Week 1, Day 1, Evening.
"Sorry." The girl's father was still holding my hand. "I have a question."
"Yeah," I said.
"What tasks did you get?"
"Tasks?"
"Yes. Your assignments. What work did they give you here? I want to put in a good word."
"What do you mean?"
He frowned.
"What do you mean, what do I mean? What did Lydia assign you to do during the day? Everyone gets something. Where are you working? Who's your coordinator?"
I looked at him. He looked back at me, just as lost.
"Did I say something wrong?" He said it half under his breath, then froze. "Wait. You weren't assigned anywhere?"
"Assigned how?"
He stepped back, staring at me, mouth slightly open.
"Don't tell me you haven't been here before." He said it slow. "Where did you spend last night?"
"Not here," I said. "Definitely not here."
He rubbed his face hard with both hands.
"Then there are more of you," he said. "Survivors from last night, from outside the camp."
"What do you mean?"
"We were told nobody outside the shelter made it. That anyone caught out in the open died. They told us not to even go looking."
That landed on all of us at once. It explained the empty ruins we'd walked out of that morning, and it explained the bodies we'd passed coming back to camp. Knowing why didn't make either one sit any easier.
He grabbed my hand again, both of his around it this time.
"Stay here at this shelter," he said. "Don't go back out there. Not alone. Not even during the day."
"Slow down," I said. "What is this place? Who's running it? How's it set up?"
He glanced back toward the center of camp.
"Lydia set it up," he said. "Right after we landed here, once that voice told us we had six months, she figured nobody survives that long unless everyone pulls together. So, this. It started small." He waved a hand at the rows of shelters behind him. "Now look at it."
"Everyone works a task during the day. You work, you eat. Wood, water, cooking, building, guarding, hunting, somebody's doing all of it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Last night a whole wave of new people came in, more than anyone expected. We thought we were it. The only ones who made it. Now the place is bursting at the seams, but stay anyway. There's nowhere safer. We've got elven knights here, dwarf warriors, orc fighters, even soldiers and police with real Earth weapons on them. That's the only reason last night cost us injuries and not bodies."
His words landed. We'd gotten lucky just surviving the night, and I knew it. Skip the detour into those ruins earlier that day, and neither of us walks away from it.
"If you decide to join," the man said, "go to Lydia. They're doing intake over there."
He pointed, and I followed his hand to a hut that didn't match the rest. Where most of the shelters were crooked stacks of branches and leaves, this one stood solid: upright logs fitted tight together, a roof of cut wood laid in neat rows. Sturdy enough to pass for a real cabin next to the lean-tos scattered around it.
Soldiers with rifles stood watch out front, eyes moving over the crowd. Beside the hut a long line of people waited their turn, humans, elves, a couple of dwarves mixed in, some holding bags or baskets, others just standing there tired. Whatever was in that hut, everyone in that line needed it badly enough to wait. From where I stood it looked more important than every other shelter put together.
Before doing anything else I went back to the others to see what they thought, whether they wanted to stay here for good. Some part of me was scared to even ask, worried the group would splinter the second we had options. I liked what we had going. Wasn't ready to let go of it yet.
They were gathered near the little girl's family hut, identical to every other one around it. I still couldn't wrap my head around how fast these things went up. Amina and Carmen were playing with the girl while her mother watched, relief written all over her face. A little further off, Daisuke, Nikita, and Cealith stood together, and for once nobody was arguing.
I got everyone together and laid out what the father had told me, then asked the question that mattered: did they want to stay?
"Makes sense to stay here for now," Amina said.
"Same," Carmen said.
"Beats sleeping in a hole," Nikita said, which for him counted as enthusiasm.
One by one the rest fell in line, and just like that we'd decided to spend the next six months of our lives in this exact spot.
I nodded. "Let's go meet this Lydia, then."
We got ourselves together and headed for the hut the man had pointed out. Same two soldiers on guard, same crowd, though the line had thinned some since I'd last seen it.
