Felix's eyes twitched open to the low, steady hum of the vents. No sunrise. No windows. Just the armored metal walls of his room, cold and featureless, pressing in like a vault. He stretched with a yawn, rolling his shoulders before sitting up on the narrow cot.
"Time to start the day," he muttered, though the words felt heavier than usual.
His gaze drifted to the knife and bow resting on the desk. He lifted his hand, and five threads shimmered instantly into existence, snapping toward the weapons. The knife slid into his palm before finding its sheath, the bow settled smoothly over his shoulder. The motions felt natural now, almost effortless.
Then his stomach growled—loud enough to echo faintly against the steel walls.
Felix let out a short laugh. "Guess I could eat."
He was halfway to the door when he paused. His thumb clicked on the watch at his wrist, and pale digits lit up against the dark.
He froze.
"Today's the day," he breathed, the sound coming out more like a sigh.
The Cradle.
Not training. Not preparation. The real thing. From today onward, he and the rest of the remaining Demonkin would be leaving this place—leaving this world—for another. One they might not come back from. If they did, it wouldn't be soon. Years could pass before any of them set foot in this hall again. If ever.
Felix stared at the date glowing on his watch a moment longer, then shut it off and stepped into the corridor.
The cafeteria was already packed when he arrived. Nearly everyone was there, gathered around the long metal tables, but the silence was suffocating. No chatter. No laughter. Just the scrape of trays and the faint hum of the lights.
Plates of food sat untouched in front of them—eggs, bread, fruit—but no one seemed hungry. They weren't soldiers about to march off to a simple battle. They were people about to walk into another world, with no promise of return.
Felix scanned the room, spotting William at a corner table, and moved to sit beside him.
"How ya holding up?" Felix asked.
William let out a shaky chuckle, though his eyes told the truth. "Not good."
Felix nodded slowly, his gaze moving across the room. "Yeah… How's everyone else faring?"
William followed his eyes. "About the same. Some are pretending. Some… not even trying. It's hard to fake when you know you might never see this place again."
Felix's gaze drifted across the cafeteria until it landed on Travis.
In just a few weeks, the guy had transformed into something else entirely. He'd always been big, but now he looked monstrous—easily past six feet, maybe brushing seven. His frame seemed carved out of raw iron, every movement weighted with the kind of strength that didn't come naturally. His hair was clipped short, a military buzz that made the sharp angles of his face even harsher.
And his eyes… green. Felix frowned. He could've sworn they'd been blue before. A side effect of the horn, no doubt. Speaking of which, the horn itself curved forward from his skull like a bull's, thick and brutal—an extension of his temper, or maybe his nature.
Felix had never liked Travis. Too loud, too cocky, the kind of guy who thought every conversation was a contest. But since the Waning, since most of their number had been torn away in one bloody night, Travis had gone silent. He didn't sneer, didn't crack jokes, didn't even speak. All he did was lift weights until his skin shone with sweat, as if trying to bury the grief under iron.
Felix's lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away.
Next, his eyes caught on the siblings. Viola and Vale. He'd only recently learned their names, and when he first heard them, he'd half-wondered if their mother had some kind of obsession with the letter V.
The thought made him snort softly, though the sound carried no real humor.
Viola sat with her brother, her posture regal in a way that seemed almost unintentional. Her horn coiled back from her head in a graceful spiral, more like a goat's than anything else, but elegant all the same. Her eyes gleamed like molten gold, pupils narrowed to feline slits, catching the low light in a way that made them seem alive. Her long black hair now shimmered with streaks of silver, as though someone had brushed moonlight into it strand by strand.
Felix would've thought her beautiful, once. Now, he didn't even have the energy to appreciate it.
His attention shifted to Vale. Taller, broader, sharper than he'd been before. His horn swept upward in a proud arc, curving like a banner raised high to announce itself. Like his sister, the change had only refined him, chiseling away the boyish edges until something sharper, more dangerous, remained.
"Unfair," Felix muttered in his head, a wry twist to his mouth. "They get growth spurts, I just get bags under my eyes."
Still, he wasn't the same either. The frail, half-dead body he'd dragged into this place was gone, replaced by lean muscle and scars carved from survival.
He looked around the room.
They were all different now. Hardened. Changed. The scared kids who had first stumbled into this nightmare were gone. What remained were survivors—shaken, scarred, and still terrified—but better at hiding it.
And maybe that was enough.
