I awoke in a vast Colosseum, the rough chill of stone pressing against my back. Around me, thousands stirred—humans, beastkin, elves, orcs, and countless other beings I couldn’t even name. The sheer size of the crowd was staggering, stretching across the arena floor and filling the lower stands. It was like waking up in the middle of an exodus, but with no clear path forward.

For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence—the heavy quiet of shared confusion. Then the murmuring began—soft at first, like the rustling of leaves. It swelled quickly, voices overlapping, rising into a chaotic roar as fear took hold.

“Where are we?”

“Who did this?”

“Is this some kind of test?!”

Panic rippled outward, bodies jostling as people scrambled to their feet, forming loose clusters by species or familiar faces. The air thickened with uncertainty, every breath sharp with adrenaline.

I didn’t move. I sat up slowly, watching while others wasted energy on questions no one here could answer. There was a pattern to the chaos—fear, confusion, anger. But underneath it all, something else. Design. Purpose. The arena was too perfect—the marble floor unblemished despite the crowd, the towering walls shimmering faintly under pale light from nowhere.

That’s when I saw him.

One figure, standing dead center. A dwarf—or something like it. Broad-shouldered, bearded, clad in dark leathers worn but meticulously kept. Unlike the rest of us, he wasn’t searching for answers or shouting into the void. He stood perfectly still, arms crossed, one boot casually resting on a fallen helmet.

Waiting.

The noise faltered as more people noticed him. Shouts quieted, and the energy shifted from panic to uneasy anticipation. Thousands of voices dwindled to a hush, like the crowd had collectively realized they’d already missed the opening act.

The dwarf’s gaze swept over us, sharp and assessing. Not cruel, not kind—just… patient. Like he’d seen this play out a thousand times before and knew the script by heart.

He adjusted his coat, tugged at his vest, brushed dust from his sleeves. Small gestures, but deliberate. The kind of thing someone does when they’re about to pass sentence.

Then he spoke.

A single dwarf. No microphone. No magic I could see. Yet his voice cut through the Colosseum like a blade, clear and resonant, reaching every corner without effort.

“Welcome.”

The crowd stiffened, attention snapping to him like puppets on strings.

“You have been selected from your planet to participate in an audition—to determine who will lead your world.”

He paused, slowly turning in place, gaze sweeping the crowd. It wasn’t just a glance. His eyes lingered, weighing each cluster like he already saw who would rise and who would fall.

“Shortly, your world will join the multiverse.” His tone softened, almost reverent, before hardening again. “The multiverse is a place of endless wonders, boundless opportunities—but it is cruel to those unprepared. Newly adopted planets are vulnerable. Without strong leadership, survival is anything but guaranteed.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

“That is why this audition exists.” He gestured broadly, encompassing the thousands around him. “One among you will be appointed as your planet’s leader. One to guide, defend, and ensure your world doesn’t fall to the chaos waiting beyond its borders.”

His eyes settled on a group of humans nearby. "Think it's unfair? That you didn’t ask for this? Maybe. But survival doesn’t give a damn about fairness."

The dwarf’s lips curled into a grim smile. “And survival is what this is about.”

He let the words hang, stretching the moment until the weight of them settled deep into every chest.

“You’ll have questions. Of course you will.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But my job isn’t to answer them. That task falls to your teachers.” His smile shifted then—subtler, sharper. Like the edge of a knife, or the punchline of a joke no one else found funny.

“When I give the signal, you’ll leave this Colosseum and find your teachers. However you see fit.” His gaze swept the crowd, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite amusement. “There aren’t enough teachers for everyone. I suggest you… do whatever is necessary to secure one.”

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The murmurs returned, uneasy and frantic, but the dwarf didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he raised one hand high above his head, fingers outstretched toward the sky.

For an instant, nothing happened.

Then the world exploded with light.

A column of brilliant white shot from his palm, piercing the heavens. It wasn’t just light—it was everything. It swallowed the sky, painting every surface in stark, unforgiving radiance. The Colosseum, the crowd, the distant horizon—consumed by a single blinding moment.

And then it was gone.

The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving spots dancing across my vision. The dwarf was gone with it, erased like he’d never been there.

The Colosseum stood silent. Motionless. Breathless.

Then the silence shattered as thousands moved at once.

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The scramble had begun.

