morning hours

Irelion didn't go into detail, but he did mention something about accomplishments and fears. Goodness and terror. Rewards and punishment. 

That, he said, is the foundation of all kinds of power. The foundation for getting a Divine Title. And Henry? Well, he chose to go down the most straightforward route: creating his own cult.

Kind of like how a false prophet shows up in a desperate, rundown settlement or a trickster shows off to people with primitive technology. 

Henry and his friends seem to perform miracles with their Sinners, making people submit to them, even worshipping him like some kind of holy figure from the heavens.

With that power, Henry established a solid hierarchy. The ones he favored got to enjoy privileges and a more prosperous life. His word became the law, dictating every aspect of life here.

Take Chievo for example—he's part of the Emergency Squad, which is made up of young guys with nothing better to do, supposedly there to 'protect the village.'

Sounds noble, right? Yeah, no. They're really just a bunch of teenagers who enjoy bullying people.

Case in point: Henry implemented a Curfew and Morning Hours system. It starts at 5 a.m. and ends at 5 p.m. Morning Hours are for working, and Curfew is supposedly when everyone should rest.

On the surface, it seems like a decent rule. Henry comes off like he cares about balancing work and life.

But it's all a sham.

The so-called Curfew is just a way for the Emergency Squad to make some extra cash. They fine villagers who break the rule, promising to go easier on them than Henry would.

Henry probably knows about all this but chooses to turn a blind eye. After all, the more the Squad is feared, the more power he has.

And the Morning Hours? Total exploitation.

Every able-bodied man between 12 and 55 is forced to work the fields—planting, tending, and harvesting crops.

As for the prettier women? They're summoned to the Village Hall or the Squad's houses to do more 'important' work, 'servicing' the heavenly officials.

The older and less attractive women are tasked with sewing, cleaning, or cooking. Their work is then distributed evenly to the men.

I'm no exception. I get woken up at the crack of dawn by the blare of a trumpet-like sound right in my ear.

And to top it off, my face gets a splash of water, soaking my clothes.

Chievo tosses a torn-up brown shirt at me. It's dirty and ragged.

"Time to work, you lazy slob. Change into this and follow me."

I reluctantly change, right there, and follow Chievo to a building a few kilometers away, next to an old gate with barely any of the writing left on it.

The building is half-finished, and a few workers are already there.

"Put this on," Chievo orders, tossing me a gray necklace that looks like a chain. "Don't ever take it off!" he adds, threateningly.

I snort and nod. It's pretty ironic how he talks about the kids were corrupted while he's neck-deep in it himself.

So, this is my life now—working construction for who knows how long. Honestly, it's better than I expected when Chievo mentioned me being a slave.

I started my career not far off from this, anyway. Back when I was waiting for my graduation results, I ran out of money for rent and couldn't find any side jobs. My parents couldn't help, either.

A friend offered me a gig helping build his new house in Hudson Valley. The pay was decent, $20 an hour, better than any other side job I'd had before. Plus, there was free food.

So, thanks to that experience, I wasn't too nervous. I lifted heavy tools, mixed concrete, and dug ditches.

As exhausting as it was, it still beat sitting in an air-conditioned office, staring at a computer for eight hours straight.

Before I knew it, it was noon. The Emergency Squad overseeing us told us to take a break.

"Thirty minutes, no more. If anyone's still eating after that, you're all getting punished."

The food line was long, with workers from other sectors piling in, and it was starting to get stuffy.

When it was finally my turn, I stared at my portion. "Is this it?"

I pointed to a small bowl of porridge, a thin soup with one piece of squash, and a rock-hard piece of bread.

"We're rationing. Take it or leave it. Plenty more people behind you still wating."

I sighed and left the line.

I take it back—this isn't an 18th-century European village. This is a dystopian hellhole.

I decided to eat at the construction site. It's about five minutes away from the line, and I wasn't in a rush to scarf down my meager meal.

Thankfully, the food came in disposable plastic containers, so cleanup was easy.

The other workers were already gathered there, laughing and joking around.

But when I showed up, they immediately went quiet and looked away.

I tried to greet them. "Hey." But instead, they stood up and scattered, like I was carrying some highly contagious disease.

Yeah, that hurt a bit.

At least one guy stayed. He was an old man, with white hair and only one arm. He had to set his bowl on the ground to be able to feed himself.

"Don't mind them. They just don't want to get involved in someone else's problems," the old man said.

"Problems?" Was he talking about me?

"Your necklace," the old man explained. "You must be new here, so it's understandable you wouldn't know. That's a slave's symbol. And slaves are always associated with those Emergency Squad jerks. No one wants to get tangled up with the Squad and end up dead."

I sat down next to the old man and took a bite of my bread. It was so hard my teeth hurt.

"So, why haven't you run? Aren't you afraid of dying?"

The old man let out a hearty laugh, revealing his broken, rotting teeth. "Why do I'm afraid anyway ? I'm old and down an arm. Sooner or later, I'm a goner anyway. With or without you, I know my time's up. Maybe next year, maybe next month, maybe in a few days… heck, maybe even tomorrow."

Just as he said that, I heard footsteps approaching.

I looked up to see Chievo and one other Squad member walking toward us.

"Or maybe even today," the old man muttered, lowering his voice as Chievo and his friend stopped in front of us.