The cafeteria was quiet in a strange, hollow kind of way.
The hum of machines filled the silence between voices. Trays slid across metal counters, boots clicked against the floor, and someone laughed too loudly in the distance—but it all felt muffled, like it was happening behind glass.
Felix followed William through the line, trying not to stare too much. People glanced their way, but no one said anything. Maybe they were used to William keeping to himself. Or maybe they were wondering why the kid with a score of One was walking beside an Eight.
He grabbed a tray and punched in a random meal combo at the dispenser. A hissing sound, then a tray full of steaming… something. Looked like gray meat and darker gray vegetables.
William's was the same. He didn't seem to notice—or care.
They walked to an empty table near the wall. William sat without a word. Felix hesitated, then took the seat across from him.
Neither of them touched their food.
For a minute, they just sat there, the silence between them almost comfortable. Almost.
Felix glanced up. "So, uh… you been here long?"
William shook his head.
"Oh. Right." Felix stabbed at a lump of protein. "Same."
He tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came. The food smelled like wet cardboard, and his appetite was already running away.
He looked at William again. The guy was staring at his tray like he'd forgotten it was there.
"You don't eat much?"
William's eyes flicked up, then back down.
"…It tastes like ash sometimes," he said softly.
Felix blinked. "Oh."
He didn't know what to say to that. Honestly, he kind of agreed.
A few tables over, Travis was laughing with two other Sixes—loud and smug, like he owned the place. Felix looked away before Travis could notice him staring. He didn't need a second round of cracked ribs this week. When he looked back, William was watching him.
"…You don't talk much either," William said.
Felix gave a dry smile. "Yeah. People tend to stop inviting you to things when you're more baggage than person."
William didn't laugh, but something in his eyes shifted—like he understood that better than he wanted to.
Felix poked at his tray again. "You ever get the urge to do something weird? Like… stuff you didn't care about before?"
William was quiet for a moment, his fingers gently brushing the edge of the table. Then he nodded, slow and thoughtful.
"I've been… careful. Lately," he said.
Felix raised an eyebrow. "Careful?"
William nodded again, eyes still down. "With how I walk. How I lift things. I keep checking for sharp corners or rough edges. I clean my fingernails more than I should. I don't know why—it's not fear. Just… focus. Like my brain's convinced if I slip up, something's going to go wrong."
He paused, voice lower now. "It's like I'm trying to keep everything… intact."
Felix watched him in silence for a second, then gave a faint nod. "I've been carving stuff. Like little figures. Badly. I never used to care about that kind of thing."
William didn't say anything, but the way he listened—it felt like he heard more than just the words.
Felix tapped the table with one finger, thinking. "You think it's them? The things inside us?"
William gave the faintest nod.
"It feels… not like me," he said quietly. "But not completely different, either."
He paused. "Like it's been waiting."
Felix sat back, letting that sink in.
"They said we'd meet it eventually," he muttered. "The demon, I mean."
William looked away.
"…I hope I never do."
For once, Felix didn't have a smart remark. He just nodded, and the two of them sat in silence again, the cold food growing colder.
Felix let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting toward the far end of the cafeteria.
I wonder if I'll even survive long enough to see the Demon World.
What are the chances I make it that far?
He scanned the room—clusters of trainees gathered in quiet conversation, some laughing, some whispering, all clinging to whatever scraps of normalcy they could find. They'd built bonds here, found allies. Maybe even friends.
How many of us will be left by the time we're actually sent in?
He looked down at his tray, untouched. Then back up.
William was watching him.
Their eyes met.
"I'm going to survive, you know," Felix said.
His voice was steady, but his hand trembled slightly where it rested on the table.
"No matter what they throw at me. I'm not going down… not yet."
William blinked, as if surprised by the intensity in Felix's voice.
"…Me neither," he said softly.
He looked down to his hand, now curled tightly into a fist on the table. After a second, he opened it again and looked back up at Felix.
There was something in his eyes. Not fire, not anger—but a quiet, buried resolve. A flicker of life.
Felix hadn't expected that.
Up until now, William had seemed like someone who was barely here—like he was existing without really living. Closed off. Hollow.
But maybe he'd been wrong.
William was damaged—sure. Something had weighed him down long before Cerberus. But he hadn't given up. Not really.
Just like Felix, he'd made a silent decision.
To keep going.
To live.
Felix cracked a small smile, then extended his hand across the table.
"My name's Felix," he said. "Felix Fischer. Let's get along, yeah?"
This time, he meant it—really meant it.
William looked at the hand for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.
And for the first real time since they'd met, he smiled.
A small one. Barely there.
But it was genuine.
"My name is William," he said quietly. "William Graye."
