Elite by Maclaw

Chapter 14

-eldoria educational center-

The room was a mix of aged wooden desks and freshly inked parchment, the scent of knowledge and discipline heavy in the air. At the front of the education center stood Charls Thornton, his posture straight, a marker of his lineage. His voice, calm and steady, resonated through the room, captivating the children of Eldoria who had gathered to learn.

Behind them, by the window, stood Hector. Silent, observing. His sharp eyes scanned the room, the faces of the children full of curiosity. Charls had always been good with them—he had a way of making even the most complex histories feel simple, but Hector could sense something different in the air today.

"Now," Charls began, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard, "who can tell me why Eldoria is governed the way it is today?"

A hand shot up from the back—a bright-eyed boy, perhaps twelve years old. "Because of the Hands and Tithe, right? To keep the peace?"

Charls smiled faintly. "Good. That's where it began. The Hands and Tithe were established a long time ago, when disputes between the powerful families, the church, and the people were tearing the country apart. It was a simple way to bring balance—to divide power among those who could wield it."

Another hand rose, this time a girl sitting near the front. "But, sir, why the Thornton family first? Why not the church?"

"Ah," Charls said, his eyes flicking to Hector for a brief moment. "The Thornton family was chosen to rule first because of our wealth. At that time, wealth was the foundation of power. Whoever controlled the coin controlled much of the world. After our turn came the church, because spiritual power is something you can't ignore. And lastly, the Elders, who represented the laws of the people. Each took turns ruling for ten years."

"But it's different now, isn't it?" another child asked, her voice uncertain.

"Yes," Charls nodded. "It is. You see, for the past several centuries, this system worked. Power was passed like a torch from one group to the next every ten years. But over time, things began to change. The Thornton wealth isn't what it used to be, the church's hold on the people has weakened, and the Elders' authority—well, it's not as simple as it once was. Taxes became harder to collect, alliances grew weak, and the people—your parents, their parents—started to ask, why?"

Hector, still in the corner, felt the weight of those words. He knew the truth behind them—knew the fractures in the system better than anyone. His family's name, once unshakeable, now carried a shadow with it.

"That's why we now face a new system," Charls continued, pacing in front of the chalkboard. "A system where the people decide. Where you, when you're old enough, will have a say in who rules. No more automatic turns for the Thorntons or the church or the Elders. Everyone has to prove their worth now. It's called democracy."

"Democracy?" a boy at the front repeated, his brow furrowed.

"Yes. A voting system, where each party—be it the royal family, the church, or the Elders—has to convince you, the people, that they deserve your vote. It means no more relying on wealth, or divine right, or laws written by those long dead. Now, the people have a choice."

"But... doesn't that mean anyone could rule?" a girl asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Charls smiled, though there was a trace of something darker behind it. "Yes, anyone. But they must earn it. That's why every party—my family included—must show you they are worthy. They must promise stability, a future. They must promise that they won't abandon you. That's what the current debate is about, the opening proposal. It's about showing you who can lead."

The room fell silent, the children absorbing the gravity of it all.

Hector shifted slightly, his arms crossed. His gaze rested on Charls. There was more to this story, and they both knew it. Behind the neat words and the polished explanations, there were darker forces at work—forces that would not rest quietly.

A boy raised his hand again. "Sir, do you think the Thorntons will win the vote?"

Charls hesitated. "I think... the best leader will win. That's what democracy is, after all. But remember this," he added, his voice softening, "no matter who wins, your voice—your vote—will matter."

The children looked at each other, murmuring, their young minds spinning with the weight of these new truths.

As the lesson wound down, Charls glanced once more at Hector, a question in his eyes. Hector gave a slight nod, stepping forward as the children began to gather their things.

"Thank you for your attention today," Charls said, his voice taking on its finality. "Next week, we'll discuss how the voting system will work, and how you can be part of shaping Eldoria's future."

With that, the children filed out of the room, their excited chatter filling the halls. Hector lingered behind, watching Charls as the last student left.

"You did well," Hector finally said, his voice low.

Charls shrugged. "They needed to understand. It's their future, after all."

Hector's eyes darkened as he glanced out the window, where the sun had begun to sink, casting long shadows across the courtyard. "But will it be our future too?"

Charls looked at Hector with a mixture of sympathy and concern. "I'm sorry about Fraya."

Hector's expression was puzzled. "Huh?"

"I know you loved her, bro," Charls said, his tone gentle. "I noticed the way you looked at her."

"What does it change?" Hector replied bitterly. "She's not coming back. And stupid Lucas thinks I still want—"

Charls interrupted with a short laugh. "My brothers are not the most perceptive. But I'm here for you, whatever you need. Just like old times."

Hector's gaze softened slightly. "Old times... I miss them. We were so young then. There was no need for power. Our minds were pure..."

"Yes, pure," Charls echoed, both of them sharing a bittersweet laugh.

"So enlighten me," Hector began, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. "Do we all have to make fake promises about things we might never achieve to these people?"

Charls raised an eyebrow. "Fake is a strong word. But yes, my brothers are running for office. Lawrence may be a prick, but he would do anything to stay in that position."

Hector's tone darkened. "Anything but die of whatever is killing him."

Charls looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been doing my research, Charls. The fire at the barn in the south, the family that lived there—the father was a doctor, someone the church would have wanted out of the way. And I found out that they recovered bones, some of them belonging to children. I knew this wasn't just a church play."

Charls's face turned pale. "What are you playing at, Hector?"

"You said it yourself—Lawrence would do anything to keep his position," Hector said, his voice low and authoritative. "He's sick, and it's not only killing him; he's killing anyone who fails to cure him."

Charls's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're sick, Hector. What are you saying? My mother would have known about this if it were true."

Hector leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "One of the campaign roles is to show the people they are worthy. To promise stability and a future. Do you think someone without a future would want anyone to know?"

Charls stood still for a moment, reflecting on Hector's words. Then, with a sudden shift back to reality, he snapped. "You've gone mad, Hector. What they say is true. Now you don't just see dead people—you're making up things you want to be true. God... I was trying to be friendly. Don't fuck with me," Charls said, storming out of the room.

Hector watched Charls leave, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. "You're not crazy," a voice whispered in his ear.

"I know, Mom," Hector replied softly, a grim determination in his voice. "And I'm going to prove it."

The room went black.