I take a bite of bread. It's dry and tasteless. Maybe my nervousness is stripping it of any flavor.
As I take a sip of water, someone jostles me from behind. I hear a quick apology before they walk away, leaving me with water dripping down my front.
I wonder if they're aiming for Aequalitas. The strong. Someone going for Concordia, being equal, wouldn't dismiss knocking someone. They would do what they could to help. Maybe this person hasn't chosen yet.
Like me. I have no idea which group to choose. I don't fit into Conscientia, as I don't exactly have a wide knowledge of plant cells or dirt nutrients. I'm not tough enough for Aequalitas, but I would like to be equal. For me, it's a choice between Concordia and Animus. Do I choose equality, or do I choose spirit?
I turn sixteen tomorrow. It is on the week of your sixteenth birthday that you have to choose a group. You can't choose two and you can't choose to stay in Nihilum. Only children aged twelve to sixteen are allowed in Nihilum, as it is the group which removes all influences. This leaves you space to consider which group to choose. The four years are over faster than you'd like.
Concordia or Animus.
My sister, a year older than me, chose Aequalitas. My mother was of Aequalitan parentage, but chose to go to Concordia. My father's parents were Concordian, so he thought that was his chosen path. He met my mother and they lived together for several years. My sister and I were born. We thought we would be a happy family. My mother was kind, my father was loving.
However, it turned out equality wasn't for him. He was caught trying to sneak into an Aequalitan drill. His excuse was that the Concordian life was too boring for him. Instead of taking sympathy or trying to transfer this brash young man, the Aequalitan leader simply shot my father.
The punishment for trying to switch groups is death, if you're lucky. If they decide to be cruel, you can be stripped of all titles and abandoned, shunned by all groups. Nobody acts like you exist. Nobody can offer sympathy. It's a life of scavenging and living in the shadows. My mother had often told me that my father would have preferred death than exclusion.
A hand lands on my shoulder and startles me. I turn to see a woman holding a clipboard. She looks down at me.
“Riley Ainsworth?” she asks in a clipped tone. I nod slowly. She seizes my arm and pulls me to my feet roughly. Across the dining hall, I see about ten other people being treated the same. The woman began to wind her way back through the tables of chatting children and quiet teenagers.
“As you may know,” the woman is saying, “you turn sixteen tomorrow. To prepare for that, you must wear allocated clothing and have your hair made up in a certain way.”
We march down a narrow, dimly lit corridor. I trip over a rock. A boy behind me is complaining about something as he is dragged along by an intimidating man. The girl behind him is silent.
We are led to a room with three doors. The middle one opens and the woman ushers me inside. I catch a glimpse of the boy, going in the door to my left. He shoots the other girl a grin, and she smiles back.
The door slams shut and I hear it lock behind me with a loud grinding noise. A small ding echoes around the room when the noise stops.
This room is larger, with clean walls and white lanterns that cast a soft glow across the room. In the middle of the room is a large metal mirror, facing away from me. Close to the furthest corner is a tall, wide curtain. The woman emerges from behind it, holding a bundle of material. She thrusts it into my arms and tells me to change into it, to see how it fits.
