Darkness peeled away like a closing curtain.
Eyes opened.
Breaths caught.
They were no longer in the colosseum.
The space before them was vast beyond sense, an endless chamber where distance felt distorted, where size lost meaning. The floor was smooth obsidian stone, stretching so far it dissolved into haze. Above them, nothing resembled a ceiling. Only depth. Only scale.
Everything felt massive.
Too massive.
Gasps echoed as people turned slowly, fear and awe tangling together. Even the academy students stood frozen, their red armor dull beneath a pale, unnatural glow.
Then everyone saw them.
Five doors.
They stood at the far end of the chamber, towering like monuments rather than entrances. Each one was colossal, tall enough to dwarf towers, wide enough to swallow armies. Their surfaces were smooth, seamless, without handles or carvings, as if they had not been built but declared into existence.
They glowed softly, each with its own presence.
The first door shimmered blue, deep and cold, like an endless sky reflected on still water.
The second door glowed white, blinding yet clean, its light pure and unforgiving.
The third door burned yellow, warm but sharp, like a promise that could scorch.
The fourth door pulsed green, slow and alive, as if something behind it was breathing.
The fifth door stood apart.
Brown.
Muted. Heavy. Grounded.
Its glow was faint compared to the others, but it felt denser, older. As if it carried weight rather than light.
No symbols marked them.
No instructions followed.
The chamber did not speak.
It watched.
Starless felt small.
Not weak. Not powerless.
Small.
As if whatever had brought them here wanted them to understand one thing clearly before anything else.
This place was not meant to be conquered.
"Attend, Awakeners."
The voice returned, echoing through the endless chamber, steady once more, yet layered with something watchful.
"Before thee stand five paths, yet none be named plainly, for meaning is not given. It is discerned."
A pause followed, long and deliberate.
"Thy first door, clad in Blue, be the beauty of that which hath no end. As the endless sky doth stretch beyond mortal reach, so too doth this path bind thee to vastness unseen, where wonder is boundless and depth knoweth no shore."
The blue door pulsed softly.
"Thy second door, White, be the union of all colors held in quiet accord. Here lieth balance, the fundamentals upon which thy reality standeth, neither excess nor want, but the harmony that order demandeth."
The white glow steadied, calm and absolute.
"Thy third door, Yellow, be the dominion of thy mind. Calmness, clarity, and peaceful resolve. As the still sun warmeth without haste, so shall thy thoughts be tempered, unshaken by storm or shadow."
The yellow light shimmered gently.
"Thy fourth door, Green, be the call of nature. The tall green trees that rise without asking leave, roots deep and crowns unbowed. Growth, renewal, and the quiet strength of all that liveth and endureth."
The green door pulsed, slow and alive.
The chamber grew heavier.
"Thy fifth door…"
The brown door seemed to drink the light around it.
"…be the physical plane."
A brief silence fell.
"Thy body. Thy flesh. Thy will turned inward. Not to bend the world without, but to master the self within. Manipulation not of surrounding, but of one's own form, strength, and limit."
The voice lowered.
"Choose not by desire alone, for each door taketh more than it granteth."
The chamber waited.
"Tell us how to use the doors."
Shouts rang out, sharp and desperate, cutting through the vast chamber. Voices overlapped, demands stacking upon fear.
"What do we do."
"How do we enter."
"What happens if we choose wrong."
The air trembled.
Then the voice returned.
At once, everyone sat down.
Not by command, but instinct.
Silence fell as hundreds of eyes lifted toward the five massive doors, their colors bleeding softly into the endless space. The voice was everywhere again. Above. Below. Within.
"In thy beginning of thy quench for power," it said, slow and measured, "being full is thy fantasy."
A pause.
"But thy wisest of folk know this."
The chamber seemed to lean inward.
"Thy question thou did ask earlier. The lives lost."
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd.
"They were not meaningless."
A low murmur rose.
"People dying is good," someone whispered, disbelief sharp in their tone. "Is that what you are suggesting."
The reply came instantly.
"He who saveth a single life saveth the world entire."
The words rang with finality.
"I am not human," the voice continued. "I am something far beyond such measures."
Fear tightened its grip.
"Thy sacrifice thou made did aid everyone to finish."
The doors pulsed faintly.
"Thy requirements to gain more power shall ever demand more sacrifice."
A heavy silence followed.
"Thirty perished," the voice said calmly. "And the final words of one among them were this. Use the death of all as a sacrifice."
A pause.
"A noble sacrifice indeed."
Some shuddered. Some clenched their fists.
"I am inclined to agree," the voice continued, "for it aligneth with the fundamental rules of reality."
The chamber felt colder.
"Thus," the voice declared, "each of thee shall now choose the door thou desire."
The five doors loomed larger than before.
"Thy power shall derive from the aspect thou choosest."
The glow intensified.
"Be thou specific," the voice warned, "for there be consequences to unfinished writing."
A hand rose from the crowd, shaking.
"An example," someone asked. "Give us an example."
The chamber went still.
"One shall step forth," the voice replied. "One alone."
"Enter one of thy doors."
The five massive gates waited.
And for the first time since arriving, the choice felt heavier than fear.
A girl stood.
Blue hair fell messily around her face, dull and unkempt. Her eyes were open, yet lifeless, as if sleep had long abandoned them and never returned. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.
"I will test it," she said quietly. "For everyone."
No one stopped her.
