One evening, as I was closing my notebook, a notification slid into view without the usual dramatic fanfare.
Institute Written Examination – Application Window Open
Tracks Available:
– Guardian Studies
– Fog Phenomenology & Research
– Combat Arts & Field Operations
– Engineering & Support Logistics
– Ambassador Studies & Delegation
[If you pick Combat, I will personally shut down,] the Archive said.
I stared at the list.
Guardian Studies: "No, My body would revolt at the first aid and evacuation course."
Combat Arts: "That was a fantasy that belonged to a different boy in a different body."
Engineering & Support: "Tempting, but not where my instincts pulled."
Fog Phenomenology & Research: "Interesting, but…I am not that kind of person"
Ambassador Studies & Delegation.
Diplomacy, Protocol, Negotiation between worlds, Understanding cultures well enough to stand in the gap when things tried to fall apart.
In my previous life, International Relations had been my secret favourite section in GS. Not because I liked reading about wars, but because I liked reading about the people who'd tried to stop them and almost, sometimes, succeeded.
"I'll be indoors more," I murmured. "Less dust, More sitting."
[You are choosing your track based on seating arrangements?], the Archive observed.
"And on the fact that I can already think like an underpaid bureaucrat," I said. "Seems… appropriate."
The cursor blinked next to Ambassador Studies & Delegation.
I clicked.
A new line appeared.
Selection Criteria:
– Written Examination (General Track – mandatory)
– Track Aptitude Section (Ambassadorial Focus)
– Interview with Panel (Institute + Guild Representatives)
My pulse stuttered, then steadied.
"So," I said softly. "Two papers and an interview between me and a bed that isn't falling apart."
[And medical facilities] the Archive added. [And stipends. And exposure to environments that will almost certainly try to kill you more creatively than your lungs ever did.]
"Motivating," I said dryly.
The application window folded inward, leaving behind a simple confirmation.
Application Recorded.
Countdown to Written Examination: 27 days.
Twenty-seven days.
I flipped open my notebook to the master schedule. The pages were already filled with color-coded blocks, arrows, and corrections. I pulled out a pen—the same model Rao's "surplus" kept producing—and began a new grid.
(Weeks left= four.)
(Days per week in library= Five.)
(Topics per day= two major, one minor.)
(Mock papers: as many as mysteriously appear.)
My hand stilled on the page for a moment.
Then I wrote, in the top corner, in small, stubborn letters:
When I pass.
Not if.
When.
Outside, the city hummed. Inside, the library lights dimmed slightly as the evening cycle began. Breath. Frame. Release.
Six months ago, those three words had been a struggle.
Now, they were just how I existed.
"Let's write our own answer key, then," I whispered.
The Archive said nothing.
For once, it didn't need to.
And just like that, the days went by.