The first thing he noticed was the sound of waves.
A rhythmic push and pull, soft at first—then louder, rougher, until the surf's steady heartbeat shook his skull. He opened his eyes to blinding light. The white glare of the sun made it hard to think, let alone breathe. His throat ached, his lips cracked with salt. Something heavy pressed into his chest: sand clinging to his shirt, to his eyelashes, coating him like dust on old stone.
He sat up slowly. The movement sent a sharp ache through his back. His right hand found the ground for balance, grains of sand sliding through his fingers like powdered glass. All around him, the world looked wrong—an island stretched in all directions, vegetation in the distance shimmering under heat, and dozens—no, hundreds—of bodies scattered along the beach.
People.
They groaned, stirred, sat up one by one, blinking into the golden light. Some shouted names, others panicked. A woman screamed when she realized the sound wasn't an echo—it was real, answering nothing.
He pushed himself to his feet, heart beating too fast. Twenty-two. He remembered that much. His face belonged to somewhere far away—eastern roots, skin Pale, black hair crusted with sand. The sea wind smelled of iron and decay.
"What the hell…" he muttered, voice hoarse. "Where is this?"
No one answered.
On the right, a man in a business suit stumbled up, jacket half-torn, watching the treeline like it might attack him. Farther down the shore, a group of teenagers tried to wake an older man whose skin had gone gray. The air hung thick with confusion and the faint roar of gulls circling above.
Then everything changed.
A shadow passed overhead—not from clouds, but something too clean, too deliberate. It darkened the beach in one sweeping motion. Conversations died mid-breath.
He looked up and froze.
Hovering above them, framed against the sun, was a figure descending with impossible calm.
Tall. Slim. Dressed like a butler from another era—black tailcoat, white gloves, polished shoes reflecting light though there was no ground beneath them. The being's skin shimmered like obsidian, absorbing light instead of reflecting it, its texture alien yet smooth, seamless. Its eyes… mirrored silver that caught every terrified reflection below.
When it spoke, the sound came from everywhere.
"Good morning, humans."
The beach fell silent. Even the sea seemed to hush.
The voice wasn't carried by wind—it threaded straight into their minds, each syllable vibrating inside their skulls.
The being adjusted a cufflink on its sleeve before bowing slightly. "My name is Tryl. Your presence here marks a new age for your kind."
"What—what are you?" someone shouted. "Where are we?"
Tryl looked in the speaker's direction, head tilting slightly as though studying a child's question. "You may call me a Host. I represent a traveling collective, an interstellar society in pursuit of observation… and entertainment."
The words chilled the air.
A woman whispered, "Entertainment?"
Tryl smiled, though it didn't seem a natural expression. "Yes. Your species enjoys games, yes? Struggle, chance, reward, survival—all delightful little expressions of your desire to live. Our nomadic community finds such instincts fascinating. It is why your planet has been chosen for our next series."
The young man felt his stomach tighten. "Our planet?"
Tryl extended a gloved hand toward the sky.
Reality shimmered. And then, like a tear ripped through the atmosphere, a vision appeared—a colossal structure above the world. It reflected ocean and cloud, hanging in orbit like a beautiful, diseased moon. Around Earth's curvature, similar projections flickered—massive silhouettes revealed across cities and deserts alike.
People on the island gasped. Those on Earth who looked up saw the same thing—a monstrous ship blotting out daylight.
"Observe," said Tryl. "This is your invitation. Humanity, as a collective, is now the subject of our newest survival program."
Panic broke out almost instantly. Shouts. Questions. A woman sobbing into her palms. A teenager vomiting from fear.
Tryl raised a finger. "You, the six hundred participants, were selected at random from across your species. You stand at the threshold of what we call The Ascension Game. Survive. Thrive. Reach Level 20—as one—or your species will be erased from existence."
Someone yelled, "You expect us to believe that?"
A man—stocky, sweating, wild-eyed—stepped forward, fists clenched. "This is all fake! Where are the cameras, huh?" He spun, stepping toward Tryl. "You think you can scare us with some VR trash?"
Tryl's expression didn't change.
"You misunderstand the nature of this experiment."
A flash erupted—soundless, instantaneous. The attacker's body crumpled before any could blink. His head was gone, vaporized, leaving only a smudge of heat rising from the sand.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then chaos.
The woman nearest screamed first. Another man fell backward in shock. People scattered like frightened animals, trampling each other. The twenty-two-year-old stood rooted, every nerve locked between terror and disbelief.
Tryl brushed invisible dust off his sleeve. "Let that serve as a reminder," he said gently. "Violence outside the defined parameters will not be tolerated."
Then, almost casually: "But do not despair. There is hope."
Hundreds of trembling eyes turned to him again.
"For those among you who surpass Level 20—those who achieve transcendence—the reward shall be divine. You may receive power surpassing physics as you know it. Wealth beyond earthly measure. And immortality, should your spirit still crave it."
His mirrored eyes gleamed. "A fine incentive, I think, given the alternative."
The young man swallowed hard, throat dry as dust. He dared glance at the corpse by the waves, the heat still warping the air above it.
Tryl studied them one more time. "Rest now," he said, voice like fading thunder. "Your first challenge begins at dawn."
He vanished upward, melting into the light until nothing remained but the surf and the faint echo of screams.
The survivors huddled in broken circles, whispering through the growing dark. None of them knew that far above, billions of unseen eyes were watching through screens and drones, streaming every heartbeat to a world that now understood the truth.
Earth was no longer home. It was an audience.
***