We came at it from the side. A voice cut us off before we got close.
"If you're here for Lydia, line's back there!"
We went to the end of it. Standing there, the whole line had gone quiet in a way that felt heavier than it should have, everyone a little stiff, nobody quite meeting anyone else's eyes. Made sense. Whatever got decided in there was going to be my life for the next six months.
My stomach growled, loud. I hadn't eaten in way too long.
That got me thinking about the meat the dwarves had been grilling earlier, the one Cealith and I had walked past. My mouth actually watered. Hunger twisted tighter in my gut. I shook my head. Focus, Aleks. Assignment first. What would I even be good at?
Lasted about five seconds before I was back on the meat, how badly I wanted it, how it'd feel getting handed a piece straight off the fire. Then it hit me. The dwarves cook that meat. If I became a cook, I'd always be standing right next to it.
A grin spread across my face. Sneak a bite whenever I wanted, nobody the wiser. The grin turned into an actual evil laugh. "Mwahahaha."
Amina's whole face twisted up in disgust. "What the hell is wrong with him?"
The line crept forward, one shuffle at a time.
"What do you think they're even doing in there? How do they decide who does what?" Daisuke asked, out of nowhere, same as always.
Before any of us could answer, a rough voice cut in from the guy right in front of us, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a thick beard. He half-turned to glance back at us.
"My friend already went through," he said. "Few questions, then they slot you somewhere. Doesn't take long."
"Questions? Easy." Daisuke rolled his shoulders. "I'm getting something great. Soldier, probably. Something heroic. Girls'll finally notice me." His eyes drifted to Carmen, grin shameless. "I'd guard you every second, you know. Risk my life for you and everything."
Carmen rolled her eyes, but before she got a word out Nikita snorted.
"Soldier?" A short laugh. "You? They'll have you on trash duty before anything else. I can already see you hauling waste buckets across camp."
"The hell did you just say?" Daisuke stepped toward him.
The two of them squared off again, same as always, trading sharp words and sharper looks. Our dwarf in front frowned at them, then glanced back at us.
"Shouldn't you stop them?"
"No," Cealith and I said, at the same time.
We didn't even look at each other. Neither of us had to.
"Enough!" Amina's voice cut clean through both of them. "Shut up before they toss us out of the line."
Daisuke and Nikita went still, grumbling under their breath, just like that.
The line kept shrinking. Eventually the dwarf ahead of us got waved in. When he came back out his face had gone heavy, eyes on the ground, and he walked off without a word to anyone.
My chest tightened. I was next.
Ran it through my head one more time, over and over: answer right, make them think I was built for the kitchen.
The soldier at the door lifted a hand. "Next."
I stepped inside, and the noise of the camp dropped away behind me. Simple room, two wooden benches facing each other, a table between them. Two women sat on one bench, both maybe thirty. The first one made me stop cold. Long black hair, sharp eyes, a face I knew instantly. I'd figured there'd be a Lydia running this place, just not this Lydia. Lydia Reyes. Former UN peacekeeper, warzone correspondent, the face of a movement that once got millions marching against the last oil wars. Magazine covers, podcasts, every newsfeed there was. She'd ended her career as a news anchor.
Seeing her in the flesh didn't feel real. Back at school half my class had been half in love with her. I'd never paid much attention, and now here she was, close enough to touch, looking older than she had on TV. Her hair hung a little messy, her eyes dulled with exhaustion, but people still straightened up a little when she looked at them. Still attractive. Life had clearly worn on her since those magazine covers, though. Next to her sat another woman, brown hair tied back, glasses sliding down her nose, notebook and pencil ready. Easy to miss in a crowd, that one, but locked in, ready to write down every word.
A half-empty wine bottle sat on the table by Lydia's elbow, and her posture said she'd already gotten well into it. She leaned on one arm, gaze sliding over to me.