The next couple of weeks were nothing like the ones before.
Back then, Felix had trained alone, fought alone, eaten alone.
But now?
Now, he sparred with William.
Every combat class, they'd pair off without a word, a quiet agreement forming between them like an unspoken ritual. William favored the sword—clean, efficient, precise. And he was good. Really good. He'd overpowered Felix more times than Felix cared to count.
But Felix didn't mind losing. Not to him.
He chalked most of it up to William's Eight score anyway. Still, he wasn't completely outmatched. He'd managed to trick William a few times—baited him, feinted, redirected his attacks. Sometimes, even landed the finishing blow. It felt good to earn those victories, even when they were rare.
There was something oddly grounding about sparring with someone you trusted, if only a little.
And more than anything, it was better than having to face off with some meathead who treated every session like a blood sport.
But it wasn't all routine.
One morning, the instructors called the trainees together in the central training chamber. Their faces were sharp, their voices sharper.
A warning.
Some trainees, they said, had already begun showing signs of entering Stage 3. The final step before meeting their demon. The moment of reckoning.
They told everyone to report any symptoms immediately: zoning out, blackouts, moments of disassociation. Losing time.
After that, everything changed.
The mood in the barracks shifted like a wind turning cold. Conversations quieted. Glances lingered too long. Trust frayed at the edges.
Rumors spread like cracks in glass.
Whispers swirled that someone had already died during the transition. Some said their body was found twisted and frozen in place. Others claimed the horns had burrowed straight into their brain. But no one had seen a body. No one even knew a name.
Just a room that had been sealed off.
And silence.
No one knew what was true anymore.
But one thing was certain—every single one of them had a ticking clock inside their head.
And none of them could hear how close it was to ringing.
Felix sat alone in his room, the door clicking shut behind him after another long class. He tapped the face of his watch, and a soft chime sounded as the Cerberus system pushed through an alert.
"Stage 3 activity continues to increase . Predictive analysis indicates a surge in cases next week. If you experience symptoms of Stage 3, activate the emergency alert on your watch and remain in isolation."
He exhaled sharply through his nose and collapsed backward onto his bed, arms splayed out. The mattress groaned beneath him.
"So this is it, huh?" he muttered, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling.
Across the room, his desk was crowded with tiny figures he'd sculpted over the past few weeks. They stood in a careful row, arranged from worst to best—lopsided messes on one end, and steadily improving shapes toward the other. Some even looked like what they were meant to be now. Progress, he supposed.
Felix rose and walked to the mirror. He stared at the reflection that still didn't feel entirely his. The changes were subtle at first, but now impossible to ignore—more muscle in his shoulders, hair falling in uneven waves almost to his shoulders.
He pinched a lock between his fingers. "I should probably cut this," he said, half to himself.
Then his gaze drifted upward, to the thing that still made his stomach twist. The horn. It wasn't just a nub anymore. Sharp, curved, and growing back and slightly left—it marked him in ways nothing else did. No matter how often he looked, it never felt normal.
He reached up, fingers brushing lightly along its edge. Cold. Smooth. Alien.
Bzzzt.
He flinched at the sudden vibration on his wrist. His watch lit up with a new notification. A message.
From: William
Guessing you saw the alert...
Looks like the time's finally come, huh?
Felix stared at the message, thumb hovering over the watch face. He tapped out a reply, slow and deliberate.
To: William
Yeah…
How many of us do you think will be left by the end of this week?
There was a pause—long enough that the screen dimmed. Felix flicked his wrist to wake it again.
Finally, another buzz.
From: William
Overheard some instructors talking in the faculty wing.
They were reminiscing… about their own transition.
Felix's brow furrowed. Another vibration.
From: William
They said only about ten percent of their generation made it.
Ten percent.
Felix let out a long breath and dropped his gaze to the floor.
To: William
Figures…
The word felt too small for the weight it carried. He rubbed a hand over his face, then leaned back against the wall.
A second buzz came a moment later.
From: William
You ever wonder if we're already past the point of no return?
Felix didn't respond right away. He glanced at the row of carved figures on the desk again. Imperfect, fragile, but still there.
Still standing.
To: William
All the time.
He hesitated, then added:
To: William
But I think maybe… surviving isn't the same as making it through.
He sent it, then let the watch fall against his chest.
Outside, a mechanical click echoed through the hallway—dorm lockdown protocols engaging. The silence after was thick. Waiting.
Then, one final alert flashed across the screen.
CERBERUS SYSTEM ALERT
Stage 3 escalation confirmed.
Lockdown in effect. All dormitories sealed. Remain inside.
Felix didn't move.
He just stared into the dark reflection of the mirror, and whispered to no one—
"So it begins."