A metallic clang reverberated through the first chamber of the Death Challenge Atrium, ricocheting off steel and stone like the tolling of an ancient bell.
A searing, white-hot sensation tore through her body—unrelenting and all-consuming. It radiated from the base of her spine to the tips of her fingers, like molten fire coursing through her veins, igniting every nerve ending in its path.
Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. Each inhalation scraped down her throat as though it had been lined with jagged glass, leaving it raw. Even the simple act of blinking sent sharp spikes lancing through her skull with every flicker of her eyelids. Pressure mounted behind her eyes until it felt as though her skull might rupture from within.
She lay utterly motionless, her cheek pressed against the cold, metallic floor. The chill of the steel was her only relief—a fleeting mercy against the feverish heat radiating from her skin.
The Challenge of Air.
A fitting name, indeed.
Currents of razor-edged wind had torn through the chamber—violent, volatile, and wholly unpredictable. Thermal inversions had transformed scorching heat into frigid torment within moments. Atmospheric pressure had grown so immense it felt as though the weight of a collapsing star had descended upon her.
The trial had decimated her—physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Flesh, flayed.
Spirit, shattered.
Ego, obliterated.
Everything she had entered with had been stripped away and scattered like ash upon the wind.
Her memories of the ordeal remained fragmented—a chaotic blur of incomprehensible images and sensations she had no desire to unravel.
However, that placed her at a disadvantage for future trials. She could not recall when the trial had ended, nor how. As a result, she possessed no understanding of the Hall's criteria for deeming her worthy of release. This was particularly troubling, given that countless cycles of death and revival—each more brutal than the last—had failed to earn her such a verdict.
None of that mattered at this moment. The first Death Challenge was complete. She had survived. She had earned her First Letter.
Seven more Death Challenges remained, should she choose to endure them. That was a matter for another time—though she could not imagine that time arriving any time soon.
With immense effort, she raised her head. Her neck resisted every millimetre of movement, muscles straining as she turned her gaze towards the far wall.
There, a projection of vivid red digits ticked steadily downwards.
It struck her like a dousing of cold water—reminding her of her responsibilities. She needed to move.
A sound escaped her lips—low and guttural—closer to a snarl than a hiss, as she braced her palms against the floor. Her arms quivered violently under the strain. Her vision swam. Darkness crept in from the edges of her sight. Gritting her teeth, she summoned what remained of her strength and dragged her legs beneath her.
The movement caused something to shift deep within her lower back—and crack.
She could not scream, though she desperately wished to. Her throat was too raw and fragile to permit it. She feared that a scream might tear it apart entirely. Instead, she drew a deep breath and clenched her jaw in an attempt to endure.
A sharp sting flared across her tongue, where it had caught between her teeth. Blood flooded her mouth—warm and metallic. She swallowed it, foolishly hoping it might dull the hunger and thirst now clawing mercilessly at her insides.
Then, inch by excruciating inch, she forced herself upright.
Now standing, she swayed. Her balance remained tenuous—like that of a newborn creature taking its first steps.
Above her, a sensor activated with a mechanical chirr. A red beam swept the length of her body, scanning from head to toe.
'Postural Alignment Error: Lumbar Curve Deviation.'
The evaluation appeared in crimson text beneath the ever-descending countdown.
She adjusted her stance with a sharp intake of breath. Her spine grated with each subtle shift, vertebrae grinding with wet cracks in grotesque protest.
Her knees buckled. For one breathless moment, she was certain she would collapse and undo all progress.
She stumbled sideways and barely caught herself against the nearest wall before her strength failed. There she remained, slumped and panting, until her legs regained some measure of stability. Once confident she could continue, she pushed off the wall and resumed her efforts.
Her gait was unsteady. Each step dragged. Her feet barely lifted, scraping across the floor with every agonising shuffle. She stayed close to the wall, one hand trailing along it for support as she navigated the chamber.
The first chamber of the Death Challenge Atrium was a strange convergence of the ancient and the modern. The floor and portions of the walls gleamed with reinforced metal, while the remainder had been carved from dark, weathered stone, etched with runes older than any recorded script. Faintly glowing sigils pulsed beneath the surface, humming with arcane energy. High above, a blackened viewing gallery loomed behind mirrored glass. Whether it was empty or occupied by unseen observers remained uncertain. She had long stopped caring, having realised that the audience—if it existed—would never intervene or interact.
