When Aren opened his eyes, he was already on the other side.
The air felt different here. Cleaner. Sharper. Like the Eclipse had spat him out and locked the door behind. He stood on a wide stone platform. The slabs were gray under his boots and harsh white lamps burned above on steel beams. Somewhere close machines hummed and it was the only sound.
He turned his head. The gate was still there. A perfect black circle standing upright like someone had carved a hole in the world. The last thing Aren remembered was stepping into it. Nothing else.
His chest tightened. Was this it? Did he pass?
Aren tried to recall, tried to reach for even the faintest fragment of what had happened inside the Eclipse. Nothing came. Not even a blur of pain or sound. It was as if someone had taken a knife to his memory and cut everything out.
He wasn't surprised. He'd heard the rumors that no one remembered the trial itself. That people entered and simply… reappeared, changed. But hearing about it and living through it were different things. He kept his hands in his pockets. His fingers pressed against the rough lining.
A shout broke the silence.
"Move!"
A guard came at him with heavy boots and a hard face under the black visor. Two more followed close with rifles hanging at their sides. The first one grabbed Aren by the shoulder and spun him around. He yanked the hood back and tilted Aren's head, his gloved fingers were rough against Aren's skin. His eyes scanned Aren's neck with a sharp look like he was hunting for something.
Aren stayed still. He had seen eyes like those before men used to measuring others, not by who they were, but by how useful they might be.
Then the guard froze. Surprise flickered across his face for a fraction of a second.
"Hollow?" the man muttered. He pulled back then barked loud enough for the whole platform to hear.
"Hunter Aren Kael! Age seventeen! Dominion type–Hollow!"
The word landed in Aren's ears and for a second his whole face shifted. His head tilted a little. His eyes narrowed. His lips opened just enough for a breath to slip out.
…Eh?
Hollow?
His thoughts skidded like tires on wet ground. He went through the five stages of grief in his head one after another, crashing over him fast as lightning.
He lowered his head, hair falling over his eyes, and whispered to himself.
"...Hah. The world really loves screwing me over."
The other guards stiffened, their eyes snapping to Aren. Their expressions didn't soften. If anything, they hardened further. Some looked away, like they didn't want to waste time staring at someone like him. Others stared too long, as if trying to see what a Hollow even looked like.
The first guard sneered, then added, "Only survivor from Group Nine!"
The words struck Aren like a fist to the ribs. Only survivor.
Ji-ho.
He turned his head, eyes lingering on the black circle of the gate. The boy's last words came back unbidden.
***Let's meet at the other side. You'll see. We'll both make it through.***
Aren's face didn't change. No grief. No tremor. Just the stillness of stone.
He spoke under his breath. Not loud. Not soft. Just flat.
"…In the end… people break their promises."
The guard gave him a shove. "Move."
Aren pulled his hood back up shoved his hands into his jacket pockets again and walked forward. His hair slipped down over his eyes shadowing his face. He didn't resist. He didn't hurry. He walked the way he always did steady, almost lazy but with each step sinking deep into the silence.
The building loomed ahead, the Hunter Association's walls stretching high, metal reinforced with concrete. Floodlights bathed every corner. Cameras watched from above. Soldiers with rifles stood at every post. No one here smiled.
Aren's boots tapped against the polished floor as they entered a corridor. The air inside was cooler, sterilized, humming faintly with hidden machines. It was the kind of place designed to strip away any comfort, to remind you that power–not warmth–ruled here.
After a minute, the guard stopped at a wide door.
They stepped into a hall where several people sat behind long counters. Screens glowed before them, tablets in hand, AI assistants projecting faint blue light. It felt more like an airport terminal than anything else–efficient, cold, meant to move bodies from one stage to another.
One of the officials looked up. He was middle-aged, glasses perched low on his nose, expression bored until he read the tablet in front of him. Then his brow furrowed.
"Aren Kael. Seventeen. Only survivor from Group Nine." His voice carried no warmth. Just facts. He flicked through the tablet with quick fingers, each tap echoing. "Born in London. Father–American. Mother–Korean. Moved to Seoul at age five. Parents deceased at eleven."
Aren said nothing.
The man's eyes flicked up, then back to the screen. His voice continued, calm, clinical, as if reading out a stranger's obituary.
"Lived in Incheon district. Survived with one sibling, younger sister. No extended family. Employment history–low wage jobs, including salvage work in post-Mouth restricted zones, warehouse loading, and security errands for private contractors. Current listed position—" He paused, frowning. "Dock laborer?"
Aren tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded under his hair. Then he spoke, voice low but steady.
"Your system's a little outdated."
The man blinked. "What?"
"I quit three days ago."
A silence stretched.
The official's brows knitted. "And what exactly do you call yourself now?"
Aren leaned back slightly, shoulders loose, tone flat. "Grave digger."
The words cut through the air. For a moment the room grew tense. Even the guards shifted. One of them narrowed his eyes at Aren and muttered with clear dislike.
"…Hollow Dominion."
He said it like it was filth. His gaze stayed on Aren, waiting for him to flinch or snap back.
Aren turned his head slowly. His eyes were dull, empty and his voice came low almost lazy but sharp enough to sink under the skin.
"What can I say? I was born blessed."
The way he said it wasn't boastful. It was cold. The guards looked away, scoffing, choosing to ignore him after that. To them, Hollow wasn't even worth their time.
The official finally cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. He tapped the screen again and raised his hand.
"Proceed."