3 The Skyward Fortress

Clouds covered the top tower of the tall, pyramid-shaped building, which rose amidst the mist, its origin indiscernible. It looked centuries old. At the tower's peak was a clock with only one needle, pointing straight up. A bell rang from the large clock.

Inside the triangular-shaped building, long hallways stretched endlessly, lined with countless rooms, each with a circular red door. None had a doorknob. In front of each room, mirrors reflected the sunlight filtering through the holes in the high ceiling. From afar, the rooms looked identical, but up close, tiny details set them apart—an eye carved into one door, a squirrel on another, a butterfly on the next, a snake on another. Each symbol held a meaning beyond human comprehension. The personalities of those within the rooms varied, though the purpose of the place remained unknown.

The dark grey walls echoed with horrifying screams from some rooms—screams so chilling they made one instinctively cover their ears. Perhaps this was a prison, a place for condemned souls who had committed the unforgivable. But what is beyond evil? Betrayal? Murder? Incest? Everything here was measured in death.

A long chart hung in the center of the hall, constantly updating with names and numbers. A fire-shaped graph filled its surface, its colors shifting from white to grey to black, then orange, and finally red—the highest level. It measured cruelty. White meant peace; those souls did not belong here and were sent to an unknown realm. Only those who had reached the orange level and beyond were confined to this place. The chart did not reveal their crimes—only their names. The rooms were filling fast. Today's soul trials had begun.

The grey walls were inscribed with ancient carvings, their language understood only by the first men. They spoke of the immortality of souls, the afterlife, punishments, and realms of judgment. The walls bore intricate carvings of mythical birds and faces of people long forgotten.

At the end of the hallway, a massive door stood on the right. It was larger than any other in the fortress. Engraved upon it was the figure of a woman holding a bitten apple. Beyond this door lay the grandest chamber in the entire structure.

The door was locked from within. The floor inside was covered in thick, white clouds. The ceiling was made of marble, adorned with ancient paintings of the first men, all dressed in soft blue and red garments. The walls were lined with trailing plants, their bright flowers swaying gently in the cold morning breeze.

A chandelier of mismatched colors hung from the ceiling—out of place, like an anomaly in this solemn room. Behind the central table, a steaming pool bubbled, its surface thick with rising mist. Flesh burned within it, still smoldering—a grim testament to the souls who had perished here before. Perhaps those who committed the most extreme sins were sent straight to this place, bypassing all other judgment.

Yet, there was something truly unsettling about this chamber. It lacked shadows.

A shadow is merely a creation of light, an illusion shaped by brightness itself. At night, shadows do not exist—do you know why? Darkness does not cast them; it simply consumes everything. Night is pure darkness, and darkness does not need shadows—it is already complete. But in the daytime, shadows serve as a reminder that evil is never far, lurking just beyond the light.

Here, there was light, yet no shadows.

Perhaps this place itself was a shadow.

Pure evil.

Sunlight streamed through the large window on the north side, illuminating Cassandra's face. Her expression was bright and peaceful. She was in a deep sleep, lying on the fluffy clouds.

Beside her, to the left, stood an elevator. Even in the silence of sleep, she could hear a hymn rising from the depths of the clouds above, sung by a choir. Who was singing? She could never know, but in this building of emptiness and nothingness, she found comfort in that voice.

The fortress felt different to her. The only thing that made her feel connected to it was the colorful chandelier, which stood out—odd, like her. A large wooden table faced the big window, surrounded by colorful candles and white roses, seemingly dedicated to her. She had been invited here for a task, and that made her special. Only those who had committed unforgivable sins came here, but she was different—a good soul among the many evil forces locked in a heavenly room, built for her, waiting for her arrival. The room had everything to do with her past and future.

"Nooooooo!"

Ethan's voice echoed through the entire room.

He landed behind her, falling from the ceiling and appearing out of nowhere with a thud near her. The clouds softened his landing, so he felt no pain. The sound woke Cassie.

"Someone pushed me," he whispered, looking up to inspect the ceiling. But there was no sign of anything—only the paintings above. The sight made him question everything. Strange things were happening to him, things no normal person would experience. This was not an ordinary place. It was not human-made. The aura was spiritual. Why was he being dragged into this world? Cassie seemed to understand better. She even looked older than him, which only added to his confusion.

