The officer watched him closely, his expression unreadable, as though gauging Draemir’s reaction to the horrific image he’d just painted. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice firm but without malice.
“That’s why you’ll need every advantage you can get in there. During the trial, you’ll have access to something called a soul core.”
Draemir looked up, blinking away the dark images still swirling in his mind. “Soul core?” he asked, unfamiliar with the term.
The officer nodded. “Yes. It’s… difficult to explain. Your soul core is like a fragment of your essence. A piece of who you are, but in a raw, almost infantized form. It’s unique to you, tied to your abilities, your instincts, even to traits you may not fully understand yet.”
Draemir frowned, trying to absorb this new information. “What does it… do?”
“It’s different for everyone,” the officer replied, his voice tinged with a faint hint of something that might have been respect. “For some, their soul core gives them strength. For others, speed, resilience, special abilities. It’s an advantage, something beyond what you can normally do—but while inside the first trial, you’ll probably only be able to use a sliver of what your soul is truly capable of. That’s pretty common.”
Draemir tried to picture what the officer was describing, but it felt intangible, like trying to grasp smoke. “So… I’ll have powers?”
“In a sense,” the officer replied, his eyes steady. “But think of it as a small taste of what your abilities could be. It’s a seed, a glimpse. It won’t make you invincible, not by a long shot, and it’s unreliable. You might find it only kicks in when you’re at your breaking point. But if you can learn to recognize it, to feel that core within you, it could give you an edge.”
The idea of possessing some hidden power, however small, sent a faint thrill through Draemir, a spark of hope among the fear. But the officer’s expression remained severe, and Draemir sensed that he shouldn’t get too excited.
“How do I… access it?” he asked, uncertainly. “Or even find it?”
The officer sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself. For most people, I’m told it comes to them as instinct. Some describe it as a warmth in their chest, others as a surge of energy, or a heightened awareness. It varies. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that you’ll know it when you feel it.”
He paused, then added, “This trial is dangerous. You’ll be facing things that you can’t prepare for, things that will push you beyond what you think you’re capable of. That’s why this soul core is important. It’s a resource, a tool. Maybe the only tool you’ll have in there. Take a look at it, try to understand it, and use it to get through.”
Draemir nodded, still struggling to fully grasp the concept. He’d heard stories of powers wielded by the people who survived these trials, but he’d always thought those were exaggerations—stories meant to give people hope. Now, the idea that he had something like that within him felt almost surreal.
The officer took a step back, giving Draemir one last, assessing look. “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” he said. “Once that door closes, it’s just you and the trial. Whatever happens in there, remember what I said. Use your soul core. It’s your only chance.”
Without another word, he turned and strode to the heavy metal door. Draemir’s heart beat faster as he watched the officer reach the doorway, feeling a surge of anxiety as he realized that, in moments, he would be completely alone.
The officer glanced back once, his face as unreadable as ever. Then the door swung shut with a heavy clang, sealing Draemir inside.
The silence in the room that followed was absolute. Draemir lay bound to the cold metal table, staring up at the bare concrete ceiling. The officer’s words lingered in his mind, looping over and over as he tried to make sense of everything he’d been told. Soul core… special powers... It felt like a concept from a story, something half-imagined, distant. Right now, strapped down and helpless, he felt nothing powerful about himself at all.
The ache in his chest throbbed, a dull, persistent pain that had started last week and grew every day since. He’d ignored it at first, chalking it up to nerves, to his malnutrition. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had some heart defect, considering his luck. Facing whatever this trial was going to throw at him was an example of his incredible luck… It was incredibly rare to be infected… and about half of those who were infected actually survived the first trial… if they were taught to survive it… but as the minutes dragged on, the ache only grew stronger, like a slow, twisting pressure spreading outward from the center of his chest.
He took a shallow breath, then another, feeling his ribcage tighten around the pain. Is this part of the trial? he wondered, clenching his jaw as the ache sharpened, like a knife buried beneath his sternum. It was uncomfortable, bordering on painful now, and every small movement seemed to make it worse. He thought of the officer’s warning—how the trial would test him, push him to his limits. Was this just the beginning?
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Minutes slipped by, stretching into an hour, then two, and the pain in his chest became a constant, nagging presence. The initial fear and adrenaline had long since faded, leaving him with nothing but the ache and the slow crawl of time. He tried shifting his arms, but the leather straps held firm. His legs, too, were bound tight, with no way to relieve the uncomfortable stiffness setting into his muscles.
The pain wasn’t sharp; it was a slow, deep burn, like a coal lodged in his chest. With each passing minute, it spread further, threading through his veins, leaving him restless and irritable. At first, he’d fought to keep his mind alert, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But now, boredom and fatigue pressed down on him like a weight, lulling him into a hazy state of half-awareness.
