He struggled to keep his eyes closed, his mind slipping towards the ice cold stone beneath him.

His bare skin was cold to the touch from sitting in the small room for so long, and his muscles had that certain tightness to them from sitting in one place for too long.

It had been days, and still he could think of nothing. No insight came to him, just the blank void that was the back of his eyelids. He shifted his weight, and his concentration broke as fresh skin came into contact with the floor, jolting him.

He grunted, unfolded his legs, and stood up. Opening his eyes, he was met with the same pitch black as when he had them closed. He reached out his hand to palm the wall in front of him, and exerted his will onto it. In moments, a doorway opened, letting in light that stung his tired eyes.

He stepped out, into a hallway that became dim as his eyes adjusted. As his hand left the smooth black surface of the wall, the doorway closed behind him. He was left with one last glance into the claustrophobic room.

The entire exterior was a mirror, floors, walls, ceiling, everything. It was like one surface, a seamless, perfect cube just large enough for him to stand up in. There was nothing inside, simply an empty box meant for a single purpose: meditation.

Having left the room, he looked to his right, down the hallway. It stretched farther than he could see, just an endless path, the black stone walls just as flawless and polished as his meditation chamber. His bare feet padded along as he walked, his shoulder squared and arms firmly at his sides. His steps could be put to a metronome, perfect and equal strides to an even pace.

He walked two inches away from the wall, staying to the right side of the hallway. He moved so evenly that if you were to put two lane markers on either side of him, not even a toe would go over. It was almost inhuman, the way that he walked.

For a long time, he moved forward, watching along the wall farthest for him, waiting for his door.

Then it came, and he stopped directly across from it. His momentum stopped, cleanly and instantly. A ruler could be put to the tips of each of his big toes, and be perfectly level. He turned precisely to face the wall, and took one step forward, coming just close enough that he could rest his palm flat against the cool stone.

He exerted his will, and it opened for him, revealing another perfect black room. It was a large box, save for the left side which had a large raise, like a single giant step coming off of the wall which was exactly three feet high, and stretched from wall to wall, merging seamlessly with the surface of the room.

On top of the step, three others sat cross legged with backs as straight as steel beams, as he had done earlier, exactly three feet apart, and along the perfect center of the step length-wise. They were silent, and so were his steps as he moved in front of them.

The wall returned to form behind him, covering him in darkness again. He made a straight path forward, moving exactly thirty three feet across the room before reaching the wall opposite the one he had come from. He thought to himself that they had to be pondering the number three.

Again, he placed his hand, spent his will, and moved through the wall. This time he stepped out onto a platform that extended from the wall now behind him. Exact copies of the platform descended along the wall, spiraling downwards as the room was a vertical prism.

As he stepped across the gap between platforms, he looked down. Below him, an empty black abyss spanned endlessly, threatening to swallow anything that dared to adventure downwards. He didn’t know how deep it really was, but he had never seen the bottom no matter how far he had gone.

He wound around the room which was so wide that you could not see one end from the other.

He descended two rotations before stopping, and moving through the wall again. Now he found himself inside another mirrored room with one thing now. A small white orb, perfectly round and smooth, seemingly cut from flawless marble that had been polished to a nearly reflective sheen.

He crouched down above it, taking it in his hands before settling into a cross legged seat on the cool floor. He closed his eyes again, now focusing on the orb. He repeated a single word over and over in his mind, silently, to himself.

Ball

Over and over, he spoke it. He visualized the object in his hands, focusing on it with ice cold intensity. The anchor soothed him, allowed him something physical to think on, something he was already familiar with. He felt his energy align, like his spirit had snapped into place. He could think clearly again; he was grounded again.

The anchor; the ball, was a very important tool for him and those like him. After years of pondering, one might often lose himself in the pursuit of insight. Their mind might stray too far into a sea of thought they were not entirely aware of, one that was deep and old and untouched by the human psyche. Then they would have to be pulled back.

He sighed in relief, softly placing the orb back onto the ground. The time that had passed was of an unknown amount to him, as most times were. In this place, time was no longer currency.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He stood, and exited out into the abyss again. Above him, a figure came around, descending along the steps. He waited in silence for a long time as the figure drew closer, but he did not mind.

Then the figure was just one step away, looking down at him. It was another, one that he did not recognize even when they spoke.

“You are Noe.” They said, He nodded.

“The Stoic Salazar wishes to see you. He wishes to tutor you.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment. The Stoic Salazar was not a name he had heard for decades. He had never met the Stoic, but all of those in this place knew of him. The top one, face and mouth of the school.

“Why?” He asked.

“I do not know.” They said, He nodded again. They turned and ascended, back the way they had come. He followed, climbing the steps.

