Kelvin watched Hope's expression carefully, studying the way his fingers flexed slightly, the way his brows furrowed just a little in thought. He had seen that look before—the look of someone processing too much at once, trying to make sense of things that shouldn't make sense.
But Kelvin had lived with this knowledge for years. He had been raised on it, trained to understand it, and conditioned to accept it. For Hope, though, this was all new. He had been thrown into The Veil's grasp blindly, like so many others before him.
Kelvin sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Don't worry," he said, his tone steady, reassuring. "If you survive this trial, the government has already set aside a training program for the survivors. The ones who make it through The Ashlands—the Awakened—they don't just get thrown back into the world without guidance."
Hope's gaze snapped to Kelvin, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"They'll teach you more about The Veil," Kelvin continued. "More about Memories, about what it really means to be Awakened. There are things even I don't fully understand yet, but they have structured training for it."
Hope nodded slowly, his mind working through that information. He had seen it before—groups of Awakened being taken by the government after their return. It was never some big public event, but it wasn't exactly a secret either. Every now and then, people whispered about how the survivors disappeared, escorted by officials to places no one spoke about.
No one ever really questioned it, though.
Most people assumed it was for security reasons. Others believed it was to ensure that Awakened didn't lose control of their abilities in the middle of a city.
But now, hearing Kelvin say it so plainly, Hope realized it was something more than that. It wasn't just about control. It was about preparation.
The government wasn't just taking them in. They were training them.
His fingers clenched into a fist.
Training was good. Training meant knowledge, structure, and a way to survive longer.
But none of that mattered if he didn't make it past this first trial.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fist tightening as he muttered under his breath, "Let me survive first."
Kelvin's gaze lingered on him for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Let us survive first," he corrected, his voice steady but quiet.
It wasn't a grand declaration. There was no dramatic promise or vow.
Just two people acknowledging a simple, brutal truth—survival came first.
Everything else came after.