Felix shook his head, thoughts gnawing at the back of his mind. What were the odds he'd last a day in the Cradle—hell, even an hour? The question lodged in his chest like a stone.
He turned to William. "How have you progressed?"
William straightened a little. "I can heal almost instantly now, even from serious wounds. Maybe even regrow an arm, if it came to that. The pain's still there, but…" He gave a faint, grim smile. "I've learned to live with it. Some of the instructors taught me ways to endure."
Felix nodded slowly. "Good." He hesitated, his voice quieter when he spoke again. "And… what will you do?"
William blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean after. When we enter the Cradle, the goal is to reach the Sanctum. But once we're there…" Felix trailed off, searching William's face. "Then what?"
Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain. Finally, William exhaled. "I think I'll hunt. Get stronger. I can't just sit in the Sanctum waiting for years to pass, hoping I wake up back home. That isn't living."
A wry smile tugged at Felix's lips. "Me too. Just hiding away… watching time slip by—it doesn't feel like life at all."
A silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating. Finally, Felix spoke.
"Hey… how about this. If we both make it to the Sanctum, let's form a cohort."
William blinked, then snorted. "Pretty sure a cohort's supposed to be more than two guys." His smirk lingered for a moment, then softened. "But yeah. Sounds like a plan. We'll fill the ranks on the way."
For the first time in days, Felix felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. The air wasn't quite so bleak.
Then the cafeteria erupted with a sharp, synchronized chime. A dozen devices buzzed at once, the sound sterile, almost surgical. The Cerberus system spoke in its flat, inhuman cadence:
Directive: report to sub-level three.
From: Instructor Madison.
The words seemed to hollow the room. Felix let out a slow breath, the faint smile vanishing.
"This is it."
Around him, chairs scraped back. Plates sat untouched, forgotten. The Demonkin rose in near-perfect unison, no one needing to speak. Their faces were hard, their eyes grim. Fear still lingered in all of them, but fear had no place now. Hesitation would only get them killed.
They made their way to sub-level three in absolute silence. The only sound was the low, mechanical hum of the elevator as it descended deeper into the earth. No one spoke. No one shifted. Even their breathing felt hushed, as if the weight of what waited below pressed down on all of them.
When the doors finally parted, a wash of sterile white light spilled into the cabin. The group stepped out, boots clanging against reinforced steel flooring. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—not with heat or damp, but with security.
Checkpoint after checkpoint forced them through layers of barriers. Guards stood at every post, armored and grim, their eyes tracking the Demonkin with cold appraisal. Automated turrets lined the ceilings, their barrels tilting just slightly as Felix passed beneath. Walls bristled with inactive traps, still humming faintly with lethal potential.
Felix couldn't ignore the looks the soldiers gave them—narrowed eyes, tight jaws, a flash of something like satisfaction. They're glad we're going, Felix thought bitterly. Glad we'll be someone else's problem.
And yet, as he glanced at the others walking beside him, a strange sense of kinship struck him. He didn't know most of their names. Some he hadn't spoken a single word to since arriving. But right now, that didn't matter. They all walked the same path, carried the same weight, and were marching toward the same unknown.
Finally, they arrived at a colossal armored gate. The words stenciled across it in black, blocky letters read:
RIFT CONTAINMENT ZONE
Felix's jaw tightened as he glared at the inscription. His stomach twisted—not from fear alone, but anticipation.
With a grinding rumble, the gate began to split, gears shrieking as reinforced slabs pulled apart. Beyond the widening gap, the chamber yawned open—an enormous hangar-like expanse flooded with harsh white floodlights. Soldiers lined the catwalks above, rifles slung and ready. Instructors stood near the forefront, flanked by armored personnel.
And at the center of it all was the rift.
It tore through reality like a wound that refused to close. A massive vertical fissure floated in the air, edges rippling and shifting as if the world itself bled light. Its core swirled with impossible colors—blues, purples, and something darker that seemed to eat at the glow around it. The air vibrated with a low, thrumming pulse, a heartbeat that wasn't human.
Felix felt his skin prickle. His threads twitched at his fingertips without his bidding, as though the rift itself tugged at them.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped forward: General Wilhelm. The old man's presence commanded silence even among the soldiers. His face was a roadmap of scars, one eye clouded white, the other a piercing gray. His uniform was crisp, medals clinking faintly as he moved. He looked like someone carved out of war itself.
He swept his gaze across the Demonkin, hard and unflinching.
