The Collector did not hesitate.

He drew the sleek handgun from his side with the casual ease of a man brushing lint from his sleeve and fired.

The shot echoed sharply across the square.

The old woman collapsed where she knelt.

Dead.

A thin ribbon of smoke curled from the barrel of the gun—and another from the wound in her head. The scent of burnt metal and blood mingled with the ever-present coal dust in the air.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to pause.

"Damaging my attire," the Collector muttered, holstering the weapon as though he had merely corrected a minor inconvenience.

No one screamed.

No one rushed forward.

No one even dared to breathe too loudly.

The only sound left was the low mechanical hum of the portable cooling units releasing cold air for the comfort of the man who had just executed their spokesperson.

Tansy’s vision blurred.

Her fingers dug into her mother’s sleeve so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her mother did not move. No one did.

Grief rose in Tansy’s chest like a tidal wave—but beneath the grief, beneath the fear, something darker and hotter ignited.

Anger.

It coiled quietly inside her ribs, tightening, waiting.

She lowered her head so the guards would not see her eyes.

The Collector stepped forward, addressing the crowd as though delivering a speech at a formal banquet.

"I am a reasonable man," he declared, spreading his arms slightly. "When I return next month, I expect twice today’s amount."

The words struck harder than the gunshot.

Twice.

Many of the miners had already worked beyond exhaustion just to meet this month’s quota. Shoulders slumped. Faces drained of what little color they possessed.

"If you cannot provide it," he continued coolly, nudging the old woman’s body aside with the toe of his polished shoe, "then bring your children. Or useless elders like this one. Send them into the mines as well. Make sure their value is not wasted."

A murmur passed through the crowd—soft, strangled, filled with disbelief and horror.

Children clutched their parents. Parents tightened their grips.

The Collector’s smile widened faintly.

"But," he added in a tone that mimicked generosity, "if there are infected among your miners, I may reduce the required ore accordingly. I am not without mercy."

He allowed the implication to hang in the air.

He turned away before anyone could speak.

The coins sewn into his garment clinked musically with each step as he returned to the heli-carrier. The red-armored guards fell in behind him, rifles held at precise angles.

Moments later, the engines roared again.

The massive craft lifted into the air, blasting dust and loose cinders outward in a violent wave before ascending into the sky.

When the heli-carrier finally disappeared beyond the gray horizon, Sector 11 remained frozen.

The old woman’s body lay in the center of the square.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Tansy’s tears slid silently down her face, but the anger inside her no longer flickered.

It burned steadily.

—

Back on the rooftop, far from the square but not far enough to escape its weight, Tyler leaned against the chimney and stared toward the sky where the heli-carrier had vanished.

He replayed Rose’s earlier words in his mind.

"Infected..." he said slowly. "You mean infected by disease?"

Rose hugged her knees tighter, her chin resting against them.

"Yes... but not just any disease," she said in a lowered voice. "The miners catch something in the Carbonyx tunnels. At first it seems small. Coughing. Skin irritation. They think it’s just dust."

She swallowed.

"Then their veins start turning dark. Almost black. The skin stiffens. After that..." She hesitated.

Tyler’s voice softened. "After that?"

"They begin turning into ore," Rose whispered. "Little by little. Their skin hardens. Cracks form along their arms and neck. Sometimes small shards of Carbonyx grow from their shoulders or fingers."

Tyler’s gaze sharpened.

"A mineralization disease," he murmured.

Rose nodded.

"The Capital calls it contamination. They say it spreads. They say it’s dangerous. When they find someone infected, they take them away immediately. They claim it’s for treatment."

Her hands tightened against her knees.

"But no one ever comes back."

The fear in her voice was not only of illness—it was of disappearance.

Tyler understood too well.

"They don’t treat them," he said quietly. "They harvest them."

Rose did not answer immediately.

Her silence confirmed it.

After a moment, she asked in a smaller voice, "Do you think they kill them?"

Tyler stared out over the soot-dark rooftops.

"If turning into ore is profitable," he said carefully, "then killing them would be inefficient."

Rose looked up at him, confusion mixing with dread.

"They would let the transformation continue," he finished. "Until nothing human remains."

The wind moved faintly across the rooftop.

Far below, the square would soon be cleaned. The old woman’s body would be removed. By tomorrow, it would be as though nothing had happened.

Except it had.

Tyler closed his eyes briefly.

This Trial was not about monsters in forests or demonic cultivators.

It was about systems built on suffering.

And somewhere within Sector 11, something far more dangerous than disease was spreading.

Rose didn’t answer, but the silence confirmed it.

Then something seemed to click in her mind. She looked at him more carefully, her gaze shifting from his face to his posture, his movements, his unfamiliar presence in their sector.

"Are you infected?" she asked suddenly.

Tyler blinked. "What? No."

"That’s why you’re hiding, right?" she pressed. "You’re new. You don’t remember anything. Maybe you escaped before they could take you."

"What? No, no—" Tyler said quickly, raising both hands.

Rose stood up abruptly.

"I don’t believe you," she declared, her tone unexpectedly firm. "If you’re infected, you can’t stay near us."

Before Tyler could react, she stepped forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"Hey—what are you doing?"

"Remove your clothes," she said sternly. "I need to check."

Tyler stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"If you’re infected, there will be signs. Dark veins. Cracks. Ore growth," she insisted. "Get naked."

She began tugging at his shirt.

Tyler immediately grabbed the hem tightly with both hands. "Absolutely not."

Rose frowned and changed tactics, suddenly grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling with surprising force.

"Wait—!"

Tear.

The fabric split loudly.

Tyler froze as the seam gave way, leaving his pants partially torn.

For a split second, both of them stared at the damage in silence.

"What is happening here?"

The voice came from behind them.

Both heads snapped toward the edge of the rooftop.

Tansy stood there, breathing slightly hard from climbing back up, her eyes taking in the scene before her—her younger sister gripping a torn piece of Tyler’s pants, and Tyler holding his shirt desperately in place.

The air turned dangerously still.

Rose slowly looked down at the fabric in her hands.

Tyler blinked once.

Tansy’s expression darkened.

"Care to explain?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm.