Meeting with the Agent (1)
Once Fenix had finished changing into the tracksuit they had given him, he took a brief moment to examine himself.
It was nothing extraordinary—a simple navy blue tracksuit with a white stripe running down the sides of the pants. The jacket matched the design, featuring a zipper that allowed it to be worn open or closed.
It was comfortable but plain—the kind of clothing given to someone who had just arrived in an unfamiliar place, stripped of their past identity.
With a quiet sigh, he adjusted the jacket and stepped out of the room.
The moment he exited, Fenix found himself in a long hallway lined with identical doors on both sides.
Everything about the place felt sterile and controlled.
The walls were a neutral gray, smooth and devoid of any distinguishing features. Bright overhead lights cast an artificial glow, their cold illumination making it hard to tell whether it was day or night outside.
Waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall, was the same woman who had woken him earlier.
She met his gaze and flashed a polite smile.
"Follow me."
Her tone was calm, professional—but there was a hint of amusement in her expression.
Fenix stepped forward, his posture relaxed but observant.
"Right behind you," he replied simply.
As they walked down the hallway, his eyes wandered, scanning his surroundings.
There was no noise, no movement.
No other people walked through the halls.
It was as if the entire facility was designed to isolate him.
Noticing his curiosity, the woman spoke up.
"This is a government facility," she explained, her voice smooth and controlled. "As you've probably realized, we had to transfer you here from the police station when you was inside your trial."
Fenix narrowed his eyes slightly.
"So, I wasn't in the same place the whole time?"
The woman nodded.
"That's right. You were unconscious for nearly four weeks. The aid request your group filed was answered just in time, and we moved you to a more secure location—somewhere away from civilians."
Fenix's steps briefly faltered.
"Four weeks…"
He whispered the words to himself.
"I spent almost a month surviving in that hell?"
The realization hit him like a wave.
Everything he had endured—the beasts, the cold, the battles, the deaths—had all happened in what felt like a handful of days.
Yet, in the outside world, nearly a month had passed.
The woman glanced at him, catching his reaction.
"Don't dwell on it too much," she said lightly, her tone slightly softer.
"You've already done what most people never will. Now, it's just a small interview. After that, your life will change completely—for the better."
Her words were meant to be encouraging.
But to Fenix, they sounded more like a statement of inevitability.
His life would change.
Whether he wanted it to or not.
By the time they reached a large metallic door at the end of the hall, Fenix had already gathered his thoughts.
The woman stopped just outside the entrance.
She turned to face him, crossing her arms casually.
"This is it. Go on inside—I'll wait for you out here."
Her expression remained composed, but there was something unreadable in her eyes.
Before he entered, she added one last thing.
"And don't worry too much. The Agent you'll be meeting is a reasonable person."
Fenix let out a quiet breath.
A reasonable person, huh?
He would decide that for himself.
With a final glance at the woman, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The real conversation was about to begin.
Fenix pushed open the door.
Inside, the room was simple and organized—a professional space designed for efficiency rather than comfort.
At the center stood a round table, with two chairs placed directly across from each other.
The most striking feature, however, was the large window behind the table.
Through it, Fenix could see a sprawling structure in the distance.
It wasn't just a building—it was a small city.
Metallic roads, sleek towers, and well-structured districts stretched into the horizon.
Where exactly was he?
Seated in one of the chairs was a man in his mid-thirties.
He had light brown hair, sharp brown eyes, and an undeniably handsome face.
His posture was relaxed but controlled—not too formal, but with a hint of authority.
He exuded a calm confidence, the kind that made it clear he was used to being in charge.
Fenix took a step forward.
The man spoke first.
"Welcome, Mister…?"
He trailed off intentionally, waiting for a response.
Fenix understood immediately.
"Fenix. My name is Fenix."
The man nodded, a small approving smile on his lips.
"Mister Fenix, my name is Marcus, and I will be conducting your interview today."
"Alright."
Fenix kept his tone neutral.
He wasn't sure what kind of man Marcus was yet, so it was better to remain cautious.
Marcus clasped his hands together on the table and leaned forward slightly.
"Let's get started then," Marcus said, his tone professional yet approachable.
"First, let me explain how this interview will work.
I'll be asking you a few questions about your experience in the Soul Trial.
These interviews help us gather more data on the SoulRealm."
Fenix remained silent, listening.
"You may not have known this before," Marcus continued, "but the Trials are composed of either past events or fantastical scenarios created specifically for each individual who challenges them."
'Past events?'
Fenix held back a reaction but filed that piece of information away.
Marcus paused briefly to take a sip of water before continuing.
"However, the most important part of this interview is your well-being.
Many Awakeners struggle with what they experience inside the Trials.
This process also serves as a psychological evaluation—to help us determine if you need any assistance processing what you went through."
Fenix narrowed his eyes slightly.
'So this isn't just about gathering information… they also want to see if I'm unstable.'
It made sense.
The Soul Trials were brutal.
Most people probably couldn't handle them mentally.
But Fenix…
Fenix wasn't like most people.
He had already accepted what had happened inside the Trial.
Ron, Rhen, Vanya… their deaths.
It was tragic, sure.
But it wasn't his problem anymore.