Caelan sat on his bed, eyeing the letter in his hands.
He was neatly dressed in academy uniform, the white fabric fitting his body with almost unsettling precision. The high collar framed his neck cleanly, forcing his posture upright, while the tunic’s smooth surface caught the light without reflecting warmth. Thin lines of pale stitching traced his shoulders and spine like measured boundaries rather than decoration. His trousers fell in clean lines into soft white boots that made no sound when he moved.
From a distance, he looked composed and immaculate, but up close, there was something restrained, as if the uniform wasn’t clothing but a command to be controlled.
The academy invitation letter read:
By Authority of the Ivory Dominion
To Caelan Merrow,
Following the Imperial Screening, your name has been recorded and approved.
You are hereby summoned to attend the White Meridian Academy, effective immediately.
Your performance has met the Dominion’s standards in discipline, cognition, and mark registration. Further evaluation will take place upon arrival.
You are to present yourself at the Academy Gates at dawn on the third day from receipt of this letter. Failure to comply will be recorded as forfeiture.
All prior affiliations are considered concluded.
From this point forward, your conduct reflects upon the Dominion.
Order is Truth.
Truth is Pattern.
— Office of Imperial Education
Ivory Dominion
Caelan sighed as he finished reading.
This seemed more like an order to be a pawn than an invitation to education.
Every single child dreamed about being in the academy since birth. They dreamed of being an instrument to the Dominion, sacrificing their life for the Dominion, advancing the Dominion.
Is this what human life has come to?
Just being under someone’s power, and dying without anyone really knowing who you are?
Caelan wasn’t particularly excited, but this did get him closer to the truth of this world—something he was curious about.
He got sick and tired of these relentless lies they told him. This world that was used as a test to get to the real paradise, the recursion realm. This pathetic excuse of these “lords” that governed the world. How humanity was dying because of its sin.
It was exhausting.
In fact, no one even knew what they were talking about.
They even lied about the name they gave him. They told him Caelan meant being refined and having a strong eye for detail. In actuality, it was just another generic name, not even given to him by his real parents, who were said to have died giving birth.
It was almost at the brink of dawn, the night sky slowly turning from darkness to hues of blue.
The air was crisp, loud, and cold like always, making him shiver.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The whole empire was joyous. They lit lanterns, sold items, and held parades outside.
This was due to the recent news of the passing of King Ryvorn of the Valyren Province, governed by the infamous Veylth Empire. This would have meant they had seized a Pattern Well, which would now be located under the Pale Verge. However, the empire was never able to conquer the territory.
The empire was divided into four sectors: the White Meridian, Ashen Line, Fracture March, and the Pale Verge.
The Pale Verge had the largest civilian population, consisting of towns, farms, and trade routes to the other sectors.
Consequently, the man in charge of the killing of the king had also died, his body dismembered and fed to dogs, as said in the reports. No one bothered about him—his acts, his deeds, or even his name—only that the king had died, leaving the province vulnerable to attack.
Caelan walked outside his room, carrying a suitcase in his hands.
Dark circles loomed under his eyes, and his body felt heavy and slow, as if every movement cost more effort than it should.
Children of the orphanage were lined outside in the cold air, eyeing him with distaste, although trying to hide it with their ridiculous smiles.
“How did he get in?”
“I bet he doesn’t last a full week.”
“Heck, he’ll probably return after one day.”
Their repeated whispers flooded his ears. The children started to grit their teeth, their disgust becoming apparent on their faces.
Caelan smiled, laughing under his breath.
They hate me that much, huh.
A woman in charge of the orphanage was standing there, her posture unsteady, her hands trembling. She held a tissue to her eyes, her lips curling back, her face tense. She sobbed while sneezing into it.
Then she slowly walked toward Caelan.
As she removed the tissue, it became apparent she was only faking to gather attention.
“Do try not to worry about us, Caelan. You’ll do… well there. This place was never meant to hold someone like you,” she said, breathing heavily and occasionally spitting saliva on the ground.
“Uh-huh.”
Caelan didn’t care about this place. He just wanted to get out.
He felt something strange, as if behind that face of tears and compassion, she was secretly laughing—thrilled with joy, relieved that he was going.
In front of them awaited a carriage, as if a piece of the Dominion itself had been made mobile.
Its frame was carved from pale wood, polished until it almost resembled bone, reinforced with thin bands of white metal. The body was boxy and precise, every edge measured, every panel smooth and undecorated.
Two horses stood in reins before it.
Out of the carriage stepped the imperial inspector Caelan had met yesterday.
“Young man, ready?” he asked in a deep voice.
Caelan nodded, gripping his suitcase tightly.
The inspector looked different than before, more neatly dressed. A curved sword rested in its scabbard at his side.
“Young child, would you mind if I take a look at your mark again?”
His face brightened as he smirked uncontrollably.
Caelan couldn’t deny the order. He removed the top half of his uniform, revealing his back.
The inspector grinned, studying the mark like a piece of art.
It looked the same as before—except for one key detail.
The hole in Caelan’s back expanded, contracted, then expanded again, like a pulsating heartbeat.
The inspector was taken aback, but dismissed it.
“His deformity might be an issue… but his mark makes up for it,” he whispered.
“Well, young man, let me get that suitcase for you.”
The orphanage waved him goodbye.
The rider tugged the reins.
The carriage moved forward.
Through the narrow window, Caelan watched the Pale Verge pass in muted shades of grey and bone. Stone houses pressed together, their walls chipped and weathered. The road rattled softly beneath the wheels.
People paused as it passed.
Some bowed.
Others pretended not to see it.
He committed the rigid lines and silence to memory, aware this place was to be endured, not remembered.
The inspector turned to him and smiled.
“So, young man, tell me—what do you know about the academy?”
Caelan smiled back.
“Well, sir… I know as much as anyone else from around here. It’s where people train and learn about their fractal patterns, so one day they can defend this great empire.”
He knew far more than he let on.
But he acted enthusiastic.
“Perfectly correct,” the inspector said.
Then he leaned closer.
“Students from your part of town are… unusual. Others may feel bothered at first.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best to fit in.”
Caelan wasn’t bothered.
Only truth mattered.
A few hours later, the carriage stopped abruptly.
It lurched forward.
“What is this nonsense?” the inspector demanded.
“Sir… we have a problem.”
Then it happened.
Hundreds of dead birds fell from the sky.
They struck the carriage with dull thuds.
The horses panicked.
People screamed.
Caelan stared, frozen.
He had never seen anything like it.
Suddenly, his back burned with sharp pain, as if stabbed.
Hours later, silence filled the carriage.
The inspector stared out the window, refusing to speak.
An anomaly? Caelan thought.
Does this happen often?
What kind of world is this?
He had lived indoors most of his life.
Was this normal?
Then, suddenly, the inspector’s face brightened.
They had arrived.
At the White Meridian.
