but she knew he wasn't naive. He understood the risks as much as she did.
"Who have you spoken to?" she asked.
"I've talked to almost everyone from our primary school class. Alice, Claire, Eli, Michael, Ron… none of them even considered the risks. They're all joining the Selection Process."
"I hope they realize most won't make it," she said. "And those who do… no one ever hears from them again."
Ethan gave a half-smile. He seemed more confident that morning.
"Maybe that's better than staying here," he said. "I'm signing up today."
Helena wanted to argue, but she couldn't find the words. There was a solid truth in what he said.
——
Later, after the workday ended, Helena returned home with a decision in mind—she needed to know more. Her mother had made it clear the night before that she had important information but was too evasive to share it without being pressed.
When she entered the house, she found Mira and Selene sitting at the table, speaking softly in the small living room. Selene held an embroidered fabric but seemed more interested in the conversation with her daughter than her handiwork.
"We need to talk," Helena said bluntly.
Both looked at her, and Selene gave an enigmatic smile.
"About the Process?" Selene asked. "Looks like you've already made up your mind."
"About everything. And I'm determined to listen, not act." Helena pulled out a chair and sat across from her mother. "You said there were things I needed to know. Now I want to know."
Mira hesitated, but it was Selene who spoke first.
"She should know, Mira. Secrets only bring unnecessary burdens."
Mira sighed deeply, the weariness evident in her posture.
"I tried, you know? The Process," she said, addressing her daughter.
The confession hit Helena like a stone in her stomach. She stayed silent, waiting for her mother to continue.
"It was over twenty years ago. I had just turned twenty and believed in the promises of the Process. I was very different from you. I thought I could change my life, maybe even help our caste. But the Process…" Mira hesitated, as if the words were too painful to say. "The Process isn't what it seems."
"What do you mean by that?" Helena asked, leaning forward.
"It's not about merit as they preach, Helena. It's not about who's the strongest, the smartest, or the most loyal. They choose who they've already planned to choose. The rest is just a spectacle."
Her grandmother only nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with a mix of sadness and indignation. Helena felt anger rising within her.
"Then why let everyone apply?"
"To maintain control," Mira replied with a bitter smile. "To make people believe they have a chance when, in reality, everything is already decided."
"And you? What happened?"
Mira hesitated again before answering, as if the memory caused her pain.
"I was eliminated in the fourth stage," she said, looking away. "I found out I was pregnant with you, and that automatically disqualified me."
The revelation took Helena by surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"Is that why you don't want me to participate? Because you're afraid I'll fail?"
"No," Mira looked her straight in the eye. "I'm afraid you'll succeed."
——
Helena couldn't sleep that night. Her mother's and grandmother's words echoed in her mind, creating more questions than answers. If the Process was rigged, what was its true purpose? Why all the annual commotion? That, her mother and grandmother couldn't explain, avoiding most of her questions by saying some things she would have to discover on her own.
When the clock struck midnight, Helena got out of bed. She wasn't an impulsive person, but she felt she had to act, even without knowing where it would lead.
She put on her coat, grabbed her identification documents, and quietly slipped out the back door. The streets were deserted, except for a few guards patrolling the area. She headed to the administrative center, where the registrations for the Process were taking place.
The registration room was small, illuminated by cold, white lights that made everything feel impersonal. A worker from the Third Caste sat behind the counter, typing on a terminal.
"Name?" he asked without looking up.
Helena hesitated for a moment before responding.
"Helena Argos."
The man typed something into the system, glanced at her, then back at the computer screen, as if comparing her appearance to the photo on her identification displayed on the monitor.
"Fill this out and leave your fingerprint here," he said, handing her a form.
Helena took the form with slightly trembling hands. As she filled in the fields, a mix of fear and determination grew inside her. When she finished, she placed her right index finger on the scanner, which emitted a faint confirmation sound.
"It's done," the man said, emotionless. "You'll receive instructions within three days."
Helena left the building with her heart racing. She knew her decision was risky, but she also knew she couldn't live with unanswered questions.
That night, as she walked back home, she realized that, for the first time, she was no longer just a worker of the Fifth Caste. She was now a candidate for the Process.
And for the first time, she wasn't ignoring the system.