Awakened in a Realm of Magic and Blood

Those Who Are Watched

Andrew’s answer didn’t sound heroic.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

But Eli stopped walking.

For a second, the noise of Ashwake House faded—the shuffle of feet, the muttered complaints, the caretakers barking orders in the distance.

Eli turned slowly. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

Andrew met his eyes. “Why would I?”

Eli stared at him, searching for something—sarcasm, arrogance, regret.

He found none.

“You don’t know what they’re offering,” Eli said. “People leave with caravans and don’t come back. Some end up in Blackmere proper. Some disappear.”

Andrew’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

“And you still said no.”

Andrew exhaled through his nose. “I said not without you.”

Eli looked away first.

“Careful,” he muttered. “That kind of promise gets people killed in places like this.”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” Andrew replied.

They reached the hut just as a caretaker’s voice cut through the yard.

“All residents remain inside. Representatives are touring the grounds.”

The door was slammed shut behind them.

Inside, the air buzzed.

Everyone had felt it—the shift, the scrutiny, the invisible hands rearranging their futures without consent.

“They’re here,” someone whispered.

“I heard there are three of them.”

“They don’t talk to caretakers. They talk through them.”

Andrew sat on his mat, back against the wall, replaying the morning in sharp fragments.

The scrubbing.

The drills.

The way the caretakers had watched instead of punished.

He hadn’t been disciplined for knocking the boy down.

That bothered him more than punishment would have.

Hours passed.

The sun slid lower, heat clinging stubbornly to the compound.

Then the summons came.

“All residents,” a caretaker announced, voice unnervingly polite, “assemble in the main yard.”

The yard felt smaller with everyone packed into it.

More than a hundred children and youths stood shoulder to shoulder, dust clinging to sweat-damp clothes. Rags hung loose on thin frames. Faces carried every version of fear—hope’s shadow.

At the far end stood the representatives.

Andrew counted them immediately.

Three.

One in deep blue robes traced with subtle silver thread. Upright. Observant.

One in muted green, eyes sharp and restless, fingers tapping idly against her sleeve.

One in plain grey, so unremarkable he almost vanished if Andrew didn’t force himself to keep looking.

Caretakers lined the perimeter like obedient guards.

No one spoke.

The man in blue stepped forward.

“You were not informed of an evaluation,” he said calmly. “That was intentional.”

Murmurs rippled.

“You were observed,” he continued. “That was unavoidable.”

Silence returned, heavier.

“Out of all present,” the woman in green said, taking over seamlessly, “only fifty will proceed.”

Proceed where?

No one asked.

No one dared.

“Names will be called,” the man in blue finished.

The caretaker beside him unrolled a parchment.

The first name rang out.

The boy from the drills.

The one who had slammed into Andrew.

He stepped forward immediately, chest puffed, confidence blazing across his scarred face.

Andrew watched him carefully.

Aggression noticed, he thought.

The second name followed.

Then the third.

Each call sliced the crowd thinner.

Relief. Shock. Quiet despair.

When Eli’s name was called, it took him a heartbeat too long to react.

Andrew nudged him slightly.

Eli swallowed and stepped forward, eyes wide, disbelief written plainly across his face.

Moments later—

“Arin.”

The lean boy ahead straightened, surprise flickering before he masked it. He moved with controlled steps, joining the growing line.

Andrew noted it.

Names continued.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

Andrew stood unmoving.

His name did not come.

Neither did the boy’s again.

At forty-nine, tension coiled tight in his chest—not fear, but calculation.

Why am I still here?

Then—

“Andrew.”

The final name.

The yard went still.

Eli turned sharply, eyes locking onto him.

Andrew stepped forward calmly, as if he had expected it all along.

The fifty stood separated now.

The rest—dismissed.

Some left quietly.

Some stared.

Some hated.

Andrew felt their eyes like weight against his spine.

The representative in grey finally spoke.

“You may be wondering,” he said mildly, “when the selection began.”

No one answered.

“It already has.”

The woman in green gestured lazily toward the compound walls.

“The cleaning,” she said. “The drills. Compliance under pressure.”

A ripple of stunned realization passed through the chosen.

“That was—?” someone whispered.

“The first round,” the man in blue confirmed.

Andrew exhaled slowly.

Of course it was.

“You adapted,” the woman continued. “Or you revealed something useful.”

Her gaze slid briefly to the boy who had been called first.

Then—to Andrew.

Just long enough.

“You will remain here tonight,” the man in blue said. “The next phase begins soon.”

Soon.

Not tomorrow.

Caretakers herded the unchosen away.

The yard emptied until only the fifty remained.

Eli leaned closer to Andrew, voice barely audible.

“They watched us scrub.”

“Yes.”

“They watched us break.”

“Yes.”

Eli’s jaw tightened. “And they watched you fight.”

Andrew didn’t deny it.

As they were dismissed back toward the huts, Eli spoke again, quieter this time.

“They called you last.”

Andrew glanced at him. “That wasn’t hesitation.”

“What was it then?”

“Confirmation.”

Eli frowned.

“They wanted to see if I’d react,” Andrew said. “To you being chosen first.”

“And?”

“I didn’t.”

Eli absorbed that slowly.

“So we’re not competing,” he said. “Not yet.”

Andrew’s gaze drifted toward the representatives speaking quietly with the caretakers.

“No,” he replied. “We’re being sorted.”

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across Ashwake House.