... It is cold and dark, just like a cave. I barely hear a whisper, but the overall silence deepens the sound of water dripping on the hard surface, from stalactites I’m guessing. Doesn’t matter where it’s coming from, what happened is the real question. During times like this one should remain calm and think over the past and current events, but it doesn’t take much to realize it’s futile as is.

Another surge of fear comes bursting as I feel the brushing of a sound wave, one that invites the presence of that same unseen creature that terrorizes me to this moment. I don’t think there’s a need to be wary, but I can’t help feeling this way – truth is, I don’t know how should I interpret these strange emotions I’ve been sensing, and not knowing scrapes off my ever distant self.

It is like I’m discovering another side of me, or unburying the remains of my childhood… It bothers me to no end, while I shouldn’t care.

- I would tell you to open your eyes, were they not open already. How do you feel, child?

It is her. Whenever I hear this voice, I calm down, almost as if I am dreaming. But it only serves to worsen the crisis. I need an explanation, more than that, I demand an explanation.

- The question is not how I feel, but rather why do I feel? You people brought me in, surely you have some knowledge of this. Why am I not dead, why did the venom come back with me, what was that creature and what is this place… Who are you and why do your voice soothes me?

After a brief moment, I notice how much distressed I’m appearing to be. How unbecoming of a trained killer, what am I doing really? Now I’m recalling the times with one of my previous masters, the one who teach me the ins and outs of the assassin’s code.

He had me nicknamed Broken Doll. I was clumsy with my experiments, timid, overly cautious, zealous – but most of all, driven by fear and rage, governed by feelings. I have always been treated as the useless one in the bunch, and my achievements were nothing but dumb luck in the elder’s eyes. Back then I blamed then, now I can blame myself for accepting my fate as the trash they said I was. Accepting is much easier than fighting back.

Strange thing is, from my group only I survived long enough to do missions for the order. No matter how well you do in training, it all comes down to whether or not you’ll be successful in actual missions – and in that regard I exceled. Some of them got unlucky, becoming disabled from excessive training or from experiments with deadly results, same for the ones who contracted incurable diseases and changed to the Death Flag unit which is basically a last resort if everything fails – but rarely do things fail so they end up being discarded when the toll becomes too high for them to execute their jobs.

Some of my comrades would go wild and rebel against our teachers, and the only proof of their existence would be the testimony of many of us who heard the tortured screams during the night. Never heard of someone who strayed successfully. The order probably wouldn’t want such information to spread anyway.

Luck is, indeed, a factor. Thinking about it made me regain my senses and turn back to my usual self.

- Now, now, dear, don’t be unreasonable. Just like you, me and my comrades are overridden by doubts, and fears to an extent. We too have things to ask of you, but before all else, please trust us for now and attend to a ceremony. Afterwards, you may speak freely and we will provide you with all we know.

- Sorry about it, I say not quite satisfied, please tell me about this ceremony.

- Right now, you are about to enter a world known only to a chosen few. We who inhabit this world do what we must to hide its existence from you outsiders, but some born with the ability will eventually cross the borders. You, my dear, are one of those, and to pass between the gates, just like being reborn, you must receive a new name.

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I nod and follow her from the shadows. Her voice makes it easier to accept what has been said, but it’s also due to the fact any normal explanation doesn’t seem to fit in. As I walk behind her, I feel the urge to ask her name – normally it wouldn’t matter, but in this place your name seems precious enough that it becomes relevant to know.

So I do, and her steps slow down as to think over it.

- Sorry but, presently, I cannot give you my name. It is something you can only offer to someone you have absolute trust in. To many of us, our name equals our life. Asking me my name is the same as asking me to tear my heart out and place it in your hands.

The woman comes to a stop, turning to face me. I can now see her golden eyes gleaming in the dark, like a cat’s.

- Would you protect it, keep it safe and beating, or would you sink your nails and burst it open? Can I trust you, child with no name?

- That I don’t know, I respond quietly, and that’s why you shouldn’t.

- Correct, you cannot place your heart in the hands of the unknown. I wouldn’t. However, you can call me the Storyteller.

Why Storyteller? I think I can ask, but with more pressing matters I don’t bother doing it. Plus, we have reached our destination. It is the monster, but I can’t feel anything anymore – which is all I’ve been wishing for since I’ve reached this place.

- The one to name outsiders is the Guardian of the First Gate. Just step forward to be in his presence.

I do as instructed, but after a long wait, nothing happens. In this darkness I can still feel the presence of the Storyteller, but it is rapidly fading, giving room to the monster. I cannot feel the ground I walk on any longer, nor can I hear the drops of water falling nearby, all I feel is the shadow of a creature hideously overpowering and its eyes devoid of empathy.

- You are a strange occurrence in this world of ours, girlie, and I don’t mean the usual one, neither am I implying it’s a good or bad thing. At all.

Diversely from Storyteller’s, the Guardian’s voice is crackled and filled with distortion, making me waver on my feet. My mind, unlike my body, firmly stands the onslaught of his powerful tone.

- How many are the gates that lead into this world? I ask him out of sheer curiosity, although uncertain if I want to prolong the conversation more than needed.

- Five gates in total, each of its guardians owners of a different voice. The First Gate is my domain, but don’t mistake me for a creator of rules, I am merely the one who keeps the engines working, much like the other four.

- What is that voice you speak of?

- There’s no way to explain it precisely in your guttural language, but I can work on it. People who are born to this world each have voice with color and shape. Putting it roughly, the qualities of your voice will determine your capabilities, as well as your limits, in this world.

- I see… And I suppose it’s linked to a name.

- That is an expected response based on what few information you have, but not quite so. While the voice goes to show what you can be, a name reveals what you are right now, and is prone to change, though such things are unusual, since the core is dense. Typically, names are only given after the voice has fully matured, with different development curves for each individual, but such rules don’t apply to you outsiders. Have you any more questions? Else I shall give you your name.

- I have many… But I ought to seek answers later, in a more appropriate setup.

- As you wish. Know that the reason outsiders are sent to me has to deal with the colors of your voices. On this side of the coin people vary between three colors, a shape and how it fairs in the balance. I am the one who deals with the later, either classifying a voice as darker or lighter. Most of them are only slightly off in the balance of things, but outsiders more often than not come with those two patterns: either very close to one side of the spectrum, or perfectly in the middle of it.

The monstrosity comes to a stop, when it emits disturbing noises much unsettling to my ears and that shakes my insides deeply. I can’t feel comfortable around it.

- Your name shall be Hollowed Dark Star, owner of the pitch black voice.