A pale young man sat alone on a cracked stone bench, tucked into the shadow of a half-dead tree.The city's early chill clung to the air, heavy and wet, as if the morning itself didn't want to wake up.In his hands was a book. Worn. Fragile. Real.
For most people in this district, a book was as rare as a full stomach.For someone like Sorren, it had cost almost everything.But today… he had allowed himself one last luxury.
His fingers turned the final page with slow reverence. The kind that belonged more to funerals than to stories.The ending was beautiful. Tragic. Hopeful. The kind that didn't belong to people like him.
He blinked, once, then again, as a single tear slid down the side of his face.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "What a story."
He sniffed and gave a humorless chuckle.
"Prince Torch loses his kingdom, slays a dragon, marries a queen, and saves the world with a flaming sword. All before nineteen."He paused."Meanwhile, I've got mismatched socks and a parasitic curse growing out of my forehead."
His eyes fell back to the cover.
He really, really should've bought chocolate instead.
With a muttered curse, Sorren slid the book into the old backpack at his feet and stood up. The bench creaked as he left it, as though even the stone itself was tired of waiting.
Around him, the city stirred. But not gently.
People rushed through the narrow streets, children being pulled by the wrists, parents shouting over one another, clothes hastily thrown on, doors left open behind them.
"It's today! Move, move!""Where's your son? Did you lose him already?""Hurry! The line's starting!"
The panic buzzed through the air like static. Everyone was moving. Everyone had somewhere to be.
No one looked at Sorren.No one ever did.
And why would they?He didn't glow like the well-fed children in their crisp coats.He didn't shine with certainty, or status, or anything at all.
Just a thin, pale boy in second-hand clothes. Bones too sharp, eyes too quiet. A face that people instinctively skipped over.
He sighed as another group of children ran past, laughing.
"They've probably had breakfast and fruit," he muttered. "That's what five fruits and vegetables a day gets you, huh?"
He raised his eyes to the sky.Grey. Uniform. Lifeless.No clouds. Just a lid over the world, closed tight.
Then he crossed the street.
Ahead of him stretched a line—long, slow, and filled with children.Some younger than him. Some older. All of them marked.
Just like him.
He didn't need to check.He could feel the Mark pulsing behind his bangs, just above his brow. A slow, steady throb, as if something alien was breathing beneath his skin.
He took his place in line.Kept his head down.
At the end of the block, the building rose like a godless temple.A fortress of black steel and reinforced concrete. Not a single window, not even a sign. Just angles, shadows, and silence.
It looked more like a tomb than anything meant for the living.
Armed officers stood at intervals around the structure, their armor matte and silent. Most wore visors. A few didn't.
The ones without visors were worse.
Their eyes… glowed.
Not brightly. Not dramatically. Just enough to make you realize something inside them wasn't quite human anymore.
Awakened.Marked survivors.
The kind of people Sorren might become.If he survived.
A boy up ahead was shaking.A girl nearby was quietly crying.
And Sorren?He smiled. Just a little. Because that was easier than breaking.
After a long wait, it was finally his turn.He stepped forward, standing in front of the registration officer. The man didn't bother to hide his suspicion.
"You sure you're infected?" the officer asked, voice flat.
Sorren said nothing.
Instead, he reached up and pushed aside his fringe.
The Mark pulsed darkly. A ragged shape, almost like a burn—but alive. Beating with a slow rhythm that didn't match his heartbeat.
The officer tensed for half a second.
Then he nodded. "Fine. You can go in."
Sorren lowered his bangs.Stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Thanks for believing in me," he said dryly, brushing past.
The building swallowed him whole.
Behind him, the line kept moving.Ahead of him…Something else was waiting.
***
The inside of the building was nothing like Sorren had expected.No medical staff. No comforting lights. No sense of welcome.
Just silence.
The walls were smooth and dark, the floor gleaming with an unnatural polish. Everything was cold, sharp, and sterile—like a surgical instrument that had forgotten its purpose.
Sorren's footsteps barely made a sound. But somehow, he could feel each one echo through his chest. Like his body knew something his mind didn't want to admit.
An officer stood waiting inside. Tall, armored, face unreadable.
He didn't speak. Just turned and started walking.
Sorren followed.
The hallway stretched on. Long. Narrow.They passed thick metal doors. Sealed. Silent.
Behind one of them, something moved.A scraping sound. A muffled thud. Maybe even a voice.Sorren's spine stiffened, but he kept walking.There was no point in asking. The answer wouldn't help.
The officer finally stopped in front of a large reinforced door. He tapped a code into the wall panel.A heavy click. The door hissed open.
"Inside," the man said simply.
Sorren stepped in.
The room beyond was plain, but not empty.It was cold—not in temperature, but in feeling.The kind of cold that filled your bones without ever touching your skin.
Seven beds were arranged in two clean rows. Six of them already occupied.
The kids were awake. Some stared at the ceiling. One stared at the floor. No one moved. No one spoke.
Restraints bound their wrists and ankles to the beds. Thick leather straps with polished metal clasps.
Sorren's eyes lingered on a girl with dried tear streaks across her face. Her lips were trembling slightly.
Another kid looked like he hadn't blinked in minutes.
Sorren stepped toward the last bed, the one at the far end of the room. He dropped his backpack to the floor with a quiet thud, then sat down slowly.
The mattress was clean, stiff. Sterile.
He lay back.