Cassandra rubbed her eyes and glanced around. She spotted the chandelier and the paintings but had no time to inspect further because the elevator doors suddenly opened.

They hadn't expected that.

Masked men in black suits entered the hall and surrounded them, followed by a man who seemed to be their leader. He carried a set of cards in his hands. He was tall, with piercing red eyes—eyes that could strike fear into anyone.

He looked ethereal and ancient, as if he belonged to a time long forgotten.

The other men stood in a circle around them, hands folded behind their backs, waiting for their master's words. Ethan and Cassandra didn't understand a thing.

Instinctively, they moved closer together and clung to each other in fear. But then, Cassie noticed something—these weren't just men. Some were women, their hair cropped short, making it hard to distinguish at first. They all wore a mask that resembled a crow. No, it wasn't a crow… it only looked similar. She had never seen a bird like that before.

The leader stood before them, shuffling the cards in his hands. Cassandra noticed that they were filled with drawings of people—souls, perhaps, that he was about to play with today. Then, he pulled out one card. This one was different. It didn't have a person's drawing. Instead, it showed a snake slithering over an apple.

His gaze settled on them with a fatherly air, yet his presence was dangerous. He was old, but there was something about him that drew people in. Some people are lured into committing sins. If they lack the strength to resist, they fall into a trap they can never escape—just like the souls in the pool within the room.

"Get up, children!"

It was more of an order than a request. They didn't even think—they simply obeyed, untangling from each other and standing before him.

He inspected them with dark, probing eyes, drawing in their worst memories, their past lives. It felt as if their very flesh was being pulled toward him. Then, he grunted.

"You smell," he said.

The people surrounding him laughed in unison, as if they had been programmed to do so. It was rhythmic, mechanical.

Cassandra and Ethan exchanged nervous, embarrassed glances. The whole situation felt like being cornered by high school bullies.

"Freshen up."

The laughter died, and silence filled the room once more.

He looked into their eyes, and this time, they both made eye contact—only to quickly lower their gaze again. They instinctively stood with a slight bow, showing him respect, afraid that even the smallest sign of neglect would anger him. Little did they know, he had no emotions to be offended in the first place.

"The game will begin when you are ready," he said.

With that, he turned and left, his followers moving in perfect unison as they exited through the same elevator.

Ethan and Cassandra collapsed onto the floor, still in shock.

What just happened?

He had come with that many people… just to tell them that? To intimidate two harmless children?

For the first time, they truly looked around the room. Cassandra noticed something—on the ceiling, big, unblinking eyes were staring down at them.

"Looks like cameras," she whispered.

Ethan, overwhelmed, remained silent. His eyes scanned the room.

"I think there's a note among the flowers. Near the pink candle. On the table, Cassie..."

He pointed, and they walked toward it.

Carefully, they untied the knot and unfolded the letter. Together, they began to read, Ethan holding it in his trembling hands.

---

Dear Cassandra and Ethan,

Welcome to the House of Shadowed! You've just met me and my housemates. Pinky will show you where the bathhouse is. Food will be provided after the task. See you soon.

P.S.: Say "Pink" to call Pinky, the official steambearer of the House of Shadowed.

With love,

The Head of the Shadowed

Skyward Fortress

---

They read it again, trying to make sense of it. Then, they looked at each other.

None of it made any sense.

Cassandra had imagined something entirely different. This felt ridiculous. The way the letter was worded—casual, almost silly—was completely at odds with the ominous atmosphere.

"House of Shadowed? Shadowed Order? Skyward Fortress? Steambearer?" she muttered.

"You know what? This is a setup. Don't fall for it, Cassie. This is next-level Squid Game. They kidnapped us. Those people are..."

He struggled to find the right word but couldn't. He was shaking. Deep down, he knew something was horribly wrong.

He was going to die.

But Cassandra knew the truth.

They were already dead.

"Look! This is a million-dollar setup."

Ethan tried to touch the clouds beneath them, but his fingers passed right through.

"How can they make it so real?" He tried again and again, as if determined to prove it was an illusion.

Cassandra stood there in silence.

Understanding the afterlife was not simple. It was beyond anything they had ever experienced in life.

And everyone here seemed... programmed.

Like robots without emotions.

( To be continued)