Starless' wrists ached as the chains bit into his skin. He stumbled out of the back of the truck, boots hitting the wet mud with a hollow thud. The other children were tossed beside him like ragdolls, their cries cut short by the hard ground.
The guards with dark glasses moved swiftly among them, syringes glinting under the weak light. One by one, the black goo was injected into their veins. Some whimpered, some screamed, but all were forced forward.
A massive gate loomed ahead, black iron stretching impossibly high. Behind it, a cavernous opening swallowed the children whole. Those already injected were shoved forward, tumbling through the gateway like a tide of shadows.
Starless froze, his chest tightening, eyes wide. His mouth opened but no words came. The scene was incomprehensible—hundreds, thousands of children, all flowing toward the unknown beyond the gate.
The instant they crossed, a stench hit them. Thick, clinging, almost alive. Starless gagged, coughing violently as the air pressed against his lungs.
Around him, the weak children collapsed first, screaming choked into ragged gasps before their bodies went limp. Their legs buckled; the stench stole their consciousness.
One by one, others fell, writhing and convulsing, the adults among them unable to withstand the oppressive, rotting odor. The floor became a forest of prone bodies, twisted in agony.
But Starless did not fall. His lungs burned, his stomach turned, but he stayed upright. Beside him, a handful of others—men and women—gasped, clutching themselves, eyes wide with shock, but remained standing.
The smell clawed at them relentlessly, yet they endured, immune or resistant to whatever curse gripped the others. Starless' pulse thundered in his ears, and he glanced around, counting the few who shared his fate.
Bodies littered the ground. The air itself seemed to recoil, yet the handful of survivors remained, staggering, shaking, and staring at the darkness that stretched beyond the gate.
Starless swallowed hard, feeling the weight of it all pressing down, the chains cutting into his wrists, the mud clinging to him, and the stench trying to suffocate even the strongest will.
He blinked once, then looked forward, into the black unknown that awaited the fallen and the survivors alike.
Starless trudged deeper into the sprawling zone of trash, chains clinking faintly with each step. The air was thick with rot, and his lungs burned with every breath, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone.
Footsteps echoed behind him. A few of the other children had followed, their eyes wide, hesitant, trembling in the stench-filled gloom.
Starless whirled around, face twisted with frustration and exhaustion. "Go! Leave me alone!" he shouted, voice sharp, raw, carrying over the piles of waste.
The children hesitated, glancing at each other, then shuffled back a few steps, unsure, afraid of his intensity.
Without looking back, Starless ran deeper into the maze of refuse. Mud and debris stuck to his boots, chains rattling, the piles of trash looming taller with every step.
Finally, he collapsed onto a mound of damp cardboard, pulling his knees close, head bowed. Alone. The smell clung to him, the silence of the deeper zone pressing around him, offering a grim, quiet refuge.
Starless pushed himself to his feet, boots sinking into the wet refuse. He hugged his arms tight, staring at the endless piles around him.
"Is… being alone really okay?" he muttered, voice barely more than a whisper.
The silence pressed back, heavy and accusing. He felt it—the loneliness cutting sharper than the stench, the weight of having no one to trust, no one to lean on.
Being alone was survival. It was his shield. But it also gnawed at him, shaping him, twisting him, teaching him that the world didn't care—and maybe, deep down, he didn't care either.
And that thought made his chest ache.
Starless stepped forward, mud squelching underfoot, and froze.
Before him sprawled a massive village carved into the dumpsite—streets cobbled from scrap metal and broken wood, lanterns flickering weak light across tents and makeshift huts. Smoke spiraled from small fires, mingling with the stench, turning the air thick.
Children moved like shadows, bartering scraps, carrying bundles, repairing walls with calloused hands. Adults hunched over workbenches, hammering, stitching, forging, scraping life from the refuse. The sound of effort—shouting, hammering, bartering—filled the air, constant and alive.
