Ashes: Book 1 of the Shadows Series - By Tristan Carver

Reflections on Perfection

"Daylen Voss."

His name cut through the haze, jolting him back to the present. He stood, legs shaky, and made his way toward the testing chamber.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the sterile white interior. The walls gleamed under harsh, clinical lights that made everything feel cold and unwelcoming. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic. It was a place designed to strip away any sense of individuality, leaving nothing but the cold efficiency of data and results.

"Step forward," a disembodied voice instructed, its tone impersonal, robotic. "IQ assessment commencing."

Daylen positioned himself in front of the terminal, the screen blinking to life in front of him. A timer appeared in the corner as the first set of questions flashed across the screen. They ranged from mathematical equations to intricate logic puzzles. His fingers moved quickly, answering each question with the precision of someone who had been trained for this moment his entire life. Every problem was solved instinctively, every pattern recognized before he could fully process it.

But as the timer ticked down, a strange sense of detachment settled over him. This was supposed to be important—this was the test that would define his intelligence, his value. And yet, each correct answer felt empty. The more he excelled, the more it felt like he was playing a rigged game, a predetermined outcome masked as achievement.

"Physical evaluation, commence," the voice intoned after the last question was submitted.

Daylen was led to a larger space, its floor marked with grids and lanes. The air smelled faintly of sweat and rubber. He could see the equipment waiting—treadmills, weights, obstacles designed to test strength, speed, and endurance. A group of officials watched from behind glass, clipboards in hand, expressionless.

"Begin," the voice ordered.

He sprinted first, his legs pumping as he pushed his body to its limit. His breaths came hard and fast, but the sound of his own effort faded into the background as his mind raced with darker thoughts. Next, he leaped over hurdles, each jump higher than the last, his muscles burning as he strained to maintain perfect form. Lifting weights followed, the cold steel of the bars biting into his hands as he forced his body to obey the demands of the test.

There were sensors everywhere—measuring the power of his strides, the force of each lift, the speed of his reflexes as he dodged targets that flew toward him from different angles. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his heart hammered in his chest, but none of it registered. His body was moving, performing the tasks with machine-like precision, but his mind was elsewhere. With every exertion, with every strained muscle, he questioned whether this was what he had trained for—what he had lived for. Was this how he wanted to define himself?

"Final evaluation: genetic verification."

The announcement pulled him from his thoughts. He stood still as the scanner descended from the ceiling, a beam of blue light sweeping across his body from head to toe. It hummed softly, the light cool against his skin. It was just a formality—his DNA had been mapped at birth, his future decided before he had ever taken his first breath. This scan wasn't about discovery. It was about confirmation, sealing his fate.

"Results confirmed. You are eligible for classification."

The tests were done. Daylen felt a strange emptiness settle in his chest. He had passed. He had proven his intelligence, his physical capabilities, his genetic superiority. He had won. But why didn't it feel like an achievement? Why did it feel as though something had been stripped away instead?

After the tests, Daylen was ushered with the others into a large waiting room. The chairs were arranged in perfect rows, and the massive screen at the front blinked to life with a flash of the Veritara emblem—a silver crest emblazoned with the words Unity is Perfection.

The sound of military drums filled the room as a high-ranking official appeared on screen. The figure was immaculate, their uniform spotless, their expression serene yet commanding. "Citizens of Veritara," the official began, their voice ringing with authority, "today is a monumental day. You have undergone the Achievement Ceremony, a sacred rite of passage. Through your hard work, dedication, and commitment to our ideals, you have proven yourselves worthy."

The broadcast continued, images of the city flashing across the screen. Gleaming towers reached for the sky, parks full of happy children, families enjoying a perfect afternoon. Each image was carefully curated, designed to reflect the unity and perfection Veritara demanded.

"We are a society built on excellence," the official went on, "and as long as we strive for perfection, we will remain strong. But we must never forget that outside our borders lies chaos, imperfection. The world beyond Veritara is a place of disorder and danger, and there are those who would seek to tear down everything we have built. But together, united, we can face any threat. Our strength is in our unity."

Daylen's gaze drifted to the screen, but the words felt rehearsed, empty. He had heard them a thousand times, in school, in public broadcasts, even from his own parents. But today, they felt different—wrong.

He looked around the room. Some of the other participants were glued to the broadcast, nodding in agreement. Others whispered excitedly about their potential rankings. But Daylen felt a growing unease. Everything the official said, everything about the perfect images on the screen, felt manufactured. What if the unity they preached wasn't real? What if it was just a way to keep them in line, to prevent them from questioning, from thinking for themselves?

The broadcast ended with a crescendo of music, the emblem once again filling the screen. Applause erupted in the room, some participants even cheering. But Daylen remained silent, his mind racing with doubts that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge before.

The results of the Ceremony were announced in the main hall. One by one, participants were called forward to receive their rankings, their new place within society.

"Daylen Voss."

He stood and walked toward the podium, the sound of his own heartbeat drowning out the noise of the crowd. The official at the front looked at him with an expressionless gaze. "Daylen Voss," they repeated, their voice cutting through the air, "you have been classified: Elite Class."

Cheers erupted from the audience. It was the highest ranking possible. It was everything his parents had wanted for him, everything he was supposed to desire. But as the applause washed over him, all Daylen could feel was emptiness.

Later, after the ceremony had ended, Daylen stood alone in a quiet corner of the hall. The celebrations around him felt distant—his parents smiling, Malik laughing with his friends. Daylen barely noticed any of it.

He caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror. His appearance was flawless—his hair perfectly styled, his posture straight, his clothes crisp and clean. He looked like the perfect image of an Elite. The perfect image of what Veritara wanted him to be.

But the person staring back at him didn't feel real.

He leaned closer, staring into his own eyes, searching for something, anything that felt like him. But all he saw was a reflection of the person the world expected him to be. The mask of perfection he had worn for so long.

Who am I? The question echoed in his mind, louder than the cheers, louder than the congratulations. For the first time in his life, Daylen realized he didn't know the answer.