She wore a large, oversized coat, heavy enough to swallow her frame, the collar pulled high, shadowing most of her face. Beneath it, blue tracksuit pants hung loosely from her legs, worn thin at the knees. She looked small. Fragile. Out of place.
She walked forward.
Each step echoed as she moved to the center of the chamber, standing before the five massive doors. Their light washed over her, towering above her like gods carved from color and will.
She was insignificant there.
A lone figure dwarfed by eternity.
Her eyes moved from blue, to white, to yellow, to green, to brown.
She swallowed.
"So vast," she murmured to herself. "All of it."
Her gaze lingered on the white door.
In her mind, a thought surfaced, quiet and honest.
I am tired.
I just want something to give me a reason.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, reality broke.
She saw everything.
Every future. Every possibility. Every branching outcome stretching endlessly forward, multiplying without mercy. Worlds born and destroyed. Choices made and unmade. Lives repeating, colliding, unraveling.
Infinity pressed against her mind.
Her breath quickened. Her vision blurred.
It was too much.
The voice returned, rough this time, stripped of patience.
"You who hath chosen the White. Thou shalt now write thy power. Bind it to thy ground."
The space before her darkened.
Blood appeared.
It spilled into a perfect circle at her feet, flowing without pain. Within it, symbols formed, each mark different, each letter unfamiliar. Words twisted and shifted, ancient and alive.
The girl dropped to her knees.
Her hands trembled.
She looked up.
"Since this be the White," she asked softly, "may I write anything of reality and make it my power."
"Thy may," the voice replied simply.
She lowered her gaze.
The blood moved as she wrote.
I want the power to end everything.
The circle sealed.
"Done," the voice declared.
For a moment, she was silent.
Why did she choose it.
The answer came easily.
She was tired.
Tired of pain. Tired of exhaustion. Tired of feeling trapped inside a future that never rested. The ability to end everything felt gentle. Merciful.
Perfect.
"Thou art permitted to leave," the voice said.
Light swallowed her.
She stumbled forward and emerged back into the chamber.
People were murmuring, voices overlapping in nervous excitement. Some noticed her and stepped closer. Not all. Just enough.
"How was it."
"What did you get."
"Are you okay."
She looked at them.
"Quiet," she replied. "Peaceful perhaps."
A pause.
"Too peaceful."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I wrote a simple power," she said. "It will be good, right."
The chamber darkened.
The voice returned.
"Hearken."
Every sound died.
"She wrote thus. I want the power to end everything."
A shiver ran through the crowd.
"There be consequences to unfinished writing," the voice continued. "And these consequences be severe."
The girl stood motionless.
"Pain without reward is deemed unjust, is it not."
No one answered.
"Thus hear thy explanation."
"She may end any process. She may end fire. End motion. End a spell. End momentum. End will."
Gasps rose.
"But she did not name what should be ended."
The voice lowered.
"And so the power began with her."
The girl blinked.
"It will slowly end her joy."
No reaction.
"End her sense of taste."
Nothing.
"End her heartbeat."
Realization spread like frost.
"She yet liveth," the voice said, "but as one lifeless moving corpse."
The girl raised a hand slowly. She felt nothing.
"And what about my future," the voice finished, "It's ended."
The chamber felt wrong.
"She is bound to ending," the voice declared. "Yet shall never reach the end."
A pause.
"She is now a paradox."
The girl stood quietly, breathing without breath, living without life.
"A living end," the voice said.
"Who can never die."
The girl's body trembled.
Then she broke.
Tears spilled from her eyes, heavy and endless, striking the stone beneath her knees. She collapsed forward and struck her forehead against the floor, once, twice, the sound hollow and desperate.
"Please," she cried, voice cracking. "Oh great master… I did not understand. I did not see clearly."
Her hands pressed against the cold stone as she bowed again, harder this time.
"Give me a chance," she begged. "Let me repeat it. I can write it better. I can fix it."
Her tears soaked into the floor as visions flooded her mind. Endless time without rest. Without warmth. Without release. Watching everything decay while she remained, frozen in a state that could never finish. No joy. No future. No escape.
Her sobs echoed through the chamber.
"I don't want this," she whispered. "Please… I'm scared."
The voice answered.
It did not raise its tone.
It did not soften either.
"No."
The word struck harder than any blow.
The girl froze, breath hitching, tears still falling as the reality settled fully into her bones.
The doors loomed in silence.
And everyone understood.
There would be no mercy for careless words.
Silence swallowed the chamber.
The girl remained kneeling, broken, her cries fading into quiet sobs that no one dared answer. The five doors stood unmoved, glowing without sympathy.
Then a sound cut through it all.
Laughter.
It started low. A dry breath forced from Starless's chest.
Then it grew.
He tilted his head back and laughed louder, the sound sharp and ugly, echoing endlessly against the massive walls. It was not joy. It was not sorrow. There was no warmth in it at all.
It was ridicule.
It was contempt.
A laugh born from seeing something pitiful laid bare.
Starless laughed until his shoulders shook, until the sound twisted into something unhinged and cruel. He laughed at the choice. At the begging. At the weakness of words written without thought.
Some stared at him in horror.
Others looked away.
The girl did not lift her head.
His laughter rang on, humiliating and wild, tearing through the weight of the chamber like a blade.
And as it echoed beneath the towering doors, one truth settled into everyone present.
This world would not forgive mistakes.
Not once.
Not ever.