"Group Four!"
The guard's voice echoed again. Twenty more stepped forward. Their boots hit the steel floor with the same heavy sound.
Some tried to walk proud, shoulders high, armor shining as if the gate would respect them for it. Others dragged their feet, their fear written plain across their faces.
The dark circle opened. They vanished. The doors shut. Silence came back.
Aren kept his back against the wall. His arms were crossed now but it was only to hide how tense he was.
He had learned in the safety zones that you never let anyone see your hands shake. It was a rule. If someone noticed weakness, they used it.
That rule had saved him more than once. A man can lose his food, his shelter even his family if he lets the wrong people see him bend.
He looked at the board. Four groups gone. That meant… six more until his turn. He was in the second last group. Ninth.
The hall was filled with whispers now. Candidates tried to talk, to calm themselves. Some traded nervous jokes. Others prayed in different languages.
A girl beside him muttered lines of Quran under her breath. A boy across the hall fingered a wooden cross.
It was strange, Aren thought. People with money, with power, people who had grown up behind Walls where nothing could touch them, they still begged for gods when the Eclipse stood in front of them.
"Group Five!"
Another twenty left. The silence after their steps always hit harder than the steps themselves.
Aren closed his eyes for a moment. He forced himself to breathe.
Three years of hearing about other people go in. And now here he was, about to follow them. Hunters were something he hated and admired at the same time. But in this world, choices are lies. You only get what's left for you.
He opened his eyes again when he felt someone looking at him.
It was a boy. Younger, maybe fifteen. His armor was mismatched–scavenged pieces, the kind that came from markets where gangs sold stolen gear. His face was sharp, too thin, cheeks hollow like someone who had known hunger too long.
"You're Aren, right?" the boy asked quietly.
Aren didn't answer at first. But something in the boy's eyes made him nod.
"Yeah."
The boy sat down near him. "I'm Ji-ho. From Mokpo."
Aren knew the name. A port city in the southwest. Fishing, shipping, sea trade. He also knew Mokpo had turned into one of the biggest safety zones after the Mouth appeared.
He had heard stories of gangs fighting over the docks there, stealing food from ships that risked coming too close.
Ji-ho gave a small laugh but it was hollow. "I don't think anyone expected kids like me to be here."
Aren studied him. He didn't look like the sons and daughters of the powerful. No fine boots. No polished crest. Just a boy who looked like he had walked a long way to get here.
"You came from Mokpo?" Aren asked.
"Yeah." Ji-ho nodded. His voice lowered, almost like he was afraid of being overheard. "My father was a fisherman. After the Mouth, no one wanted to sail out anymore. Ravagers started coming out of the sea near Yeosu. Ships sank. People disappeared. My father tried anyway. He said if he didn't, we'd starve."
Aren kept his eyes on him.
"He didn't come back." Ji-ho's fingers tightened around the strap of his chest plate.
"They found pieces of his boat on the rocks near Heuksando Island. After that, my mother tried to keep us alive. She worked with traders but gangs came. The Black Fangs. They said we owed them protection money. We didn't have it. So they took my sister."
Aren felt his chest tighten. He didn't ask what happened after that. He already knew.
Ji-ho looked down. "I came here because… I want power. I don't even care if I die. If I get something, anything, maybe I can find her. Or at least…" His voice cracked. "At least not be so useless anymore."
Aren said nothing for a long moment. He wanted to tell Ji-ho that power didn't solve everything. That Hunters had power and yet the safety zones still suffered.
That Hunters fought Ravagers but ignored the gangs and black markets because there was no glory in fighting humans.
But he didn't say it.
Because he understood the boy too well.
Aren had seen the same thing. He had felt the same thing. Helplessness is the sharpest knife in this world. It cuts deeper than hunger, deeper than wounds. It eats you alive until you either give in or break the blade yourself.
"Group Six!"
Another twenty left. The doors closed again. Only four groups remained before Aren's.
Ji-ho leaned his head back against the wall the same way Aren had done earlier.
"Do you think… it hurts? Dying in there?"
Aren's jaw tightened. In the beginning when the first volunteers went into the Eclipse, people waited outside for days. No bodies ever came out. No ashes. Just silence. Gone. Erased, like they had never existed.
He swallowed and said, "…No. I don't think they feel anything."
Ji-ho let out a soft breath, his shoulders easing. "That's better. My mother… she used to tell me that death hurts. That it burns or freezes or feels like drowning. I hated thinking about that." His voice dropped lower.