It wasn't just survival. It was a city, harsh and cruel, built from the trash of the world above, humming with the determination of those who had no choice but to endure. Starless took a careful step inside, the enormity of it pressing down, both awe and despair coiling in his chest.
Starless moved cautiously through the narrow alleyways of the village, the stench and noise pressing at him from all sides.
Ahead, a figure stepped from the shadows. A boy—handsome, tall for his age—stood silent, still as a statue. His black hair fell over a mask that hugged his face tightly, curving into sharp, metallic horns. The mask shimmered darkly, as if made of black goo hardened into steel, radiating a faint, strange scent that made Starless take a cautious step back.
The boy's clothes were immaculate for this place: black and grey shirt, a flowing black robe, grey bandages wrapped around his legs, black boots glinting even in the dim light. Every detail seemed purposeful, like armor forged from shadow itself.
He studied Starless with eyes that glimmered behind the mask, silent, sharp, and commanding. The air between them hung tense, thick with curiosity and unspoken challenge.
The boy tilted his head slightly, the horns of his mask catching the dim light. His voice came out calm, roughened just enough to sound real in this place.
"What's your name?" he asked. "And your rank."
Starless blinked, caught off guard. He pointed at himself, thumb brushing his chest.
"Me?" he said quietly. "I'm… new here. That's all."
For a moment, the masked boy said nothing.
Starless met his gaze anyway. Then, without dressing it up, without pride or fear, he asked straight out,
"Walk with me."
The words hung between them, simple and bare.
"I don't know this place," Starless continued, voice steady despite the weight in his chest. "But I'm going forward. If you are too… come with me."
The village noise faded around them, as if the world itself paused to hear the answer.
The boy laughed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't friendly. It was sharp, mocking, edged with disbelief. The sound echoed faintly behind the black horns of his mask.
"And what," he said, tilting his head, "makes you think I'd agree to that?"
Starless didn't react right away.
He stood there, still, then spoke quietly, as if the words were already decided long before this moment.
"Fate's damned if I lose you man. Just take me in."
The laughter stopped.
The boy straightened slightly. "Big words for someone who just got thrown in here."
Starless lifted his eyes. "I'm an Awakener."
A pause.
The masked boy leaned forward just a little. "Color?"
"Yellow."
That did it.
The boy's posture shifted, interest cutting through the mockery. "Prove it."
Starless reached up, fingers trembling once before steadying. He pulled his shirt aside.
The sigil glowed faintly on his chest—yellow, steady, alive.
The light reflected off the black metallic mask, dancing along the curved horns.
For the first time, the boy didn't laugh.
The boy was silent for a long moment.
Then he straightened, one hand lifting to the edge of his mask as if considering whether to remove it—but he didn't. Instead, he turned slightly, gesturing with his head.
"Name's Lethe," he said at last. "Remember it."
He took a step away, then another, boots crunching softly against broken metal and ash.
"Don't fall behind," Lethe added, voice flat. "This place eats the slow."
Starless followed.
They moved through narrow paths between stacked scrap and leaning structures, past eyes that watched but didn't dare speak. Lethe knew the routes instinctively—turning where nothing marked a path, slipping between gaps that looked like dead ends.
Finally, they stopped before a building that didn't belong.
Its walls were reinforced with layered metal plates fused by blackened seams. No signs. No lights. Just a door half-buried under trash, almost invisible unless you knew to look.
Lethe pressed his palm against the surface. The metal shuddered and shifted, unlocking with a low, wet sound.
"This," he said, glancing back at Starless, "is where people like us don't get noticed."
The door opened.
As Starless stepped inside, Lethe followed, the door sealing behind them with a dull, final thud.
The darkness swallowed the sound of the village.
Lethe adjusted his grip on the edge of his robe, eyes hidden behind the horned mask. He watched Starless in silence, measuring his breathing, his posture, the way he didn't flinch.
I don't trust you, he thought. Not yet.
Yellow Door… in a place like this.
A faint, dangerous curiosity stirred beneath the caution.
I'll test you first.
Only then will I decide whether you're worth keeping alive.