‘This is it?’ he thought bitterly.
He’d come in braced for terror, for some life-or-death test that would push him to the edge, and instead he was left strapped down, staring at the ceiling with nothing but the ache in his chest to remind him he was still alive. His mind wandered in circles, thoughts drifting in and out, unable to settle on anything concrete.
He tried counting the seconds, then the minutes, but somewhere along the way, he lost track. The pain in his chest flared and faded in intervals, like waves lapping at the edges of his awareness, and he sank deeper into a fog of exhaustion. His eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the last, his body sinking further into the cold metal beneath him.
Two hours later, Draemir’s thoughts had dissolved into a numb, weary blur. He no longer cared about the trial, about the officer’s words, or even the dull ache radiating from his chest. All he wanted now was for something—anything—to happen.
“For gods sake. Please. Something happen!” He grumbled.
The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness, each one stretching out as Draemir lay there, his entire body stiff and uncomfortable. He’d tried to shift in his bindings a few times, to alleviate the soreness in his arms and legs, but the leather straps held him in place, unyielding. The ache in his chest, that constant, dull pressure, had become an annoyance he could almost ignore, blending into the background of his boredom.
How long has it been now? he wondered, his mind drifting, unfocused. He tried to imagine what was waiting for him in this so-called “trial.” Was this it? Just lying here, slowly going insane from discomfort and silence?
Ten more minutes passed like this, each second dragging him deeper into an agony of impatience, of boredom, the ache in his chest now as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He was so deep into his hazy discomfort that when the explosion of pain finally hit, he was utterly unprepared.
It was as if someone had taken a burning brand and driven it straight into his heart. The ache in his chest surged into pure, unfiltered agony, slamming into him with a force that tore a scream from his throat. The pain was blinding, all-consuming, sending white-hot stars exploding behind his eyes. He gasped, his body arching against the straps, every nerve in his chest screaming in protest. The fire spread outward from his core, a searing, unbearable pressure that pulsed with each heartbeat, each second stretching out like an eternity.
‘What… what is this? ‘ The thought was barely coherent, swallowed up by the sheer intensity of the pain. His vision swam, black spots forming at the edges, his head spinning. Every beat of his heart sent fresh waves of agony crashing through him, his fatigue burned away in a torrent of raw sensation. He was fully awake now, unable to escape the vicious grip of the pain that seemed determined to rip him apart from the inside.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it all went dark.
The pain vanished in an instant, the stars behind his eyes fading into a deep, heavy silence. He floated in emptiness, weightless, the memory of the pain lingering like an echo but leaving him strangely numb. He was… nowhere. A black, endless void surrounded him, stretching out in every direction, timeless and still. Draemir looked around, but there was nothing to see, nothing to hear. Just an absolute, all-encompassing darkness.
‘Did I just die? What the fuck was the trial?’
He was too stunned to even comprehend.
He had a few thoughts about what the trial would be, a test of strength, resilience, capability… he would even be able to use his soul core a little before he died to whatever kills him. But never in his life did he think he would just die without even having a chance.
‘Trial my ass! That was definitely an execution!’
As he floated, a faint glow appeared in the distance, gradually taking shape, like a single point of light piercing through the void. It drifted closer, growing sharper, until it solidified into something distinct—a line of text, floating at eye level, written in a pale, ghostly font that seemed to shimmer against the darkness.
The words hung before him, clear and ominous.
[Welcome, Draemir! Prepare for your first Ascension Trial.]
‘Oh.’
He stared at the message, his mind struggling to comprehend the surreal scene unfolding before him. The pain, the blackness, the isolation—it had all led to this moment. This was it. The beginning of his trial.
The text hung in the darkness, glowing faintly, and Draemir found himself suspended there, waiting, unsure what to expect next. He stared at the words, his mind still foggy from the pain and the surreal shift from reality to… whatever this was. He thought maybe something would happen—something sudden, something terrifying, something definitive—but nothing did. The silence stretched on, the emptiness around him absolute.
After what felt like half a minute, Draemir frowned, glancing around at the void. “Uh…” he ventured aloud, his voice sounding strangely muffled, swallowed by the darkness around him.
“Am I… supposed to start it somehow?”
The text before him flickered, the familiar letters distorting and twisting, rearranging themselves into a jagged, shifting string of symbols. They looked like nothing he’d ever seen—shapes, characters that didn’t belong to any human language. He squinted, feeling a chill as he tried to make sense of the symbols, but they moved too quickly, defying comprehension.
Just as suddenly, the symbols shifted again, melting away into a simpler, more recognizable message.
[Starting Trial. Good Luck!]
Draemir raised an eyebrow, managing a shaky half-smile despite himself. “That works too…” he muttered under his breath.