"If the Eclipse erases us completely, maybe it's kinder than the world outside."
Aren turned his head, really looking at him this time. Ji-ho's hands were fidgeting in his lap, small cuts across his knuckles, dirt still clinging under his nails.
He looked more like a boy waiting for school than someone about to face the Eclipse.
"Hurts or not, you're still dead," Aren said. His voice came out harsher than he meant.
Ji ho looked at Aren and then at the gate but Aren was not looking there anymore.
Across the hall, in Group Seven, a boy was laughing with some others. His clothes were clean and loose, the kind of streetwear you only saw in the high-end shops in Seoul. Not like Ji ho's patched armor or Aren's old worn jacket. On his feet he wore a pair of Nike Jordans. The kind Aren had only ever seen in ads pasted to the sides of cracked buildins. White leather with gold trim. Not a single scratch.
Aren's eyes stayed on him longer than he realized. The boy's eyes were wide and sharp and almost too bright under the light.
Ji ho noticed and leaned closer.
"Why are you staring at him?"
Aren stayed quiet.
Ji ho tilted his head. "You know that guy?" He looked again at the sneakers and gave a small laugh. "He is rich for sure. Look at that. One of my neighbors has a jacket from a big brand. He wears it every day even in summer. He always shows it off like he is the king of the street. That kid feels the same."
Aren spoke at last. His voice was low.
"He has big eyes."
Ji ho blinked. He looked at Aren and then at the boy again. His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.
"You're... looking at his eyes?"
Aren did not answer. He crossed his arms again and looked back at the floor. To him it was nothing worth explaining.
Ji ho shook his head with a sigh. "You are strange," he muttered. Still he smiled a little as he sat back again.
The hall grew louder. Murmurs filled the space.
Ji ho tapped his fingers against his knee. "You know… before the Mouth happened… I used to hate school," he said. His leg bounced up and down as if he could not stay still. "I used to act sick to skip it. Or pretend I lost my homework. Anything to stay home."
He gave a weak laugh. It faded fast. "I thought school was boring. Too many rules. Too many tests. But now… I would give anything to sit in that classroom again. To hear the teacher yell at me for not paying attention. To walk home with my friends like it was nothing special."
Aren stayed still. He did not say anything.
Ji ho's voice dropped. "Sometimes I dream about it. Just being home. My mom yelling from the kitchen. My dad watching the news too loud."
His hands curled into fists. His eyes stayed down. For a while he said nothing. Then he whispered.
"I do not want to die, Aren."
For a long moment, Aren only listened. He wished he could say he wanted the same. He wished he could believe it was possible.
But all he did was sit there, silent, with Ji-ho's voice hanging in the air between them.
"Group Seven!"
The hall emptied a little more. Aren counted again. Three groups left. His chest felt heavier with every name that was called.
Candidates whispered more now. Some argued in low voices about what kind of Dominions were strongest.
A tall boy with a London accent bragged about how his cousin awakened Phantom Dominion and destroyed a Ravager near Manchester.
Another girl from Cairo claimed she would bring back a Dominion to protect her city from raids along the Nile.
One girl only shrugged and said she just hoped to come out alive. Someone laughed and asked, "Even if you awaken Hollow Dominion?"
The girl's face tightened and she shook her head. "If it's Hollow, then I'd rather die. Hollow means being thrown to the frontlines with no chance to live."
A few others muttered in agreement. Because everyone knew it was the lowest Dominion of all. Only a handful had ever awakened it and every one of them was already dead.
To most, Hollow was nothing but an empty shell, a mistake of the Eclipse. To awaken it was to be cursed.
Aren listened but didn't join. Dreams and stories meant nothing to him, only power decided who lived. He had learned that lesson far too early. You survive first. Dreams come after, if they ever come at all.
He told himself he didn't care what he awakened but deep down he just wished for one thing–anything but Hollow.
"Group Eight!"
Only two groups left. Aren's throat felt dry. He forced himself not to show it. He stared at the Eclipse instead. He thought about how it must feel inside. Time bending. Space folding. Monsters waiting.
He imagined his sister's face. Thin, pale, sick. He remembered the way she coughed until blood came out. The way she smiled anyway, telling him not to worry.
He couldn't fail. Not for her.
"Group Nine!"
The guard's voice thundered.
Aren felt Ji-ho beside him shift, standing up with shaky legs. He followed him. Their group was called.
Only one group would remain after them.
The Eclipse pulsed again like a heart calling them forward.