He climbed for six rotations before stopping. They had reached the top. Ten steps ahead of him, they stood on the last one. They faced the wall and placed his palm, opening a doorway. They stepped through and out of sight. He followed promptly.

Inside, it was as if he had stepped into another world. Perfect, endless white in every direction. A space so large he could not tell whether it ended or not. Behind him, there was no wall to have stepped through any more. He stood on top of a black stone structure, Schroeder’s stairs.

The staircases stretched and weaved just as far out as the edges of the white plane, floating an unknowable distance away from anything and everything else. He looked around, not seeing anything, not even they who had led him here.

He walked up a staircase, and walked two steps forward before realizing he was dozens of feet away now, facing towards the bottom of the stairs he had just climbed. He frowned at the sight, and turned around.

He walked back down, and looked across to where he had been, and unmistakably recognized the space he had just stood in. His brow furrowed in equal measures confusion and frustration.

He walked away from the stairs all together, then down a second case, took a right turn through an archway and made his way through many other obstacles and interruptions in his stride before realizing he had passed the same stretch of path twice now, and when retracing his steps ended up where he had begun. He began to panic.

“Be still.” A voice below him said, and he was still. The idea of stillness gripped him in an

unforgiving fist, holding him in place. His heart pounded in his chest now. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way, or if he ever had.

“Do not fear.” The voice spoke again, this time behind him, and he did not fear. The source was then revealed.

A figure walked into his view from the side, circling around him until they were facing each other. This was not another, however, this one wore a robe. The Stoic Salazar.

“Speak.” He said, after a moment of silence between them. And he spoke,

“Stoic Salazar.” He said, and the Stoic nodded.

“I am.” They concurred. He looked him over. He was not how he imagined, but again he did not know what he had imagined.

The man before him was like the others, even himself. Bald, thin, tall. But the robe, it fell around his shoulders, swathing him like a child the way it wrapped over his chest, and its fold fell to his feet like a flowing creek. It eclipsed his whole form in black from neck to ankle. The others did not wear a robe.

“Why have you brought me here?” He asked. The stoic chortled.

“This is my realm, hewn from my ideal. Liminality. My will is absolute in this place. I have brought you here because I have seen potential in you.” The Stoic explained. Noe questioned him silently then, because he did not understand. He had stagnated, and not recently either. It had been nearly one hundred years since he had gained insight.

He thought for a moment, then finally spoke, “What potential have you seen?”

“You and your brothers see gaining insight as a single path forward. In this world, where knowledge is held above one’s life, I’m not surprised by the things you keep from each other. A school was built to learn in, but you have grown ignorant.” They paused, and then they continued.

“Pondering is not the only way towards understanding. Is it best to think about walking, or to perform it in order to understand it? To execute an action is better than to read about it. The same applies to ideals. While you sit for years and ponder, others could gain the same insight through action. In this discovery, I’ve managed to gain insight of my own into ideals I haven’t understood after hundreds of your lifespans. One in particular has always interested me, as it is the one thing that I cannot attain.” They said, gazing off into the endless matrix of staircases surrounding them.

“Which one is that?” Noe couldn’t stop himself from asking. Even the most sparing sliver of knowledge could grant him insight.

“Death.” Salazar said soberingly. He looked back to Noe, who opened his mouth to shout.

“A forbidden i-“ he began before Salazar raised his hand and clapped it shut, and his mouth did the same.

“Be silent. Now, listening to this all, tell me. Is it better to experience death or to watch it?

I wonder…” they trailed off before resuming.

“You lack talent, Stoic Noe. You have had time, you have had resources and opportunity.

You have committed the greatest sin of our world: stagnation. Those who have no insight have no ideal, and those who have no ideal have no place in a school or this world. But you still can serve a purpose. You can be a stepping stone for those who have the ability to move forward, not to be swept away in the stream.” The stoic monologued.

“You will be my stepping stone, and reveal to me the secrets of death. I will step over you and cross into the next realm of understanding, you who have been so carefully selected from all of my students.” They said all of this so calmly and casually, as if it was ordinary business. Noe did nothing, as he was still and silent now.

He leveraged his willpower against the ideals of the Stoic, but it was stifled by their overbearing command placed on him. He was not strong enough to resist, and so he allowed whatever the Stoic would do to happen.

Salazar stepped in closer, and gently tapped Noe on the forehead, and spoke a single

word.

Die.

The word resounded through Noe, beckoning him to oblige, commanding him to. It bent his will like a reed, snapping it. If he had not been locked in place, he would have fallen to his knees.

Inside his chest, something bubbles up to his through, burning him from the inside. He realized, though, that this was not Salazar’s command, this was something else. Something he did not recognize: rage.

Helpless, his will crumpled, and he died.