Darkness lingered over the chamber, heavy and cold.
The girl knelt on the floor, tears pooling beneath her, shaking with quiet desperation.
Starless's chest heaved.
Then it came.
A laugh.
Low at first, like dry wind over stone.
It grew sharp, jagged, uncontrollable.
He tilted his head back, shoulders shaking, and laughed louder, harder, until the sound filled every corner of the chamber, bouncing off the endless walls.
Eyes widened.
Hands froze.
The crying girl paused mid-sob, staring.
Academy students, their crimson armor dull beneath the pale glow, exchanged glances.
Whispers died on the air.
Every figure in the room just stared, frozen, as if the laugh itself had drawn a circle of madness around Starless.
Some clenched fists.
Some recoiled.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Just the sound of him, unhinged, dominating the chamber.
Jaless stepped forward, eyes blazing, voice cutting through the lingering echoes of Starless's laughter.
"You bastard! How can you laugh at your fellow mate like that?"
His hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from controlled anger.
"She's been given a cruel fate! Even death seems kind now, Starless!"
The chamber fell heavier with his words.
"Stop laughing at… maniacal things!"
Starless's shoulders shook as his laughter died.
He exhaled, slow, uneven, and looked at the girl still kneeling.
"I… I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"I couldn't help it."
A blue-haired girl stepped forward, calm but gentle.
She knelt beside the crying girl, lifting her up with careful hands, murmuring soothing words.
The girl's sobs slowed, shoulders shaking less as she regained balance.
Starless stayed back, far from the two of them, eyes fixed on the five colossal doors at the far end of the chamber.
The air was thick with silence, tension pressing against every figure.
Then a sharp voice rang out.
"Everyone! Listen!"
Heads turned.
One of the crimson-armored academy students raised a hand, voice steady.
"In the academy, we were told… to write one of these Five things."
The words cut through the chamber, drawing all eyes, all attention, toward him.
The crimson-armored student stepped forward, moving with a measured authority that cut through the lingering tension.
He reached up and removed his helmet. White hair spilled over his shoulders, stark against the red armor, eyes sharp and unwavering.
He stood at the front of everyone, the faint glow of the five doors reflecting off his polished plates.
"Beware of the choice you make here," he said, voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight.
"This step determines everyone's future."
He paused, letting the words settle like stone in the chamber.
"To make sure everyone passes, the academy will share the correct words to write for each door you choose."
"This is not a question of preference. It is not a suggestion. It is a must. Any further delay… may result in cataclysm."
The silence that followed was absolute. The gravity of the moment pressed on every chest, every heartbeat echoing in the vast space.
Jaless's eyes narrowed, his calm veneer cracking just slightly.
He stepped forward, voice low and edged with anger.
"Then why… why did you let that girl go first?"
His gaze burned into the white-haired student.
"What truth is there to believe when you simply let one complete the ritual unprepared?"
He stopped, breath caught in the tension of the chamber, and stared.
Shock spread across his face.
"Did you… just use her as an example?"
Murmurs rose through the other teens, soft whispers of disbelief and fear.
"Oh my God…" someone breathed.
The blue-haired girl, still holding the crying girl, felt her sobs start again, slower this time, each tear heavy with the weight of the terrible future that awaited her.
Eyes swept across the chamber, staring at the crimson-armored academy students, whose calm composure now felt almost inhuman.
One of the female academy students stepped forward, moving with quiet grace toward the white-haired boy at the front.
He turned slightly, nodding with measured acknowledgment.
"I am Lumian," he said, his voice smooth, precise, carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
"It is general knowledge to everyone here," Lumian continued, eyes scanning the crowd, "that we have five roles."
He paused, letting each word land like a stone in the minds of the gathered students.
"The Magician. The Joker. The Oracle. The Warrior. And… the Artisan."
The chamber held its breath, waiting as the weight of the roles sank into every mind present.
Starless raised his hands, voice sharp, cutting through the murmurs.
"Why five roles?" he asked.
"Didn't the voice say the only limit is our understanding of meaning?"
"Writing and gaining… what are we even writing?"
"If I'm to write something, I'll write what I want. Not something based on the academy's propaganda."
Lumian hummed softly, tilting his head, eyes calm and unreadable.
"You have a good point," he said slowly, each word deliberate, measured.
"But remember… nobody truly understands the power we are allowed to wield."
He stepped closer, voice lowering just enough for Starless to hear clearly.
"If we follow the academy requirements… everyone will survive."
Starless stepped forward, voice firm despite the tension thick around them.
"I don't care about your roles. Or your rules. Or your survival games," he spat. "What's the point of ideals if they chain us? Power is meant to be understood, not blindly obeyed. You preach order, but the world doesn't care about order!"
Lumian's eyes darkened, the calm authority cracking into fury.
"Why aren't you understanding the simplest general knowledge?!" he shouted, voice echoing like a hammer against stone.
He raised his sword, the crimson blade catching the pale glow of the chamber.
"You keep questioning me! Are you really one of us? And how did you enter Hall D if you know nothing of its laws?"
Starless's chest rose and fell. He stared directly at Lumian, unwavering.
"Lumian… I don't understand any of that. I'm Starless. The Silent Screamer from the outskirts… the Wastelands… where abandoned children live. I don't bend to knowledge I don't earn, nor to rules I don't see."
He let the words hang, cold and sharp, letting the weight of truth settle between them.
Lumian's grip tightened around his sword.
"That's exactly why," he said coldly. "You know nothing. You question what is already known. You doubt what others accept to survive."
Starless exhaled, then laughed softly under his breath.
"In the wastelands… they call me mad," he said.
"A laughing, maniacal demon… perhaps."
He chuckled, hollow and dry.
"But I'm still not sure," his voice lowered, sharper now. "Helping a dying girl was considered evil."
His eyes swept over the room.
"I was hated by everyone then."
A pause.
"And now… I'm hated by everyone here too."
Lumian's eyes narrowed, cold and cutting.
"You laughed earlier at the girl," he said, voice low but sharp. "And now you play the saint? A funny act, indeed."
He stepped closer, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"Let me be honest with you, Starless. You contributed nothing. Nothing at all."
His gaze hardened, final.
"And remember… just like your name, your future looks… starless."