Prologue

"You're not going to die like this. At least not here." The man in heavy armour drove his boot into the boy's back, and the sound of iron shackles rang through the narrow corridor.

Neimon staggered forward, catching himself on his bloodied palms, but the kick had been so brutal that the chains around his wrists bit into his flesh, reopening old wounds.

"Move. Move faster. Enough with your act," the guard growled, his voice vibrating through his helmet. The spear he carried scraped along the floor as he walked.

Before Neimon could steady himself, another kick followed.

"Hurry up, you little dog. I don't have all day."

This time the kick was lighter, just to tease him. Neimon didn't get angry and started walking ahead. Around him, dozens of boys in tattered white clothes shuffled forward in silence, their shoulders hunched and eyes glued to the ground, as if the guard's gaze alone could strike them dead.

At the corridor's end, iron-barred cells loomed in the shadows. The guard swung the doors open and pushed them inside.

"Eat your last meal and come out quickly. Don't make me call you twice… or else." He didn't finish the threat.

Inside, Neimon looked down at the steel plate before him. A scoop of half-cooked, sticky rice and a dented cup of water. The smell alone made his stomach twist.

"A mercy… on our last day?" he muttered, pouring water over the rice and swallowing it in large gulps. **At least got something to drink.**

He clenched his fists and stared at his withered hands. **If I had the strength, I'd shove that spear through his head. But now...**

All of a sudden, a trembling whisper came from a nearby cell. "I just… want bread. Just once. Please last time."

The voice caught the guard's attention. He halted mid-step, turning toward the sound.

Then, with a soft whoosh of air, everything went silent.

Moments later, the guard came back from that cell but no one asked what happened. They just kept eating.

When the meal was done, the boys came out. The guard counted them, wiping the tip of his spear clean with a rag. Everyone was present—except the boy who had asked for bread.

"Follow me."

The guard slung the spear across his back and started walking. The scraping sound of the weapon against the floor returned. Without saying a word, the boys trailed after him.

The guard led them into a pitch-black chamber. As soon as they were all inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it from outside.

No one screamed or panicked. They had already spent enough time in small, dark cells to endure this. But whispers rose in the silence.

"Are we… going to die?" a voice whispered.

"No. Maybe they're just moving us… I overheard the guards saying the city's under attack," another replied, his voice trembling.

"But… he said that was our last meal—"

"Shut up! Do you want us to die right away?" someone hissed.

From start to end, Neimon didn't speak. He just leaned against the cold wall, feeling the chill sink into his wounded back, and closed his eyes.

Then, a voice came. Not from the door, but from beyond the wall. Low, commanding, as if it spoke directly into someone's bone.

"If you wish to live, obey. This is not your end, but your beginning. Succeed, and you will be worshipped as though you have already touched the peak of power. Fail… and your name will rot, forgotten even by the worms. Now, step onto the stage."

Neimon's eyes wide opened.

**Is there someone behind this wall?** He thought, pressing his ear to the cold surface and heard footsteps. Dozens of them. The faint clatter of steel, like soldiers preparing to march. Then the voice returned.

"Your trials will lead you to your destination. Reach it, and you will be rewarded. A curse, a blessing, or something worse—it depends on your worth. Go, and tear through your pitiful limit."

Neimon's blood felt hot. His thoughts raced. **Are we next? But the Trials aren't for people like us. Only the chosen one... **

Before his thought could settle, the wall split open. A flood of blinding light entered the chamber.

At the threshold stood a towering figure, his body draped in a black cloak, his face hidden behind a featureless mask.

And behind him stretched a vast hall, lit by hundreds of flickering candles. The walls were lined with carvings—some grotesque, like headless bodies clutching severed heads, others strangely serene: robed figures preaching, naked dancers frozen in mid-motion. In the shifting light, the carvings seemed to breathe, almost alive.

Suddenly, a cold, metallic voice shattered the silence.

"Welcome." The masked figure paused, letting their attention settle on him, then continued.

"You are about to enter the Trial. Survive, and your life will change. Return, and a new one will await you."

It sounded like a proposal, but to these captives, it was more an order than a choice.

The boys froze. Sweat slicked their pale faces. Everyone knew the truth: no one who entered the Trial ever came back—at least, not people like them, who didn't even know their parents.

But at the edge of the group, Neimon was confused. **That voice… it wasn't the same as before. Or was it?**

The masked figure noticed the puzzled look on Neimon's face. In a blur, he appeared before him, closing the distance without a sound.

"Your name?" His gaze locked on Neimon, searching for something hidden.

"…Neimon." He spoke as if his mouth weren't his own.

The masked man studied him for a moment, then turned.

"Step onto the stage."

He gestured toward a colossal statue—a blindfolded goddess with spread wings, holding a pair of scales. Beneath the statue lay a platform with intricate runes inscribed on it. It felt too sacred to step on.

None of the boys moved—not because of reverence, but because anything sacred was far more dangerous.

"Ungrateful creatures. I've given you a chance to live… and still, you hesitate?" His voice cut colder, sharper.

"Don't mind. You know, I'm a very generous person—also very easygoing. So, I'll give you another chance."

He began pacing slowly, hands folded behind his back, as if deep in thought.

"How about… kill one, save one?"

He didn't wait for their answers and immediately clapped twice. In an instant, black-clad figures emerged from the shadows and dozens of daggers materialized, clattering across the floor.

The masked figure picked up one dagger, spun it once, and flicked it into the air. The blade buried itself into the skull of a silent servant. Before the body hit the ground, two others carried it away without a sound.

"Ah… Not sharp, but sharp enough for your soft flesh. Take a life, and walk free. Or…" He extended one hand toward the glowing platform, the other toward the daggers. "…step onto the stage."

The boys stared at one another, wide-eyed and trembling. They had just watched him kill his own subordinate for no reason.

They were now more afraid of him than the guard. Some even began edging toward the platform. Then, one lunged forward, snatching up a dagger. He stumbled toward the smallest boy in the group and drove the blade into his chest.

The dying boy's strangled cry was muffled by his shackles. Blood spread across the cold stone as the killer, closing his eyes, whispered, "This life… I give to your name." Then he stepped back..

Now the real game of risk and reward began.

Some were killed, clawing for freedom through blood. Others, pale and shivering, shuffled toward the stage.

As they stepped onto the platform, strange runes flared beneath their feet.

From the shadows, more figures emerged—black-cloaked, faces wrapped in scarves, each holding a gleaming blade. As they approached, a suffocating dread washed over the captives.

**If they're going to kill us anyway… why so much drama?** Neimon shut his eyes, waiting for the blade.

But the blades only sliced through their shackles and the figures vanished as quietly as they came.

Then, from beneath the platform, a dense blue light erupted, swallowing the boys one by one.

When the last had vanished, the masked figure removed his mask. His cold, inhuman eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Rest in peace, poor fellows. Your sacrifice won't be as worthless as your lives."