Whenever one of us turns twelve, they take us away from our parents. Apparently, it’s a tradition that was started eons ago. Nobody remembers why or how it started. It’s not important any more. What’s important is the choice we are given.
There are only two options. We can drink from the crystal chalice and be reunited with our families, or we can be banished into the wastelands to drift along the fringe of society forever. My big brother made no hesitation when his time came to drink from the chalice. He returned home promptly the next day. He never looked better. His eyes were brighter, his skin was no longer pale or pallid, and he’d developed extraordinary strength which he used to help my father around the farm. Later, he got a job in the factory, making components, just like everybody else’s big brothers.
I often think about drifters. I’ve never seen one in person before. Rumor has it they are not a pretty sight – covered in boils and hives and wasting away to nothing. Drifters are dangerous. I’ve been told that every day of my life. Once, I’d asked why they had to leave. Why couldn’t they stay with us? Surely they could be of some use. Maybe they could work the fields, or drive monsters away?
My mother nearly exploded with anger after I asked. How did such a question ever rise in my mind? Of course they had to leave. They were given the option to stay with their families and be useful, but for whatever reason, they'd denied it.
But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if there really is something better outside the city gates. My birthday is soon. Of course, I plan on drinking from the chalice. But what if I don’t? There’s gotta be something else out there on the other side of the gate. Else, why would anybody choose to leave?
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