"You've all stared danger in the eye," Wilhelm began, his voice a blend of gravel and steel. "Closer than most men ever will. And yet—here you stand. Not by merit. Not by destiny. By chance. Lady Luck spared you when she damned the rest. And now you're here… not for yourselves, but because the rest of us need you to walk through that rift. For that, you have my thanks."
He let the silence hang, his one good eye sweeping across them.
"What waits beyond that gate will be worse than anything you've faced. It will strip you bare, test the marrow in your bones, and grind down everything soft inside you. It may break you. It may consume you." His scarred jaw tightened. "But if you endure—if you claw and fight your way to the Sanctum—you won't just survive."
His voice dropped to a low growl, each word like a hammerfall.
"You will become something more."
His one good eye narrowed. "So step forward with purpose. Fear is a weapon. Let it sharpen you, not shatter you."
He gave a sharp nod and stepped aside.
Instructor Madison emerged next, her expression composed but her eyes burning with conviction. She carried a case in her hands, and when she opened it, the familiar shimmer of Drifter Pendants greeted the group.
"Not quite," she said, her voice carrying clearly. "Not without these." She lifted one high, letting the light catch on its runed surface before handing them out one by one.
The pendants were cool to the touch, their faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. Felix's fingers closed around his, and for some reason the weight of it steadied him.
When the last pendant was given, Madison closed the case and looked them over, her voice rising to fill the chamber.
"You were not born soldiers," Madison said, her voice carrying through the containment hall. "You were not born heroes. And in this world—the one you're leaving behind—you were never even seen as people. To them, you are Demonkin. Monsters. A reminder of something they fear and hate. That is all you will ever be, no matter how hard you try."
Her gaze swept across their faces, sharp as a blade, burning into each of them.
"And in the Cradle, it will be worse. The world waiting for you beyond that rift won't just hate you—it will hunt you. It will break you. It will strip away every weakness until nothing is left."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. Then her voice hardened, fierce and alive:
"But that is not the end of your story. That is your beginning. Because in the Cradle, you can become more than what this world says you are. You can prove that you are not defined by their hatred, or by your horns, or by the ether in your veins. You are defined by what you endure. By what you overcome. By what you choose to become."
The silence grew taut, charged with her conviction.
"You will step into that rift as the despised, the outcast, the unwanted. But if you endure—if you fight, if you rise, if you claim the Sanctum—you will emerge as something no one can ignore. Not monsters. Not victims. Survivors. Warriors. The ones who thrived where no one else could."
Her words rang out like a war cry, echoing through the chamber.
The room was silent but charged, the words hanging in the air like sparks.
The rift pulsed, waiting.
Felix, like everyone else, wore a face carved from resolve. Madison was right—so what if this world despised them? So what if their very existence was branded as a curse? They had chosen to live. And if that meant the Cradle, then so be it. They would live there. He would live there. No matter what it took.
Madison's eyes swept across them, lingering on each one, as if memorizing their faces. Then she gave a single nod and stepped aside.
The rift loomed ahead, a storm of impossible light and shadow, roiling like an open wound in the air.
Travis was the first to move. Towering, silent, he strode forward. His hand trembled as he raised it, pressing his palm into the swirling surface. The rift rippled around his skin like liquid glass. For a heartbeat he hesitated—then he stepped through. His massive frame dissolved in an instant, swallowed whole.
A breath later, Viola followed, her silver-streaked hair catching the rift's glow as she vanished. Vale was right behind her, his horned silhouette melting away into nothing.
One after another, the Demonkin moved forward, swallowed by the shifting storm of the rift, until only two remained. Felix and William.
William glanced at him, trying for casual but not quite managing it. "Guess… I'm next." He lifted his fist toward Felix.
For a moment, Felix just stared at it. Then he lifted his own hand and bumped it against William's. The gesture was simple, but it carried more weight than words could.
"I'll see you at the Sanctum," Felix said, forcing a smirk. "Don't go dying on me."
William gave a small laugh, though his eyes were heavy. "I'll see you then, Felix." He offered a faint, somber grin—then turned and stepped into the rift. In a blink, he was gone.
The chamber felt impossibly vast and empty without his friend.
Felix exhaled, his chest tight, and turned to face the swirling abyss. The rift pulsed like a living thing, its pull whispering at his skin.
"Alright then," he muttered under his breath.
"Here we go."
He stretched out his hand. The surface of the rift clung to his skin like water, cool and heavy, resisting as though he were plunging into a deep ocean. Then, steeling himself, Felix stepped forward.
The storm swallowing him whole.