The commander marched with heavy steps, leading the group of fresh candidates down a long corridor that opened into a harsh, uneven field.
The terrain was jagged, full of uneven rocks, patches of toxic moss, and rusting structures—half-organic, half-machine—rising like bones from an ancient corpse.
He turned to face them, arms crossed behind his back.
"This is your trial. Survive in there for one full day. I don't care what you do—fight, run, hide, cry—but if you're alive by the end, you pass. Sanity, injuries, none of that matters. Just stay breathing."
He said.
With that, he turned and walked off. No more instructions. No weapons issued. No gear. Just the open, warped field ahead.
Nova's eyes narrowed. The moment he stepped past the threshold, he felt it—life. Not in the gentle, nurturing sense.
This was aggressive, invasive. The air itself seemed laced with pulsing vitality, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to the planet.