I shoved against the press of bodies, a chaotic tide surging toward the exits. I didn’t fight to keep up—I fought to break free. Height. I needed height. A vantage point to see beyond the crush, to track where the majority were heading.

My body moved on instinct. I bounded off a nearby pillar, claws scraping stone as I launched upward. My tail curled around the edge of an overhang, hauling me onto the massive wall ringing the Colosseum.

From there, the madness unfolded like a battlefield. Fights broke out across the crowd, spreading like wildfire—screams, curses, and the wet crunch of blows landing. There would be killings. Of course there would. The dwarf had practically declared it: anything goes.

I crouched low, breath steadying as I surveyed the chaos. The teachers had to be scattered throughout the land beyond the Colosseum. The initial rush meant nothing. Being first outside wouldn’t secure victory—if anything, it increased the risk of death. The crowd was a meat grinder, offering little information and no control.

But here, atop the wall, I had control. I could plan.

My gaze swept the horizon. Sparse structures dotted the landscape beyond, half-obscured by swirling dust. No obvious markers, no guiding lights. Whatever teachers existed, they weren’t advertising their presence. This would be a hunt, not a race.

Movement caught my eye. A few others had followed my lead, scaling the wall with practiced ease. Silent sentries, like me. Not allies. Not enemies. Just watchers—for now.

I leaned back against the stone, mind already mapping the terrain. Let the reckless die fighting over scraps. I’d choose my path carefully.

Information first. Blood later.

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I sat there longer than necessary.

Long enough to watch where the horde flowed. Long enough to memorize the landscape—the dips in the earth, the clusters of trees, the distant silhouettes of structures that might hide teachers. Long enough for the Colosseum to empty, leaving behind only echoes of violence and panic.

I wanted to be the last. To see where the other watchers moved. They were the ones to worry about—the ones smart enough to assess and strike when the dust settled. I’d need to befriend them or kill them. Knowing their direction was an advantage I couldn’t afford to pass up.

And once they were gone, I’d scour the Colosseum itself. Everyone had fled so quickly, so blindly, driven by panic and desperation. There could be something left behind—something missed.

I intended to find it.

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I jumped off the wall and landed lightly, dust rising around my boots. Methodically, I combed the area, every section, every seat. My fingers brushed sun-warmed stone and weathered wood as I moved inward, sweeping the inner arena and shifting through the sands.

Nothing stood out—just the remnants of a forgotten battleground, silent and still.

Nothing except a single door.

It was half-hidden behind a crumbling archway, set flush into the wall like an afterthought. Ordinary, if not for the faint hum in the air around it. When I reached out, a force field shimmered to life—blue light crackling along its edges like lightning trapped in glass. It flickered for a moment, then settled into a steady, menacing glow.

Excitement swelled in my chest. This was different. Something overlooked in the chaos. My golden ticket. I just needed to figure out how to get inside.

Focusing, I mentally pulled up my inventory, hoping for some tool to bypass the barrier. A lockpick, a wardbreaker—hell, even a rock with magical ambitions would do.

The screen flickered open, and my heart sank. Empty.

Well, not entirely. No weapons. No starter gear. Just bare essentials—some food, water, and bandages. It made sense. This world was still holding my hand. Dropping me in fully equipped would defeat the purpose of learning survival the hard way.

I sighed, dismissing the inventory. Fine. No shortcuts, then.

I knelt beside the door, eyes narrowing as I examined the frame. If there was a force field, there had to be a power source. Wires, runes—something. My fingers traced the edge, brushing smooth metal and worn stone.

Nothing.

The field crackled softly, mocking me. I leaned back on my heels, thoughtful. Touching the barrier now seemed like a spectacularly bad idea—unless I’d suddenly developed a fondness for being flash-fried.

But rubber…

I grinned. My first real quest. I could almost see it:

"Get through the door."

The words popped into my mind like a quest marker in a game.

Ping!

I froze. The sound was sharp, unmistakable—like a phone notification. Heart skipping, I glanced around. Nothing. Then realization hit like a slap.

“Idiot,” I muttered, opening my status screen.

In the top right corner, a small icon blinked insistently. I focused on it, and a translucent window flickered into view:

New Quest: Get through the door.

I stared. Was something watching me? Or had the system responded to my thoughts?

Either way, the message was clear. I had a goal, and now the world itself seemed to agree.

I exhaled slowly, the grin returning.

Game on.