With a mechanical hiss, the restraints snapped into place around his limbs. Not too tight. Not gentle either.
"Great," he muttered. "Automated restraints. What a lovely touch."
He tilted his head toward the others, still searching for a trace of humanity.
"Seriously? No one talks in here? Not even a 'good luck'? A 'see you on the other side'? Not even a 'I peed myself a little'?"
Nothing.
Just the soft buzz of distant vents.
Sorren sighed, deep and tired.
"Fantastic," he said. "Love the vibe. Feels like a funeral. Just missing the flowers."
No one laughed. Of course not.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
There was no sound.But something was coming.He could feel it.
***
There was no clock.No indication of time passing.
Only silence.
Sorren stared at the ceiling.He tried not to breathe too loud.Tried not to think.But thinking was all he had left.
The Mark had appeared a few decades ago.Not long, in the grand scheme of things.But long enough to change everything.
Back then, the world was already broken.
Resource wars had turned cities into graveyards. Climate disasters had swallowed entire coastlines. Governments collapsed. Borders vanished. Survival became a luxury.
And then... came the Eclipse.
At first, it was just a shadow in the sky.A black circle.Unmoving. Silent. Strange.But not immediately terrifying.
The fear came later.
Because people started waking up with... something. A symbol. A wound. A presence.
A Mark.
Always black. Always pulsing.Never the same shape.Always alive.
No one knew why some were chosen and others were not. There was no pattern. No logic.Children. Adults. Rich. Poor. Sick. Healthy.
The Mark came for who it wanted.
And then… came the cocoon.
Within days, sometimes hours, the Marked would fall into a coma.A dark shell formed around them, smooth and organic, like obsidian flesh.Unbreakable. Cold.
The cocoon didn't respond.Not to noise.Not to light.Not to begging.
People stayed inside for days. Weeks.Some never came out at all.
Their bodies withered. Their souls twisted. Something... went wrong.
And when the cocoon finally opened—What came out wasn't human.
Creatures. Misshapen things. Grotesque reflections of what had once been a person.
Failures.
That was why, now, every Marked child was locked away. Contained. Restrained.
Not to protect them.To protect everyone else.
But not all failed.
Some emerged from the cocoon reborn. Changed.Alive.
They came back with power. Abilities shaped by their dreams… or their nightmares.Strength. Sight. Fire. Shadow.Miracles—if you believed in that kind of thing.
They were called Awakened.
And everyone wanted to be one.Everyone wanted to believe they would survive the Trial.
But most didn't.
Inside the cocoon, each Marked faced something different.An illusion.A test.A world built from their own fears and regrets.
They called it the Cocoon Trial.
And Sorren…He had no training.No wealth.No mentor.Nothing.
Just a bag of cheap clothes, a sarcastic mouth, and a Mark pulsing behind his bangs like a second heartbeat.
He lay there, strapped to the bed, leather tight around his wrists and ankles.
Cold metal beneath him. Cold air around him.
He exhaled slowly.The sound barely moved the air.
But something was coming.Not from the hallway.From inside.
***
The door hissed open.
Sorren turned his head toward the sound.Footsteps. Sharp. Precise.A woman stepped into the room.
Not a nurse. Not a doctor.She wore no rank, no name, no insignia. Just a clean grey uniform and an expression like stone.Her posture was military. Her movements surgical.
She scanned the room.Her gaze didn't linger on any face. Not even his.
When she spoke, her voice was soft. Measured.Not loud—but somehow, each word cut straight through the silence.
"Listen carefully. From this moment on, you are no longer part of the real world."
No one answered. No one moved.
"In a few minutes, when the Eclipse reaches its peak, your bodies will enter a suspended state. A cocoon will form around you. Your minds, your souls, will be transported elsewhere."
She paused.Not for drama. Not for sympathy.Just procedure.
"What you see inside depends entirely on you. Your fears. Your memories. Your instincts. Each trial is different. Each trial is deadly."
Sorren swallowed dryly.Still, he stayed quiet.
"Some of you will fight. Some will run. Some will see illusions. Some will see monsters."She tilted her head. "You won't know what's real. And it doesn't matter."
Her eyes passed over each child, one by one.
"If you survive, you'll return stronger. Gifted. Changed. The Eclipse will leave you with power shaped by what you do inside."
Another pause.
"But most of you will fail."
Still, no reaction.Even Sorren's face remained still. But inside, his chest felt tight.
"There's no way to know in advance who will live," she said. "There is no fairness here. No control."
Then she stepped back.
The room was silent again.Heavy. Unmoving.
Until the world shifted.
It started with a low hum.A vibration in the air—barely there, but unmistakable.A pressure against the walls. Against the skin.
Outside, the Eclipse had begun.
Sorren felt it immediately.A burning pulse behind his forehead. The Mark.
It throbbed, then flared. Hot. Alive. Calling.
His body grew heavy. Too heavy. His limbs sank into the mattress like lead.His vision blurred. The edges of the room smeared like paint left out in the rain.
Thin black filaments began to rise from his skin.Dancing in the air. Weightless. Elegant.And then—thicker. Stronger. Connecting. Wrapping.
The cocoon was forming.
Not just around him.Everywhere. All six other children were slipping into darkness, their bodies swallowed by the same dark threads.
Sorren's breath slowed. His thoughts scattered. His heart—
Stopped.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Melodic. Not human.
"Welcome, Sorren…"
He floated.
The voice came again, this time closer. Inside.
"I've been waiting for you."