It took her far longer than she would have liked. Far longer than she could afford. Yet eventually—finally—she reached the exit.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the biometric scanner mounted beside the reinforced doorway. Blood and sweat smeared the glass panel, which accepted her print regardless.
With a low hydraulic hiss, the doors parted, revealing the corridor beyond.
She still had a long way to go.
Taking a fortifying breath, she continued onward, stopping only when absolutely necessary. Each step triggered a fresh cascade of agony. Her breathing was laboured. Her head spun with vertigo. Her vision flickered in and out, threatening to leave her entirely. Her strength had long since abandoned her. What propelled her forward now was willpower alone.
At long last, she arrived.
Classroom R-1.
Another biometric scan registered. Another hiss of decompressing hydraulics. Another door slid open—this time revealing a darkened room beyond.
She stumbled inside and continued forward.
Above her, the ceiling panels flickered on, flooding the space with a harsh, unforgiving white light. The air was sterile—thoroughly filtered and devoid of dust, scent, or any trace of organic matter. The room had been arranged with exact precision: row upon row of metallic benches stood aligned in perfect formation, their cold steel surfaces gleaming beneath the overhead glare.
At the front of the room, suspended mid-air by an anti-gravity propulsion unit, hovered the Nanny Bot.
It was an imposing construct. Two elongated, multi-jointed arms, fashioned from high-grade titanium alloy, extended from a central conical torso. Its faceplate was a seamless, polished oval of metal—completely devoid of human features. There were no eyes to meet, no mouth to form words, no expression to interpret—only a blank, impassive surface.
"Offspring Zero-Nine. Arrival recorded as five minutes and forty-two seconds late. Provide adequate justification or submit to punishment protocol," it stated in a synthetic voice devoid of inflection.
She cleared her throat. Her voice, cracked from disuse and roughened, emerged as little more than a whisper.
"Death Challenge," she said.
A blue beam emitted from the Nanny Bot's faceplate and began a slow, deliberate sweep of her body. The scan catalogued everything—lacerated skin, shredded muscle, deformed limbs.
Under the machine's methodical scrutiny, Zero-Nine became painfully aware of her appearance. A deep knot of dread formed in her chest. In her haste to reach the classroom, she had completely neglected the strict regulations regarding physical presentation. Cleanliness, order, and composure were mandatory at all times. Deviation, no matter how minor, was typically punished with severity.
Her current state was clearly non-compliant. Blood-stained scraps of cloth clung to her body, barely covering her—more decorative accessory than functional garment. Under normal circumstances, this dishevelled appearance alone would have warranted immediate disciplinary action.
However, there remained a possibility that her condition would be excused—if her completion of the Death Challenge was accepted as valid justification for both her lateness and, by extension, her appearance.
One crucial detail also worked in her favour: her face remained concealed. Of all violations, exposure of the face was punished with particular severity. In this respect, at least, she had remained compliant. Her veil, securely fastened by her clan-issued circlet, had survived the Death Challenge unscathed.
The veil's resilience had been expected, woven from condensed magic as it was. The circlet's durability, however, had come as a surprise. It had withstood the entirety of the Challenge of Air without the slightest damage. She did not recognise the material from which it had been forged, but it was clear the alloy possessed extraordinary strength.
Regardless, any hope of avoiding penalty now rested entirely on the Nanny Bot's verdict.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them—long enough for her to hear her own heartbeat, loud in her ears.
Then, at last, the machine inclined its head.
"Acceptable. Instruction will now commence."
The overhead panel lights dimmed, plunging the room into near-total darkness. A moment later, a holographic projection flared to life at the centre of the room, in the empty space between the benches and where the Nanny Bot hovered.
The display revealed devastation on a scale that defied human comprehension. Monstrous alien creatures, with concentric, serrated jaws, rampaged through sprawling cityscapes, dismembering civilians with near-gleeful savagery. Others—crystalline, insectoid horrors—moved with clinical precision, their limbs slicing through armoured soldiers as though metal and bone offered no resistance.
The aftermath was nightmarish. Shredded corpses lay in grotesque mounds, stripped of muscle, organs—even bone. Only husks of skin remained—hollowed out and left to rot.
The footage continued.
Entire ecosystems were incinerated into smouldering ash. Flourishing civilisations were obliterated before they could mount even the faintest resistance. Planet after planet fell into ruin, overrun by merciless entities that made no distinction—soldiers, children, elders—none were spared.
In the end, there was only ash, silence, and ruin.
