Chapter 3 The Rules

Eiran sat on the edge of his bed, his feet touching the cold floor. His room was not small, but not big either. It was just enough. The bed was simple, with clean white sheets. In the corner, there was a small wardrobe filled with clothes—only enough for a week. Everything was neat. Everything looked prepared for him.

On the wall in front of the bed, a mirror hung slightly tilted, as if it was never fixed properly. Eiran looked at his reflection. The face staring back at him felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else. He stared for a moment, trying to feel something, but nothing came.

Beside the mirror, a sheet of paper was stuck to the wall. He had already read it. The rules of the Home. Short sentences. Clear commands. Words that did not invite questions. Even so, the paper still felt heavy, as if it was watching him instead of the other way around.

Eiran leaned back and lay down on the bed. He stared at the white ceiling above him, then slowly shifted his gaze to the walls. Everything in this room was complete. Everything was provided. Yet, for reasons he could not explain, a cold feeling settled deep inside his chest, refusing to leave.

A soft knock came from the door across the room.

Knock. Knock.

Eiran slowly turned his head toward the sound. The hallway was quiet, too quiet. Then a small, hesitant voice spoke.

“Um… hello?”

It was a girl’s voice. She sounded shy, almost nervous.

“I—I’m from the room across,” she continued. “Are you awake?”

Eiran sat up. She did not say his name. Maybe she didn’t know it. That thought made him feel a little less alone.

“Yes,” Eiran answered quietly.

There was a short pause, then a soft breath, as if she was gathering courage.

“That’s good,” the girl said. “Mom said we should get ready soon. I just wanted to tell you.”

Her voice lowered, almost a whisper.

“And… um… maybe we can walk together?”

Eiran looked at the white door in front of him. He imagined a girl standing on the other side, shifting her weight, waiting for an answer.

“Okay,” he said after a moment.

The girl let out a small, relieved laugh.

“Okay,” she repeated. “I’ll wait.”

Her footsteps moved away, light and quick. The hallway fell silent again, but this time it felt different. Not empty—just waiting.

Eiran stood up slowly.

For the first time since waking up in Home, he felt that he might not be alone here.

Eiran changed his clothes in silence. The fabric felt clean, almost too clean. When he opened the door, a soft melody filled the hallway.

It was beautiful—but different from before.

The girl stood there, her hands clasped in front of her.

“That’s the dinner bell,” she said gently.

Eiran looked at her and nodded. He understood her words, but the meaning still felt strange. A bell for dinner. A song instead of a sound. He did not know why, but it made his chest feel tight.

They began to walk down the hallway.

Eiran followed the white corridor with his eyes. Doors opened one by one. Some children stepped out of their rooms, quiet and obedient. Others came from a wide room filled with toys and soft mats—the playroom.

No one spoke much.

Their footsteps moved in the same direction, drawn by the melody, toward the dining hall. The walls remained white, endless and clean, as if they were watching.

Eiran walked among them, trying to understand.

This place felt organized. Kind. Almost gentle.

And somehow, that made him uneasy.

Eiran walked beside the girl, matching her slow steps.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The girl stopped.

She looked down at the floor, her fingers tightening around the edge of her sleeve. For a moment, she did not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was very small.

“I… don’t remember.”

Eiran blinked.

The girl lifted her head slightly. “Mom gave me one,” she said. “She calls me Kate.”

Kate frowned slightly, as if the name sat strangely on her tongue.

“She said most of us don’t remember anything,” Kate continued. “That it’s normal.”

Her eyes moved to the white walls around them.

“And… someone who can remember things is rare.”

Eiran slowed his steps, but he kept walking. The word stayed in his mind, repeating itself. Rare. He did not know what it meant for him, or why his chest felt tight when she said it.

Kate looked at him again, as if waiting for something—an answer, maybe. But Eiran said nothing. The hallway stretched ahead of them, and the dinner melody grew louder, pulling them forward.

They walked on, side by side, while thoughts they did not understand yet quietly followed behind.

They sat at a long dining table, where rows of children filled every seat. The table seemed endless, stretching from one side of the room to the other.

Eiran sat beside Kate.

In front of them was a bowl of soup. Inside were pieces of corn, potatoes, carrots, and a few chunks of meat. The smell rose softly into the air—warm and inviting. For a moment, Eiran felt his stomach respond.

Beside the bowl stood a large glass of plain water.

It was too full.

Just looking at it made Eiran feel slightly sick. The glass was tall, clear, and heavy with water, as if it demanded to be finished. He tried to imagine drinking all of it, his throat tightening at the thought.

Around them, the children sat quietly, hands close to their bowls, waiting.

No one had started eating yet.

Mom sat at the front of the room, at a special table facing all of them. Her seat was slightly higher, making it easy for her to see every child at once.

She smiled warmly.

“Good evening, my children,” Mom said. Her voice was soft, almost comforting. “I hope you’re all hungry tonight.”

Some children nodded. Others stayed still.

“This dinner was prepared just for you,” Mom continued. “Every bowl, every glass. Your bodies need strength to grow.”

Her eyes moved slowly across the long table.

“Please finish everything,” she said gently. “No food. No water left behind.”

The smile never left her face.

Eiran looked down at his soup, then at the full glass of water beside it. The melody had stopped, and the room was quiet now, waiting.

Mom clasped her hands together.

“You may begin.”

The room was silent as everyone began to eat. Spoons moved slowly. No one spoke. Eiran ate quietly, trying not to make any sound.

The silence did not last long.

A sudden cry broke the room.

A small child had spilled their soup. It soaked their clothes, dripping onto the floor. The child began to cry, shaking and apologizing over and over again.

Mom’s smile disappeared.

Her eyes changed.

She clapped her hands once.

The sound was sharp.

A man in white clothes entered the room. He walked straight to the crying child, lifted them without a word, and carried them away. The door closed behind them.

Eiran did not know where the child was taken.

Kate leaned closer to Eiran and whispered through her teeth, her voice tight.

“Finish your food. Quickly. Don’t leave anything.”

She swallowed hard.

“And be careful,” she added. “Or they will drag you away like him.”

Eiran’s spoon trembled slightly as he lifted it again.

Mom stood slowly from her chair. Her smile returned, calm and gentle, as if nothing had happened.

“Remember,” she said softly, her voice reaching every corner of the room,

“what are our rules?”

No one answered.

Mom tilted her head slightly, still smiling.

“Rule one,” she said. “Always finish what is given to you. Food, water, tasks—everything.”

She lifted a finger.

“Rule two. Stay clean. Stay careful. Accidents mean carelessness.”

Another finger.

“Rule three. Do not question. Do not resist. Trust me.”

Her eyes moved across the table, stopping briefly at the empty chair.

“And rule four,” Mom added quietly, “obedience keeps you safe.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Eiran lowered his head and forced himself to drink the water. It burned his throat as it went down. Around him, spoons scraped bowls, glasses slowly emptied.

No one cried again.

By the time the dinner ended, every bowl was clean.

Every glass was empty.

And one seat remained vacant.

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