As soon as the words left his lips, the darkness around him trembled, like the surface of still water disrupted by a single drop. The black void began to ripple, waves of darkness bending and reshaping, as if the space around him was preparing for something.
Without warning, the ground dropped out from under him. Draemir’s stomach lurched as he felt himself plummeting, the air rushing past him in a howling roar, faster and faster until he couldn’t tell which way was up or down. He tumbled through the void, his limbs flailing, weightless, as the darkness peeled away like layers of cloth, revealing streaks of color, flashes of light, strange landscapes that seemed to blink in and out of existence as he fell.
His descent grew faster, more intense, each heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum. He braced himself, expecting to hit something—anything—but instead, the blackness around him suddenly shattered, and he was plunged into blinding white light.
He landed hard, stumbling forward as the ground materialized beneath his feet.
Or at least he thought he did… the disorientation made him stumble forward, if he fell that hard he would have probably broken considering how thin and malnourished he was.
The air was cold, biting, and he instinctively reached out to steady himself, his fingers brushing against rough stone. He blinked, his eyes adjusting, and found himself standing in a vast, desolate landscape, stretching out endlessly in all directions.
The ground was cracked and barren, a dry wasteland of jagged rocks and ash-gray soil, pockmarked with deep fissures that vanished into shadows below. A low, ominous mist clung to the ground, swirling around his ankles, as if the earth itself were exhaling in slow, ghostly breaths. The sky overhead was a muted gray, oppressive and heavy, with no sun, no stars—just a dark, lightless void above.
For a few long moments, he simply stood there, unsure of what to do. The officer’s words echoed in his mind: ‘This trial will push you to the edge. Things that you can’t prepare for… things that will push you beyond what you think you’re capable of.’ But there was no enemy, no obvious threat—just the emptiness of this endless wasteland.
"Uh… I’m not dead yet."
Draemir muttered the words to himself, feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion. He’d expected to be thrown into some horrific, life-or-death situation the moment the trial began. Yet here he was, standing in a vast, the most dangerous thing being tripping and falling.
His stomach rumbled, breaking the quiet.
“What?” he muttered, pressing a hand to his belly. “How can I still be hungry in a trial?”
It felt ridiculous. In the midst of what was supposed to be a grueling test of survival, he was worried about food. He looked down at himself, only now realizing that he was wearing the same worn clothes he’d had on in the real world—a threadbare shirt, patched trousers, and scuffed boots that barely fit. The ache in his chest was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place, leaving him strangely… whole. Uninjured. Ordinary.
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the barren landscape. The dark, stagnant sky still loomed above the horizon and nothing else had changed. No beasts had appeared to hunt him, no traps had sprung to test his reflexes. It was just him and the silence.
‘What am I supposed to be doing?’ He frowned, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
Maybe a clue, a sign, or at least some kind of direction. He thought he’d be fighting for his life by now, yet all he’d done was stand here, feeling increasingly awkward and out of place.
Draemir sighed and decided to wait. He’d watched enough horror films to know that patience was sometimes the best option, especially when you had no idea what you were up against. So he stayed in place, standing with his arms crossed next to a large rock, scanning his surroundings for any hint of movement.
Minutes turned into an hour, and nothing happened. The wasteland stretched out around him, still and silent.
Even the ache of anticipation had faded, replaced by a numbing boredom that made his eyelids grow heavy.
His stomach growled again, louder this time, and Draemir winced, clutching at his belly. The emptiness gnawed at him, the dull ache of hunger a reminder of how little he’d eaten in the days leading up to the trial. His mind drifted to memories of the nutrient pastes, the scraps he’d managed to scavenge back in the outskirts, and his mouth watered despite the awful flavor.
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‘This is ridiculous, he thought. I’m in a trial. I shouldn’t be worrying about food.’
But his stomach didn’t care about logic. The hunger clawed at him, and Draemir realized that if he didn’t find something to eat soon, he’d grow too weak to do anything, let alone survive whatever the trial had in store for him.
Living as an orphan in the outskirts had taught him a thing or two about survival. He had a knack for finding edible things, even if they were barely recognizable as food. Roots, wild grasses, insects—he’d eaten them all, and worse. As unpleasant as it was, he knew he’d have to get moving and see if there was anything in this strange landscape that could stave off his hunger.
