He sat alone on the last train, watching his reflection shake faintly in the darkened window. The lights above flickered, casting his long black hair in uneven shadows. His eyes looked darker than usual tonight.
Too dark.
He rubbed his face and exhaled slowly.
Another wasted day. Another job interview that ended politely. Another "we'll call you."
They never did.
The train slowed unexpectedly.
Then stopped.
Whispers rippled through the car.
Caelum frowned and stood, gripping the metal pole as the lights dimmed further. The air felt… wrong. Thick. Pressurized.
Someone near the front laughed nervously. With a slight slither of fear in their tone, they asked,
"Power outage?"
The floor trembled.
A sound followed, not loud, but deep. Like stone cracking underwater.
Caelum felt it in his teeth.
The train started shaking violently. In the middle of the train, there was a small vertical slit floating suspended in the air, and then it grew more and more.
Then, a creature appeared out of the tear that looked like a grotesque version of an ogre.
In its hand was a giant club. The ogre lifted the club up, then slammed the club down violently on a person with such force it sent a gust of wind through the train.
People panicked.
Someone tried to force the emergency exit.
Caelum didn't move.
He should have.
He knew that.
But fear held him in place. Paralyzed, standing, he felt helpless because of the ogre-like creature.
Then suddenly, a crack appeared beneath his feet.
A thin vertical black line split the floor beneath him; before he could react, he was already falling down into an empty void-like space.
"No—" He screamed as the vision of the train became more distant as he kept falling.
Then it was just pure silence.
He didn't land.
He arrived.
Stone stretched beneath his feet—endless, suspended in darkness. Above him was no sky, only layers of drifting ruins and slow-moving shadows.
No creatures.
No voices.
Just stillness.
"This isn't… right," Caelum whispered.
His voice echoed strangely, bending back toward him.
A symbol burned faintly into the air before him.
Not a language.
A question.
The ground shifted, reshaping itself into a narrow path suspended over nothingness. At the end of the path stood a door, cracked, incomplete, leaking dim black light.
Words surfaced in his mind, cold and impartial:
TRIAL OF INTENT—INCOMPLETE SUBJECT
Caelum's breathing quickened.
"I didn't ask for this," he said.
The door pulsed.
Another thought followed.
PROCEED—OR BE UNMARKED.
Unmarked.
Ordinary.
Forgotten.
His hands trembled.
He thought of the train.
The interviews.
The years of waiting.
The door did not promise power.
It promised a choice.
Caelum swallowed.
"…Fine."
He stepped forward.
The door creaked open.
Darkness poured out, not violent, not alive, but inviting.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, his vision became blurry, and then he lost consciousness, slipping into the embrace of darkness.