"The First Rupture marked the collapse of the Nihilim Galaxy approximately fourteen thousand cycles ago," Nanny Bot began. "Phase One introduced baseline Void Entities—extraterrestrial organisms either engineered or evolved with a singular directive: to consume and annihilate all biological life. Phase Two... eight thousand cycles ago... a prison colony... the Origin... Phase Three... occurred two thousand cycles ago... oases... emergence of the Negatives... the Orcus Inheritance... Trial Grounds… Prince Vilr... failed insurrection... exile... Ninety-two percent of the Nihilim Galaxy's population was eradicated..."
She struggled to concentrate as static filled her ears—relentless and invasive. It was not mere interference, but a shrill, jagged whine, like white noise honed into blades. Sentences disintegrated into warped syllables. Words blurred and melted into incoherence. Critical data slipped through her grasp like water leaking from a cracked vessel.
"Extinction was avoided only due to the Awakening. Adaptive traits emerged spontaneously among Origin-dwellers—believed to have originated from the Origin's Source Energy, possibly triggered as an evolutionary response to existential threat. Some theorists argue that the Awakening indicates the intervention of a conscious guiding force, though no empirical data has yet substantiated this theory. The notion remains speculative."
The projection shifted to a vast star map—thirteen galaxies spiralling outward from a radiant core: the Source Energy. The simultaneous origin of everything and nothing.
"Thirteen traits emerged," the Nanny Bot continued. "Each trait corresponded to a specific region of the Origin. The nature of the manifestation is believed to correlate with proximity to the First Rupture."
A list appeared:
Nihilim: Cannibalism Orcus: Will to Live Gallant: Barbarism Draconis: Eternal Fire Oceanus: Endless Water Dhara: Enduring Earth Aeris: Boundless Air Magnus: Size Manipulation Fortuna: Probability Manipulation Polaris: Infallible Pathfinding Sonora: All-Hearing Oculus: All-Seeing Sapientia: All-Knowing
The image shifted once more.
Beneath a blood-red sky, a wasteland stretched endlessly. Black sand dunes rippled like scars across the earth, their jagged contours gleaming under the harsh light of twin suns. Razor-edged rock formations jutted skyward like the fossilised ribs of a long-dead leviathan, forming vast mountain ranges.
In the distance, mineral-rich oases pulsed faintly behind shimmering forcefields—meagre sanctuaries sustained by fragile power. Life persisted by a thread. The dwelling of the Nihilim Galaxy's most powerful final remnants, the Negatives.
Then came the beasts—the victors of the conquest. The new occupiers of the land, beneath whose mercy the Negatives endured.
Towering Void-born abominations roamed the land. Some slunk low, their eyeless heads sniffing for heat signatures beneath the sand. Others loomed sky-high, level with the miasmic clouds, with limbs like broken clockwork and mouths that clicked and split into writhing mandibles. They howled without vocal cords. They hunted without rest.
This was Abyssus—the primary planet of the Nihilim Galaxy. Ground zero of the First Rupture. The only planet within the galaxy with any remaining survivors.
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, each thump rattling bone. Her vision blurred. The static rose in pitch, drowning all coherent thought. She bit the inside of her cheek; the sharp sting tethered her tenuously to the present.
She knew what would come next. She had to remain alert.
The lesson continued, but she could no longer comprehend the words. They had become meaningless, garbled noise. Eventually, the holographic projection flickered out, and the overhead lights returned with oppressive brightness. A soft ding signalled the data upload to her Retinal Device. She tapped the side of her temple to access the interface. The standard two-hundred-question assessment appeared.
Only then did she realise she was still standing.
Her knees gave way. She collapsed onto a nearby bench.
Question One: What event marked the beginning of the Nihilim Galaxy's collapse?
Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she submitted her answer.
A sharp red flash filled her vision.
Incorrect.
She stared in disbelief. She had been certain her answer was correct. Frantically, she scanned the interface for the error. There it was, where she had typed rapture instead of rupture
A foolish mistake to make so early. It did not bode well for what was to follow.
"Evaluation: Failure. Restarting Lesson."
The lights dimmed once more. The projection restarted.
Catastrophe. Carnage. Collapse.
"The First Rupture marked the collapse of the Nihilim Galaxy…"
Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails pierced her palms. Blood welled in neat, dark beads. Her attempt to retain information this time was no better than her last. Eventually, the test reappeared.
She drew in a shaky breath and tried again.
Questions one. Which trait did the Awakening grant the Polaris Galaxy?
