The Law of Silence — Part 1

A week had passed, and already, the routine had wrapped itself around me like a second skin.

Wake up at six. Endurance run around the inner grounds — ten kilometers every day, without exception, beneath a sky that stubbornly refused to change color. Breakfast swallowed in ten minutes. Theoretical classes until noon — dragon classification, squad tactics, the history of the Night Walks. In the afternoon, back to the training hall for mental awakening, still just as pointless for me. In the evening, additional physical training, alone or with Rafe, until my arms refused to rise anymore.

Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

My body was getting used to it. My mind, however, was starting to notice things.

It was Tuesday evening, in the corridor leading to the communal showers, that I saw it for the first time.

Three students — upperclassmen, judging by their build and confidence — had cornered a younger boy against a locker. I didn't know his name. A first-year, like me, but clearly not cut out for this place. Thin, shoulders hunched, the kind of build that must have survived the Ruins by making itself invisible rather than fighting.

“You really thought you deserved your place here?” one of the upperclassmen said, a cold smile spreading across his lips.

He shoved the boy against the cold metal. A dull thud echoed through the corridor.

I slowed my steps, without really knowing what I intended to do.

An instructor walked past at that exact moment. I recognized one of the tactics teachers, a weathered-looking man. He gave the scene a brief glance.

Nothing more.

He continued on his way as if he hadn't seen anything.

No one else stopped either.

I stood frozen for a few seconds, my hand clenched around the strap of my bag. Then I started walking again, my throat tight, without intervening.

Why am I doing nothing?

The answer came on its own, cold and pragmatic.

Because in the Ruins, you don't get involved.

Because every conflict that has nothing to do with me is a waste of energy I can't afford.

I hated that answer.

But I did nothing to contradict it.

That evening, I told Rafe about what had happened while lying on my bed, staring at the gray ceiling.

“The school never intervenes?” I asked.

Rafe shrugged from the lower bunk, a gesture I could only guess at rather than see.

“A guy from my class told me something the other day. Here, they call it ‘natural selection.’ If you can't defend yourself against other students, how do you expect to defend yourself against a dragon?”

“That's stupid.”

“Yeah.”

A silence followed.

“But maybe it isn't completely wrong either.”

I didn't answer.

Somewhere inside me, the idea bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Thursday evening, almost every Class B student had gathered in the common room, gathered around the old television mounted on the wall.

I had approached out of curiosity, squeezed between Rafe and a dozen other figures.

On the screen, a tense-looking female reporter spoke quickly, gripping the microphone tightly in her hand.

“...the footage we are about to show was captured less than six hours ago, on the outskirts of Sector 14. A Country-Rank dragon — the first dragon of this magnitude spotted outside a Night Walk in nearly three years — has been neutralized by Captain Joe Ng-Kak of the First Brigade.”

The entire room held its breath.

The footage shook as it played, filmed from a distance, probably from a surveillance helicopter.

The dragon was monstrous — far more massive than the one from the Night Walk, its scales almost black, an aura visible even through the grainy screen.

Joe appeared as a tiny silhouette on the ground, facing the beast.

It lasted seven seconds.

Seven seconds from the moment he raised his hand to the moment the dragon collapsed, its core shattered.

A stunned silence fell over the common room.

Then the whispers erupted all at once.

“Seven seconds...”

“A Country-Rank dragon in SEVEN SECONDS?!”

“That guy isn't even human anymore...”

I said nothing.

I stared at the screen, at that familiar, unreadable face, at the same complete absence of emotion I'd already witnessed with my own eyes twice before.

You don't have mental energy. It's useless.

The words echoed again, just as cold as they had been the first day.

I clenched my fists inside my pockets and said nothing to anyone.

The reporter continued, her voice more serious this time.

“Local authorities, however, have refused to comment on the exact location of the incident, which allegedly took place in the immediate vicinity of inhabited areas.”

No one in the room seemed to notice that detail.

Neither did I.

Not at the time.