Chapter 2

Brielle closed her father's notes and sighed. She couldn't stay here if she wanted to. She'd be dragged back to her master, wide-eyed and guilty, and never hear the end of it. It wasn't her house now. She didn't belong here. She was no one.

The story of the war was also inconsequential. It was The Offering everyone was celebrating.

A loud siren cut through her thoughts; a long, piercing wail that chattered Brielle's bones. It went on for five bursts, then stopped. Brielle jolted from the sofa and stole a look at the window. It was dark.

"Oh crap," she muttered. The announcement would begin in a short while. The master was expecting her to be there by his side.

She bolted towards the door, dropping the notes on the floor. Brielle glanced at them over her shoulders. The papers were scattered, messy, and some of them had slid under the table. If her father was here, he'd be upset. Knots formed on her forehead. He wasn't, was he? She could only rely on herself. Brielle stepped through the door and promised to come back another time to fix things.

Outside, dozens of people formed a slow procession. Most of them were holding glowing candles that twinkled against the darkness, the only sources of light. The streetlamps had been turned off, and those who didn't have candles with them were either blind because of the blackness, or blind to other people's eyes. They worked in Brielle's favor. She'd forgotten the shawl inside the house, didn't have time to go back for it.

Under the cover of the night, they wouldn't see her shockingly pale skin or white chest-length hair. They wouldn't notice the purple eyes that was meant only for albino's like her. Brielle's father wasn't one, but her mother was. She got the genes from her. Sticking to the shadows, she made her way with the throngs of people to the city square. They were all headed to the same direction.

"Who will be there, momma?"

Brielle didn't see who spoke, but from the pitch of the voice, it was a child of around eight to ten, about the same age that she was taken from her home to her master's servitude.

"The president," an adult replied. "Her son too. Do you remember his name?"

"Vincent," the child said.

"Smart boy. Vincent can be our next president. Always remember his name."

Brielle had a sickening clench on her stomach. The talk between mother and child was making her nauseous. Stepping further back, she slipped through another alley and took different route. The crowd was bigger, and if possible, more restless than the one she'd left. Nonetheless, she was glad that she was with her people, the slaves. They were all wearing their hand-me-down clothes, whispering to each other as they walked.

The air was humid and heavy. The more they get closer to the city square, the higher number of people joined the parade. It didn't help that the building surrounding them seemed to close in, like big mountains her father described in his notes. Brielle wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She must have looked weary, sweaty, and dirty from the soot of the house. Her master would scold her.

Not too far ahead, the buildings paved way for the square. Brielle was awed by the sight. It wasn't the hundreds of individuals milling about, nor the sheer amount of gold, silver, and diamonds flaunted on some people's necks and wrists. The skyscrapers on the backdrop, impressive as they were, held of no interest to her too. She wasn't impressed by all of those.

What Brielle was focused on were the guests. Representatives from the other 21 countries, coming there to celebrate with them. She pushed through the crowd to see better. There were ten representatives for each group, wearing colorful clothes with fabrics and designs that Brielle had only seen today. Her father's notes didn't have any information on them. She was thrilled to have the opportunity to witness them herself.

People from other countries didn't venture there often. They tend to stick to their roots, culminating and improving, instead of roaming around. They said that the only time they go to each other's place was when The Offering was near, and it only happened every one-hundred years.

Brielle felt lucky. She wasn't too old that her eyes were blurry for the spectacle. She wasn't too young that the memory of it would be gone by the time she was bigger. Her age was at a ripe 18. She would go on and on about this day to her descendants.

Brielle wanted to peer at the guests closely, to touch their strange skin and their flashy clothes. She wanted to hear them speak. What did they talk about in their Sectors? Did they have buildings as high as the sky too? Did they use trains and cars for transportations? Was there a huge wilderness outside their city gates? Was it true that they sing like angels? And how about the slaves? Where there any?

Brielle wanted to kick herself. Slaves were required by the law of the New World. Everyone had them.

She thought of a lot of things that she normally wouldn't have yearned for, but a loud bang, an explosion on her ear, sounded before she could make those a reality.

Bang. Boom. Bang.

Her heart would jump every time the stick slapped on the drumhead.

Boom. Bang. Bang.

The crowd pushed behind her. The announcement was going to start, and she was nowhere near her master. Brielle searched desperately for him. He had a bit of a temper whenever he was embarrassed, and nothing shamed him more than being seen without his slave. He'd be fuming.

Boom. Boom. Clang. Drum sounds with a mix of cymbals. Clang. Clang. Bang.

Brielle was sticky and sweaty now. Bodies were pressing against her, and she hasn't caught sight of master yet.

Tug-tug-tug.

Brielle looked at the sky and groaned. She would surely get punished for this.