Red flash.
Incorrect.
This time, she had no chance to identify the mistake. A jolt of electricity surged through her. Her muscles seized. Her limbs convulsed violently. She slammed to the floor.
"The First Rupture marked…"
She lost consciousness.
When she awoke, she was seated again. Cold metal restraints locked her ankles to the bench, holding her in place. The test blinked insistently in her retinal interface. Disoriented and struggling to think, she failed to answer a single question before the timer expired.
Failure. Shock. Reset.
Again and again. Without end.
Time unravelled—became meaningless.
Then, the impact of starvation began to set in.
Not the dull ache of fasting, but a brutal, serrated emptiness. It tore through her abdomen like barbed wire dipped in acid, twisting her insides into knots of blinding pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought to breathe, to focus—but it was futile. She failed on the fourth question.
Things only deteriorated faster from there.
Her bladder gave out first. Warm wetness spread beneath her. Then her bowels, expelling in sickening waves. The stench was indescribable—thick, sour, cloying. Yet even that paled beside the thirst. Her lips split. Her throat burned raw. Her tongue—
Eventually, her body failed entirely.
Death came not with brutality, but with mercy.
Then she revived.
She had no sense of how much time had passed. Minutes? Millennia? She looked down at her emaciated frame. Muscle had withered into threadbare sinew. Her heartbeat was a faint echo. She was little more than a corpse reanimated—a husk clinging to the last ember of life.
"The First Rupture marked the collapse of the Nihilim Galaxy…"
On the feed, a Void Beast devoured a screaming man.
Her stomach heaved. She doubled over, gagging.
She envied the creature.
Saliva thickened in her mouth, viscous from dehydration. She swallowed, imagining the taste of raw flesh—iron-rich and hot, torn from a living body. She saw herself devouring it, shovelling blood-slicked meat into her mouth, choking it down as warmth filled her belly. She imagined biting, chewing, feeding—until she was bloated with relief.
The craving was so vivid she clenched her jaw, trembling with the effort not to bite off her own tongue.
Red flash.
Incorrect.
"Evaluation: Failure. Restarting Lesson."
She braced herself.
Time passed. More assessments. More failures.
Still, she endured.
Slowly, painstakingly, she clawed her way forward, retaining more knowledge with each cycle. One correct answer. Then another. Then another.
Her limbs became skeletal—skin stretched thin and grey over jutting bones. Her hair fell out in clumps, leaving her scalp patchy and exposed to the cool air. Her fingernails yellowed, curled, and cracked. Her gums throbbed; her teeth rotted, loosened, and fell away, leaving bleeding gaps and aching sockets that tainted her breath and stained her lips.
Still, she endured.
One question at a time. Until the last. The two-hundredth.
A green flash lit her vision. Blinding.
Finally.
Relief crashed over her like a tidal wave. Euphoria surged—dizzying.
She felt—
A click. The restraints released. Her body slumped sideways, collapsing into the accumulated filth beneath the bench—blood, urine, faeces, bile, and decay. The stench clung to her nostrils. It coated her tongue.
She lay there, unmoving. Exhaustion pinned her in place.
Darkness came.
She welcomed it.
Valeryon awoke with a gasp, staring up at a smooth white ceiling of unfamiliar dimensions. It took her several seconds to recognise where she was. Her heart raced. Her hands were clenched around the edges of her blanket, white-knuckled and trembling. The memory—dream or otherwise—was already fading. All that remained was the ghost of pain, heavy dread, and an inexplicable sense of shame.
Gritting her teeth, Valeryon pushed herself upright. The soft jingling of anklet bells followed her as she limped to the small ensuite toilet. Each step drove the spikes in deeper, reopening the cuts despite the magic attempting to heal them.
The pain had become grounding. A constant. Routine. Expected.
She opened the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face. It stung sharply but brought clarity. When she looked up, she saw her reflection in the mirror.
A thirteen-year-old girl stared back. For a moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of disconnect. The dissonance was so strong it made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.
Inhale.
Exhale.
When she opened her eyes again, she deliberately avoided meeting her own gaze. Her body was still thinner than she preferred since waking from the coma, but it was stronger now than it had been weeks ago. At the very least, she met all the benchmarks of good health for someone her physical age—even if it did not yet feel that way.
She released a slow, steady breath.
She glanced toward the window, noting the faint light filtering through the glass. It was still early, but returning to sleep risked oversleeping. She might as well begin preparing for the day.