"Oh, who do we have here?" Her voice cut through the room the second I got close. She leaned forward, crooked smile spreading. "A kid? Really? Why's a child walking in here?" A short laugh, more mocking than amused, then a lazy wave. "Doesn't matter. Sit."
I hesitated, then sat across from them, the bench cold under me. Lydia's eyes tracked me the whole way, somewhere between amused and curious.
"Hello there." Her words dragged a little, just enough wine in them to show. "Don't be shy. We don't bite. Well..." Her smirk deepened. "Not unless you give me a reason."
The woman with the notebook spoke up, calm and level. "Lydia." A look that said, plainly enough, get on with it. Then, to me: "We'll begin when you're ready."
"Yeah, yeah." Lydia waved her off without looking. Her eyes stayed on me, sharper than the drink should've allowed. "Alright, boy. Let's not waste time. Interview starts now."
"What's your name?"
"Aleks."
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
She nodded once, looked me over. Our eyes met for a second, maybe two, before I gave up and dropped my gaze to the floor for the rest of it.
"Injuries?"
"Uh... don't think so."
"Good. Now tell me." She tilted her head. "What can you do?"
My brain nearly seized up. This was it. The trick question. Couldn't just say I wanted to be a cook, that'd make me look greedy. Besides, no actual cook answers that way. Of course they can cook. Get into cook logic, Aleks. What's a cook actually good at?
My throat went dry. "I'm... steady with my hands. Careful. I don't rush things."
Yes. Good. Kitchens need steady hands for cutting. Getting closer.
Lydia tilted her head slightly. "Go on."
"I notice details. If something's off, I catch it. I don't know how, it just... stands out to me."
Good, good. Noticing when food burns, when water boils over, when meat's undercooked. Definitely useful in a kitchen. What else do cooks need?
"I can work long hours on one thing. Repetitive stuff doesn't bother me. I can keep going if I know it matters."
Say, chopping onions for an hour straight, or stirring a pot till your arm falls off. That's a kitchen strength if I've ever heard one. Come on. Land this.
Her assistant scribbled something down. Lydia's eyes stayed locked on me.
"How do you handle pressure?"
I hesitated. Turn it into a food answer somehow. Food is pressure, right? Timing, precision.
"I don't break down," I said. "Things get hectic, I stay on the task in front of me. Don't need to talk much. I just... do it."
Perfect. Kitchens are chaos. That was exactly the answer a cook would give.
"Can you use tools?"
"Yes." Quick, maybe too quick. "Knives, mostly. I'm fine around sharp things if I know what I'm doing."
Nailed it. Knives equal cooking. She's already picturing me in a kitchen, peeling potatoes, maybe stirring a pot of soup. This job was basically mine.
She leaned back a little. "What about endurance?"
"Not great for running," I admitted. "But I can stand for long stretches without complaining. I'm used to being on my feet."
Kitchen duty, kitchen duty, all but locked in. Standing all day in front of a stove. This was going perfectly. I'd be eating warm food before the night was out.
The assistant leaned in, murmured, "Sounds like food prep."
Thank you. Somebody in this room gets it.
Lydia raised a hand to quiet her. Her eyes narrowed back on me. "Blood?"
I stiffened. Careful now.
"Not comfortable with it," I said. "But if it's necessary, I'll deal. I don't look away."
Good enough. She'll figure I can handle raw meat. Food safety. Nothing more than that.
She tapped her pen against the table. "Teamwork?"
"Yes. I don't want to lead. I'd rather follow instructions and make sure they're done right."
That's a kitchen answer if I've ever heard one. Every kitchen needs exactly that: quiet, efficient, not bossy. This interview was in the bag.
She sat back, quiet for a moment. Whatever she'd decided, her face had already settled on it.
"Alright. I know exactly what to do with you."
This was it. The reveal. Kitchen duty. I could already taste that meat.
"You'll join the hunting division."
My brain just stopped.
"...Wait, what?"