Coffee.
Oh, how Griff loved coffee.
Its aroma—rich, bitter, and earthy—cut through the sharp winter air like a warm knife. The scent curled and danced around him, a comforting ghost of warmth in the biting cold that swallowed everything in U-topia's outskirts.
U-topia.
They used to call it a fortress against the darkness, a shining haven amidst a crumbling world.
But to Griff, it had always been a lie told from behind polished glass towers he was never allowed to touch.
He lived on the edge of the city, where the neon signs died, and the walls stopped being cleaned. Born there. Raised there. Forgotten there. He had no family to name, no friends to remember. Just the streets, the silence, and his stubborn refusal to die.
And still, the coffee…
It was the only warmth he could trust.
As he wrapped his fingers around the rusted tin cup, steam rising like a spirit in prayer, he slipped into a daze—thinking of everything and nothing.
Then—
A voice cut through the fog of his thoughts.
"There you are, little guy."
Startled, Griff blinked. A woman stood in front of him. She hadn't been there a second ago.
She was stunning.
Her eyes—green, unnaturally green—sparkled like emeralds buried beneath ash. In a world drained of color, they were an explosion. Her hair shimmered like amber set ablaze in the sun, reminding him of pictures he once saw in stolen church books—of golden meadows untouched by the rot of time.
Griff's throat caught.
"T-thank you," he mumbled, barely able to form the words.
She smiled gently, then pulled up a battered metal chair, its legs scraping the ground with a jarring screech. Griff watched her closely as she sat, every movement fluid, deliberate—as if the world itself bent to give her space.
Her smile faded.
"You know the rules, don't you?" she asked, her voice like velvet laced with steel.
Griff's brow furrowed. "Rules? About what?"
She didn't answer with words.
Instead, she reached out—fingers light as feathers—and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Rule number one," she whispered, "Stay alive. I'd hate to have to kill a kid."
Before the words could fully register, Griff's vision blurred. His body went numb. A strange weightlessness pulled him down from reality, and the light in his eyes flickered out.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then sensation returned—biting, merciless.
Griff's fingers twitched, brushing against stone. Icy stone. The cold was alive. It crept under his skin, into his bones, into his soul. He gasped and flung himself upright, staggering back as panic took hold.
The wind howled.
Not just cold—it was cruel. Each gust felt like a thousand icy needles boring into his flesh, stabbing deeper with every breath. He trembled violently, not just from the chill, but from the sheer wrongness of it all.
As his eyes adjusted to the black, he saw it—a half-circle opening above him, carved into the rock like a forgotten wound.
Griff stumbled toward it, each step a war against the wind. Fear screamed inside him, but so did something else.
Wonder.
He reached the edge.
And there it was.
An endless expanse of jagged cliffs and towering black mountains stretched out beneath him, vanishing into a void that seemed to devour even the moonlight. It was both beautiful and horrifying—like looking into the eye of a god who had long since stopped living.
Griff's lips curled into a smile.
"Of course," he said, a wild laugh bursting from his throat. "*Of course* this would be my trial."
His voice echoed, then was swallowed by the storm.
And still, he laughed.
Griff stood at the precipice, the wind howling around him like a chorus of lost souls. The vast expanse of jagged cliffs and dark mountains stretched endlessly below, a daunting abyss that seemed to mock his very existence. Yet, despite the overwhelming sense of insignificance, a spark of determination ignited within him.
He took a deep breath, the cold air biting at his lungs, and began.
Each step was a battle against the elements. The ground beneath him was weathered beyond comprehension, loose rocks and uneven terrain threatening to send him plummeting into the darkness below. His fingers, numb from the cold, gripped the jagged edges of the cliffside, his body trembling not just from the chill but from the sheer exertion.
But Griff pressed on.
As he descended, the world around him seemed to close in. The towering cliffs narrowed, casting long shadows that swallowed the light of a billion stars. The wind intensified, its icy fingers clawing at his skin taking its time to slowly doom his decent, urging him to turn back. Yet, with each step, Griff's resolve hardened.
Hours passed, or perhaps days—it was hard to tell in the perpetual twilight of this forsaken place. His body ached, his muscles screamed in protest, but his spirit remained unbroken.
Then, as if the mountain itself had decided to test him further, the rock beneath Griff's feet gave way. He fell, tumbling through the air, the wind rushing past him like a torrent. Panic surged within him, but he fought to maintain control, reaching out instinctively.
His hands found purchase on a protruding rock, halting his descent abruptly.
Pain.
Unlike any he had known before attacking his very being, his shoulder had dislocated and several of his fingers had torn open from the jagged rocks.
But Griffs grip hardened like steel.
His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He clung to the rock, suspended in the void, the abyss yearning for him below.
But his grip did not give in to the abyss
That was reaching out for him.
Waiting.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
But Griff was not one to succumb to fear. With a grimace, he hauled himself up, his arm trembling with the strain. He found a narrow ledge and crawled onto it, his body slick with sweat and grime.
Griff screamed.
He lay there for a long while, gathering his strength, the world spinning around him. When he finally stood, his legs wobbled beneath him, but he refused to falter.
He was alive.
And that was enough.
Deep into the mountains the landscape began to change. The jagged cliffs gave way to a dense forest, the trees twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The air was thick with the scent of decay, the ground soft and warily radiant as if untouched from the harsh winter.
Griff had no resolve or reasoning to think to hard about the dangers that lay ahead, if he stayed he would die.
Griff propelled himself from one tree to another, using them as leverage so his legs wouldn't give out. amidst the oppressive gloom, he saw a ounce of hope.
A group of figures huddled around a small flickering fire, their faces gaunt and hollow, eyes devoid of hope. They were young, perhaps his age, but the weight of despair had aged them beyond their years.
Griff approached cautiously, his presence unnoticed at first. He observed them—silent, motionless, as if the very act of living had become a burden too great to bear.
One of them, a girl with matted hair and dirt-smeared skin, glanced up, her eyes meeting Griff's. For a moment, there was no recognition, just two souls acknowledging each other's existence in this desolate world.
Then, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.
"Who are you?"
Griff smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes.
He stepped out of the shadows.