Echoes from the Depths

The air inside Helena's house felt heavier after her decision. Mira had been tense ever since she realized her daughter had signed up, while Selene maintained her enigmatic, almost indifferent demeanor, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

In the kitchen, Mira was chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. The sound of the knife against the cutting board echoed through the small house. Helena sat at the table, turning a cup of tea between her hands.

"So…" Helena began, casually. "Are you going to tell me about my father, or will you keep pretending he never existed?"

The question made Mira pause for a moment. She set the knife aside and sighed, looking directly at her daughter.

"You've never asked about him before."

"Because you always avoided the topic. And if I'm going to enter this crazy Process, I at least want to know where I come from."

Mira hesitated, as if carefully choosing her words.

"Your father was…" She paused, her eyes seeming lost in some distant memory. "Someone who shouldn't have been there. He was from the Second Caste."

Helena raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Second Caste? How did you meet him?"

Mira looked away, appearing uncomfortable.

"During the Process. He was undercover, working to… uncover things. I never knew exactly what."

"And did he know about you?" Helena asked, feeling a knot form in her throat.

Mira shook her head.

"He didn't. By the time I found out I was pregnant, he had already disappeared. They said he died, but…" She stopped again, her expression hardening. "There are too many things that don't make sense."

Helena was silent for a moment, processing the information.

"You never tried to find out more about him?"

"I couldn't. And neither can you," Mira said, looking straight at her. "The Process isn't just dangerous because of the tests. There are things it does to you. Things you don't realize."

Helena frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"I can't talk about it," Mira replied, her voice lower, almost a whisper.

Selene joined the conversation with her usual calm.

"There's no point in insisting, Helena. Some secrets can't be told."

Helena felt her frustration grow.

"This is ridiculous. You're acting as if you're afraid of something that doesn't even exist."

Mira gave a bitter smile.

"It exists. And one day, you'll understand."

Helena remained silent for a moment, thinking about what she had just heard. But another question crossed her mind.

"You've been through the Process," she began carefully. "Can't you give me any tips?"

Mira laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.

"If I could, don't you think I would have prepared you?"

"Then why can't you?" Helena insisted, frustrated. "What's the problem?"

Selene joined the conversation, appearing silently as she always did.

"There are things that can't be said, my dear," she said with an enigmatic smile. "Not because we don't want to, but because we can't."

Helena frowned.

"That doesn't make sense."

Selene chuckled.

"Not everything in the world makes sense, my granddaughter. What matters is knowing how to play the game."

------

Later, Helena left the house, needing fresh air. The streets of the Fifth Caste were bustling with people coming and going from their work in the fields and storage warehouses. Everything seemed the same, but now she saw things from a new perspective.

Near a wooden bridge spanning the subterranean river, she found Ethan. He was talking to two other youths, Ayla and Dorian, who worked with them.

"Helena!" Ethan called, waving with a wide smile. "I heard you've finally lost your mind."

"And signed your death sentence," Ayla added, her expression worried.

Helena leaned against the bridge's railing, crossing her arms.

"At least I'm doing something different. What about you? Planning to spend the rest of your lives harvesting vegetables?"

Dorian laughed.

"And what's wrong with a quiet life?"

"Quiet?" Helena retorted sarcastically. "Being underestimated by the system and living on the brink of starvation is what you call 'quiet'?"

Ayla sighed, looking away.

"My aunt tried once. She never came back. I don't know if she passed or…"

"Or if she was eliminated," Dorian finished, his tone unusually serious.

Ethan looked at Helena, his eyes studying her carefully.

"And you? Are you really ready for this?"

Helena smirked but didn't answer. Instead, she looked at the river flowing silently below them.

"You know they won't make it easy," Ayla said. "And it's not just about the tests. It's about who you are. If they don't like what they see, you'll never stand a chance."

"Good thing I'm good at hiding who I am," Helena replied, with irony.

"No one knows what happens afterward," Ethan said, his voice more serious. "That's what intrigues me the most. They disappear without leaving a trace."

Helena looked at him, intrigued.

"Doesn't that scare you?"

Ethan shrugged.

"It does. But it also makes me want to understand."

------

That night, Selene knocked softly on Helena's bedroom door.

"May I come in?" she asked, holding a small wooden box.

Helena nodded, sitting on her bed. Selene closed the door behind her and sat beside her granddaughter.

"I know your mother can be overly protective sometimes, but she has her reasons."

Selene opened the box and took out a small piece of metal engraved with intricate symbols. It was a rune, similar to the ones Helena had seen on the walls of some caves, but smaller and more refined. The design on the metal was intricate, almost shifting under the light. They resembled the ones scattered across the walls of the Caste.

"What's this?" Helena asked, curious.

"Something you'll come across someday," Selene replied. "The runes aren't just symbols. They hold power, even if no one fully understands how they work."

"Power? What kind of power?"

Selene smiled, an enigmatic smile.

"You'll see. Just remember, not everything that seems like freedom is truly freedom."

Helena held the small object, feeling a faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat.

"Do you know what happens to the candidates after they pass?"

Selene slowly shook her head.

"No. And to be honest, maybe it's better not to know."