That night, I dreamed.
But it wasn't Elias's memories or the boy's loneliness. It was something else—something larger.
I saw seven doors, each shrouded in shadows. Behind them, lives flickered like candles in a storm. A soldier. A child. A slave in chains. A woman in despair. Faces blurred, stories untold, but each carried the same weight of hopelessness.
Seven chances.
Seven trials.
Seven souls balanced on the edge of despair.
And behind them, I saw myself—fractured, splintered, my soul breaking apart piece by piece.
The voice whispered through the dream, soft as silk, sharp as a knife:
"Fail even one… and you will beg for the pit."