Chapter 2: The Dilemma

The second part of the Test took place in the courtyard. It looked normal enough—just a broad expanse of dirt and grass, a few benches scattered around the edges. But Zeke knew better. Everything in this space was designed to measure them. Every word they said, every movement, would be judged.

The Councilwomen sat behind a long glass window overlooking the yard. Their faces were shadowed by the sun, but Zeke could feel their presence. Watching. Judging. Although they would not say it, the test had already begun. 

Zeke stood with the other boys in a loose circle, the silence heavy. Next to him, Elias crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. It was strange being here with him. They hadn’t spoken much since the written part of the Test yesterday. Elias had always been sharp—too sharp sometimes. Zeke couldn’t shake the feeling that this part of the Test would reveal just how sharp.

An official stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “You will be given a situation to discuss amongst the group and come to a conclusion. This is not a test of knowledge but one of instinct and understanding. You will work together to make a decision.”

Zeke’s heart pounded, his mind already racing. The official didn’t need to explain further. He knew what was coming. Moral dilemmas. Tricky ones that had no clear right or wrong answer.

The official continued, “Your response to this scenario will be observed, and your actions will be scored accordingly.”

Zeke glanced at Elias, whose eyes narrowed at the word scored. Elias never liked being measured. He was the kind of person who wanted to write his own rules.

The official held up a thin tablet. “Here is your scenario.”

The boys leaned in slightly, attention focused.

“There are two people trapped in a burning building,” the official read aloud. “One is a child, the other is an elderly woman. You can only save one. The child is a known troublemaker with a history of violence. The elderly woman is kind, a community leader. Who do you save?”

Zeke’s stomach twisted. The question was designed to dig deep, to force them to confront their own values. Save the child—the future, no matter how broken? Or save the woman—the past, filled with wisdom but nearing the end?

The silence stretched. No one spoke at first, all of them wary, sensing the weight of each possible answer. Zeke felt his thoughts spinning, but he knew hesitation would be counted against them.

Elias broke the silence, his voice sharp. “You save the child. Obviously.”

Heads turned. Elias didn’t flinch under their stares. He took a step forward, his tone confident. “The woman’s old. She’s done what she needed to do. The kid, though… he’s got time. Maybe he’s violent now, but people change. He can change.”

Zeke felt a tug of discomfort at Elias’s certainty. The words sounded right, but something about them felt… too clean. Too easy.

“Are you sure about that?” one of the other boys asked, doubt creeping into his voice. “What if the kid doesn’t change? What if he just keeps hurting people?”

Elias shrugged. “Then it’s still the right call. You don’t throw away a life because it’s hard. The future’s what matters, not the past.”

Zeke studied Elias’s face. The way he spoke—cold, calculating—it made the choice sound logical, but also wrong. Zeke glanced at the Councilwomen behind the glass. Were they watching Elias more closely now? He couldn’t tell.

One of the boys, Lukas, spoke up. “The elderly woman helps people now. The kid might never help anyone.”

Elias glared at him. “So you’d let a kid burn to save some old lady who’s lived her life?”

Zeke looked down, the question gnawing at him. Elias’s approach left no room for doubt, but it felt harsh, devoid of compassion. Was that what the Council wanted? Or did they want something more?

He took a breath, stepping into the conversation, careful with his words. “It’s not about throwing away lives. It’s about understanding what’s happening in the moment. The child may be violent, but the woman’s impact on the community—her kindness, her leadership—matters too. Saving someone who’s already helping others isn’t a waste.”

Elias’s eyes flickered with something Zeke couldn’t place. “You sound like you’re making excuses. What if the future needs saving?”

“The future isn’t just the child,” Zeke said, his voice quiet but steady. “It’s the community. The woman is part of that future.”

The boys around them nodded, their faces shifting from uncertainty to agreement. Zeke felt the tide turning. Elias noticed too. He clenched his jaw.

Elias opened his mouth to argue further, but one of the officials stepped forward, signaling that their time was up.

Zeke’s heart pounded. Did he say the right thing? He wasn’t sure. But he had to trust his instincts — something about Elias’s answer had felt off, as if he wasn’t really seeing the people involved, only the outcome he wanted.

The official gathered them with a wave. “The Council will review your responses. Results will be announced tomorrow.”

Zeke let out a breath. He glanced at Elias, who was scowling, arms crossed tighter than before. Elias didn’t like being questioned, didn’t like losing the room. And in that moment, Zeke knew—Elias’s failure wouldn’t be about his logic. It would be about his lack of empathy.

The sun cast long shadows as the boys were dismissed. Zeke’s mind buzzed with the tension of what had just happened. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this test had revealed something more than just right or wrong answers.

Elias brushed past him, his expression tight, like a mask stretched too thin. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Zeke met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “It’s not about being clever. It’s about doing what’s right.”

Elias’s eyes darkened. “We’ll see what the Council thinks about that.” Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps sharp against the ground.

Zeke stood there, the weight of the day pressing on him. Tomorrow, they would know who had passed. But the real test, he realized, was still unfolding.