He started walking, his boots crunching against the cracked earth. His small, wiry frame wasn’t built for endurance, and he knew his malnourished body wouldn’t hold up under a long journey. But he kept going, scanning the ground as he walked, searching for anything remotely edible. Maybe there’d be plants hidden between the rocks, or patches of moss he could scrape off. He was used to picking through trash in the outskirts, finding sustenance in the leftover meals of wealthier people.
But after an hour of walking in a single direction, he found nothing. The landscape was utterly barren, featureless in its bleakness. The ground was cracked and dry, the mist clinging low to the earth, and there wasn’t a single sign of life—not a blade of grass, not a single insect scuttling between the rocks. Just endless gray earth and the oppressive blackness overhead.
A pang of worry twisted in his gut, mingling with his hunger. He could survive without food for a while—he’d done it before—but he had no idea how long this trial would last. If he didn’t find something soon, the hunger would sap his strength, and eventually… No, he thought, shaking his head. He couldn’t think like that. There had to be something out here.
But the emptiness around him seemed to stretch on forever, and as he trudged forward, his steps growing slower, a dreadful thought crept into his mind.
“Am I… going to die of starvation?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Just as he spoke, Draemir heard a low rumble off to his right. He turned, eyes narrowing, scanning the horizon for the source of the sound. There, in the far distance, he could just barely make out the silhouette of… something. A structure, maybe. Or a wall. It was hard to tell, but it definitely wasn’t just more barren wasteland.
That's new.
Draemir stared, trying to understand how he hadn’t noticed it before. It stood far away, small and indistinct against the endless gray, but unmistakable now that he’d seen it. Whatever it was, it broke the monotony of the wasteland—a dark shape standing between him and whatever lay beyond.
He couldn’t tell what it was from here. All he could make out was the vague outline, solid and unmoving, cutting across the otherwise flat horizon like a barrier. And every now and then, a faint flash of light flickered within the silhouette, like a flashlight. It was irregular, pulsing in random intervals, too brief and sporadic to be natural. It felt like a signal, almost—a glimmer in the darkness that tugged at something deep inside him, as if it were calling to him, pulling him forward.
Draemir’s mouth twisted into a half-smile, half-frown.
‘No time to die like today,’ he thought wryly.
Despite himself, he felt a flicker of hope—or maybe just curiosity. The flashes in the distance were the first sign of movement he’d seen since he’d arrived in this empty, colorless world. Even if it turned out to be dangerous, even if it was a trap, at least it was something. Better than sitting here, waiting to starve.
He took a step forward, eyes still fixed on the distant shape. His stomach tightened, reminding him of the hunger gnawing at him, and he could feel his legs already growing tired from the hour of walking he’d just done. But that small spark in the distance was all he had. If there was any chance of finding something there—food, shelter, maybe even answers—he had to take it.
As he started walking, a darker thought settled over him. He didn’t have high hopes for surviving this trial. The people of the outskirts didn’t survive these kinds of things; everyone knew that. The disease picked at random, taking people’s lives away or bestowing them new ones. This wasn’t a path to glory. For him, it was a death sentence.
He’d already accepted that, in a way. Life on the outskirts had been a series of close brushes with death, moments when he’d thought for sure he wouldn’t make it. When the orphanage he’d called home burned down, leaving him alone on the streets, he’d thought he’d die for sure, just another nameless kid lost to the city. But he hadn’t. He’d adapted, learned how to survive in the shadows, to take what he needed and disappear before anyone could stop him.
Then there were the countless close calls—times when he’d stolen food or clothes and been caught, beaten by shopkeepers or guards. He remembered one time in particular, stealing from the same merchant he’d robbed once before. The man had cornered him in an alley, fists clenched, face twisted with rage. Draemir had thought that was the end. But he’d survived that, too, taking the blows, bruised and battered but still breathing.
No, Draemir was no stranger to the possibility of death. But he also didn’t want to die. Not yet. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was stubborn, but some part of him held on to the idea that he still had life left to live—more to see, more to do, even if his circumstances had other plans.
And so he kept moving, each step bringing him closer to the strange silhouette in the distance. The flash of light pulsed again, and he felt his heartbeat quicken in response, his body instinctively leaning forward as if drawn by an invisible tether.
He didn’t know what waited for him there. But if there was even a slim chance of finding something—anything—that could help him survive, he was willing to take the risk.