Silence pressed against the walls.
I stood there, staring at the glowing mark on my neck — the Forsaken Sigil — throbbing like a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
I touched the skin again.
Warm.
Alive.
Wrong.
Azael's memories overlapped with mine, blurry at the edges, like two pictures forced into one frame.
I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly.
"Okay… okay. Think."
My voice was steadier than my hands.
Pieces of information drifted up from the foreign memories:
Azael.
Sixteen.
Lived alone.
Mother died giving birth.
Father worked for the government… until he didn't make it home one night.
Monster attack.
No body recovered.
And then—
The Sigil.
A mark that appeared only between the ages of sixteen and twenty.
A mark that chose people.
A mark that warned them.
Three days.
Everyone given a Forsaken Sigil had exactly three days of normal life left.
Then… they were dragged into something called a Trial Realm.
A test.
A nightmare.
A place where the rules of the world went quiet and something ancient watched instead.
If you passed, you awakened a power.
If you failed…
You didn't die.
You became a monster.
Mindless.
Twisted.
Gone.
I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the blanket.
"Three days," I whispered. "And I'm already on day one."
A humorless laugh escaped me.
"Great. Fantastic. Wonderful."
My voice cracked a little.
I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands.
For a moment, I let myself feel it — the fear, the confusion, the quiet ache crawling into my chest.
Mom's voice.
My brother's stupid morning grumbling.
The warmth of dinner last night.
Everything felt too close and too far at the same time.
"What happened to my body?" I whispered.
"Did I die? Did I disappear? What is my family doing right now…?"
No answer.
Just the soft hum of the crimson light leaking through the window.
I stood up.
I couldn't sit here and drown myself with questions I couldn't solve yet.
I needed to move.
I needed to figure out this world.
I needed to survive those three days.
A soft vibration pulsed beneath my skin again.
The Forsaken Sigil flickered with a faint red glow—once, twice—like it was testing my heartbeat.
A whisper brushed across my ear.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Just a cold exhale.
I flinched.
And then it stopped, as if it had never happened.
Azael's memories explained that too:
The whispers grow as the Trial approaches.
Not haunting.
Not conscious.
Just… a warning.
A countdown.
I let out a shaky breath, gripping my shirt.
"Right. Not creepy at all."
After washing my face again to cool down, I changed into Azael's clothes — a plain black hoodie and dark jeans — and stepped outside.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
The sky was still tinted red from the crimson moon. Not bright red, but a muted, unsettling shade that made the whole world feel wrong.
People walked by with stiff expressions, glancing up at the moon every few seconds like it was an animal that might attack if ignored.
A woman hurried past me.
A teenager pulled his hood low, muttering something under his breath.
A man leaned on a lamppost, smoking, eyes hollow.
Everyone looked tired.
Worried.
Afraid.
That's when I noticed it.
Some people had faintly glowing marks on their necks or wrists.
Forsaken Sigils.
Just like mine.
Their sigils pulsed softly, barely visible unless you were looking closely.
A man with messy hair approached me, eyeing my neck.
"You're marked," he said bluntly.
I blinked. "…Yeah."
He nodded, scratching his arm nervously.
"Don't sleep outside your time window," he said. "When it hits, you won't have a choice. You'll just drop."
Then he walked off without another word.
I stared after him.
"What does that even mean?"
Azael had no memory of anything like that.
He had been completely unprepared when his mark appeared.
Lucky me — I got dropped into a body even more clueless than I was.
I rubbed my temples and exhaled sharply.
"Alright. Priorities."
I needed information.
I needed to understand the world.
I needed to know what the Trials actually were and how to prepare.
Three days.
Was that enough?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Either way, I didn't have a choice.
I started walking toward the only place Azael's memories hinted might help:
a public knowledge terminal hub where basic world data was stored.
Halfway there, the Sigil on my neck pulsed again.
Once.
Twice.
A sharp sting shot through my spine, forcing me to stop and grab the wall.
"What—?"
A screen flickered in front of my eyes.
Not on a wall.
Not from a device.
In my vision.
A translucent red window snapped into existence.
[Forsaken Sigil Activated]
My breath caught.
Another line appeared.
Time Remaining Before Trial: 71 Hours, 13 Minutes
Then—
A third line.
One that turned my blood cold.
A Trial Envoy has taken notice of you.
The screen shattered like glass, fading into thin air.
The Sigil on my neck throbbed, then went silent again.
I stood frozen on the street, heart hammering so loudly I could feel it in my teeth.
"…What?"
People walked past me, unfazed, unaware.
But I couldn't move.
Not for several seconds.
A Trial Envoy.
Not a monster.
Not a person.
Something tied to the Trial Realm itself.
Watching me.
My hands curled into fists.
"Three days," I whispered.
Three days until I was dragged into a nightmare.
And something inside that nightmare…
already knew my name.