The guard approached Leo, his boots striking the stone floor with a muted echo. He said nothing as his gloved hands unclasped the cold iron shackles that bound Leo's wrists, the metal clinking sharply in the silence. With a rough tug, he pulled him forward, guiding him through a labyrinth of long, dark corridors.
Finally, He gravelly voice broke the oppressive stillness.
"Listen well, stranger. This test is not for the faint of heart. You'll need to prove yourself if you want to survive here. If you fail…"
He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, its absence heavier than any threat spoken aloud.
They stopped before a massive iron gate, the guard shoved Leo forward, dragging him into the room and forcing him onto a wooden chair in the center. The chair's arms were carved with deep grooves—marks left by those who had sat there before. Leo did not resist.
The guard left without a word. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, leaving Leo in the suffocating quiet. Minutes passed—or hours; time had begun to feel slippery. Then the door creaked open again, and another man entered. His steps were measured. Leo's eyes flicked to a small nameplate glinting on the edge of the man's desk: Christopher.
From a drawer, Christopher retrieved a small glass vial filled with something crimson and glimmering, and a slender steel syringe. He studied Leo with the cold detachment of a scientist examining an insect pinned to a board. Then, with a thin, mocking smile, he spoke.
"You're here for the test, aren't you? You can still walk away if you like. I can make your death quick… and painless."
Leo's lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace.
"As if walking away was ever a real option."
Christopher chuckled softly, a sound devoid of warmth.
"True. But sometimes a swift end is kinder than what lies ahead. This is a trial of endurance—to see if you're fit to join us. For someone like you…" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "…your odds of success are less than zero."
A shiver ran down Leo's spine. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Christopher continued in a voice that was both indifferent and faintly amused.
"We all survived this test, though many died in the attempt. In your case…" He paused, his gaze turning distant and unreadable. "Death might actually be the gentler fate."
Leo clenched his fists, the leather straps of the chair creaking under his tension. "I want to live," he said, his voice low but steady. "I have to live."
Christopher's expression flickered—interest, perhaps, or a glimmer of something darker. "So. You have a reason to endure. Very well. Then let us begin."
The syringe gleamed like a blade under the dim light. A single droplet of crimson trembled at its tip before falling. With a sudden, violent motion, Christopher seized Leo by the neck and drove the needle in. Pain ripped through Leo's body, sharp and tearing, and he cried out.
"What… what did you just inject me with?"
He regarded him with chilling detachment. "Poison," he said simply. Then tossed the syringe into a bin with a metallic clatter and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, his back still to Leo.
"You have one seven hours to survive. If your body endures, you pass." His voice softened slightly. "One piece of advice: do not sleep. And whatever you see… do not believe it. Not everything will be real."
With a final sigh, he closed the door behind him. The lock clicked. Silence pressed in from every corner of the room, wrapping itself around Leo like a shroud. He was alone now.
Hours dragged on in suffocating silence, each tick of the clock stretching into eternity. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps it was all a cruel attempt to break him through fear alone. Leo's gaze fixed on the clock, every movement of its hands magnified in his mind. Yet there was something profoundly wrong—the hands moved backward, spinning against the natural flow of time. Was it broken, or was it mocking him, bending reality just to unsettle him further?
A sudden, searing pain flared in his chest. At first, he thought it a trick of his imagination, a figment conjured by fear. But the pain intensified, sharp and undeniable.
"Aah… damn it… what is this?" he gasped, clutching his torso.
His vision blurred. The room seemed to shift and waver, edges melting like wax under a flame. Faint whispers, almost imperceptible, slithered through the air, surrounding him with voices that were not his own. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably, hot and unforgiving, while his mind teetered between agonizing reality and hallucinatory madness. The chains binding him, though long torn, seemed to weigh on him with renewed gravity. Summoning every ounce of strength, he struggled against them until at last he was free.
When he stood, the room had transformed. Its walls stretched into infinity, ceilings lost in shadow. Even the door, once close, now seemed impossibly distant, a phantom goal forever out of reach. His gaze fell upon a mirror nearby, and he reached out instinctively. The reflection that met his hand was —blood, not tears, streamed from his eyes.
Then, in the corner of the glass, he saw it—a shadowy figure, cloaked in black, formless yet unmistakably human. Heart hammering, he spun around, but the room was empty. When he looked back at the mirror, the figure had inched closer. Each turn of his head only brought it nearer, relentless and silent. Panic surged through him. With a scream, he smashed the mirror with his bare fist. The glass splintered into jagged fragments, and from its shards came a whisper, low and venomous:
"We will meet again… Leo."
"I have to get out of here… now," he murmured. But the floor seemed to stretch endlessly beneath him. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs, and a seductive heaviness of sleep began to pull him down. His body collapsed, crawling futilely toward the escape.
Memories returned like vengeful phantoms: flames consuming him, the suffocating smoke, the roar of fire swallowing everything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the nightmare, but the pain escalated, fiery agony now licking his feet. When he opened his eyes again, the room had returned to its serene, silent stillness.
Beside him sat a woman, gentle and warm, her hands brushing his brow with soothing tenderness. Her voice, soft and melodic, sang a lullaby that pulled at his consciousness, tempting him toward sleep. He looked at her with longing, recognition dawning in the fog of his fear.
Mother? Why are you here?
He tried to rise, but her touch held him fast, comforting and insistent.
"Do not worry, my little one… just sleep."
But Christopher's words echoed relentlessly in his mind: Not everything you see is real.
Leo whispered to himself, trembling, as if speaking aloud could anchor him in truth:
"You're not real… you're gone… I buried you with my own hands."
The woman's gaze lingered on him, heavy with sadness, before she faded slowly, leaving him once again in the empty quiet of the room.
Finally door creaked open at last, and heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across the floor. Leo's heart skipped a beat; for a moment, he feared it was yet another hallucination. His eyes fluttered open—and there he was. Christopher stood before him, his cold smile cutting through the air like a blade.
"Congratulations," he said, voice smooth and unyielding, tinged with mischief. "You've passed the first test."
Without warning, he moved to adjust the chair beneath Leo, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him back down with a strength born of authority. Leo's body, too exhausted to resist, sagged against the pull. Christopher produced another syringe, and the sharp sting of the needle ignited pain that lanced through his veins.
But then clarity returned, like sunlight piercing through storm clouds. Breaths came easier; the poison's grip loosened.
"This is the antidote," Christopher said casually, his eyes glinting with detached calculation. "You survived the first test. Now… we move on to the second."
Leo lifted heavy eyelids, the exhaustion weighing down every muscle. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Wasn't that… enough?"
Christopher said nothing, watching silently as sleep claimed him fully. Leo's body succumbed to the darkness, sinking into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Behind him, the commander entered, taking the seat at his desk.
"Christopher," he asked, leaning forward, voice threaded with concern, "why summon me?
Are you certain you want this boy with us?"
Christopher hesitated, then explained, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of unease.
"During the first test, I left briefly to fetch the antidote in case he could not endure it. But the door was already sealed, and the room was shrouded in an aura so potent that even I could not break it with magic."
The commander's brow furrowed. "What are you implying?"
"This boy was not alone in that room," Christopher said slowly. ""In addition to that, he was holding a shard of mirror in his hand. and you what that means, I don't know where he got it from, or who gave him the strength to break free from the chair's restraints. This boy is not normal."