Everyone was already walking away.
Footsteps echoed down the vast hall, fading one by one. Conversations resumed in low murmurs. Some laughed. Some argued. Some spoke of power like it was a reward they had earned.
No one looked back.
Starless stayed where he was.
The Blue door dimmed behind him. The Yellow door no longer shone. Even the armored figures had turned their heads elsewhere, attention drifting to the next spectacle, the next choice, the next sacrifice.
Only the blue haired girl remained.
She stood near the pillar, posture relaxed, hands folded behind her back. Like she was waiting for a train. Like this was just another pause in a long day.
Starless stared at her.
For a long time.
Then he sighed. Quietly. Like the air had finally given up on him.
"I have to kill you."
The words came out flat. Not brave. Not dramatic. Just tired.
The girl blinked once. Then she exhaled.
"Yeah," she said softly. "That'd be great."
Starless frowned. His grip tightened around the sword without him realizing it.
She looked up at the ceiling, blue hair sliding over her shoulder. Her voice was calm, almost relieved.
"I can't live with this burden," she continued. "Being the end. Being the reason people get to leave."
She smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Every time they look at me," she said, "they don't see a person. They see permission."
Silence settled between them.
Starless swallowed. His chest hurt in a way power could not fix.
"You don't look afraid," he said.
She shrugged. "I was afraid the first time."
She met his eyes then. Really met them.
"After that," she said, "you stop pretending it matters."
The hall felt too big. Too empty. Like the world had already decided this moment didn't deserve witnesses.
Starless took a step closer.
The sword felt heavier with every breath.
And for the first time since the doors opened, he wished someone would stop him.
No one did.
Starless just watched her.
A low hum slipped from his throat, barely there. Not a song. Not a thought. Just noise to keep himself from thinking too hard.
He had killed before.
"I've killed before," he thought. "Shit, I know how this goes. Blood, screaming, the part where it ends and you move on."
His eyes traced her shoulders. Her stillness. The way she wasn't running.
"But this feels wrong. This feels heavier. Like my hands know something I don't want to admit. Like if I swing, something in me breaks for good. Not power. Not fear. Something else. Shit… I hate this."
The hum stopped.
He tightened his grip on the sword.
The blue haired girl closed her eyes.
She breathed in once. Slow. Like she was stepping into sleep.
Nothing happened.
Seconds passed. Then more.
She frowned and opened her eyes.
Starless was shaking.
Not just his hands. His shoulders. His jaw. His whole body trembled like it was about to tear itself apart. His teeth were clattering, loud in the silence, clicking again and again like they might shatter.
His eyes were wide. Wet. Terrified.
She stared at him.
Starless let out a sound. Then another.
A laugh.
It came out wrong. Too loud. Too sharp. Cracked straight down the middle.
He laughed harder, head tipping back, chest jerking as if the sound was being forced out of him.
"Shit," he laughed. "Shit, shit, shit."
The laughter spiraled, ugly and manic, echoing through the empty hall. Not joy. Not madness. Just fear trying to pretend it was something else.
He laughed like if he stopped, he would fall apart.
"Star," Lumian shouted from behind. His voice cut through the hall like steel.
"It's time to go. Kill her. Immediately."
Starless flinched.
His laughter died in his throat.
He raised the sword.
His arms felt wrong. Too heavy. Too light. The blade shook so badly it hummed.
"No no no no no no no no," his mind screamed. "I'm not a killer. I'm not a killer. No. No. No. No. No."
His breath came apart. Short. Broken.
"I've done bad things," the voice kept going. "But this is different. Shit. This is different. This is crossing something. I can't cross it. I can't."
The girl didn't move.
Her eyes stayed closed.
Waiting.
"No no no no no no no," he begged himself. "Please. Please. I'm not a killer."
The sword hovered above her.
And Starless shook like the world was about to tear him in half.
Starless froze.
It started with numbness. Slowly at first, then his whole body went dead. Weightless. Hollow. He felt himself from somewhere above, watching, detached. His arms lifted on their own. The sword felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone else was killing, and he was just the vessel.
Step by step, his legs moved without him. His hands gripped the hilt. He approached her. She didn't flinch. She didn't see him. She didn't know.
The sword came down. Hard. Brutal. The sound of metal slicing through flesh, bone cracking under the weight, her scream tearing through his chest like fire. The hall smelled of iron. Warm. Sharp. Wrong.
Again. Again. His mind watched, helpless. Every movement precise. Every motion deliberate. Every strike leaving him hollow. By the time it ended, silence fell like a blanket. The body lay still.
Starless didn't move. Couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe properly. Hours passed. The sword slipped from his hands. He just stood. Empty. Rooted to the spot.
From a distance, Lumian's voice carried. Calm. Sharp.
"Hey," he called to one of the crimson-armored academy students. "Why is he standing like that?"
The boy shrugged. His voice quiet. "Maybe… maybe he's in shock."
A girl murmured from nearby, almost to herself, soft and trembling:
"Catatonic shock… right."
The hall stayed silent. Starless didn't move. No sound. No thought. Only the weight of what had happened pressing down on him.
The voice returned.
Deep. Resonant. Like it had always been there, buried in the stone of the hall itself.
"Everyone hath finished thy awakening," it intoned, rolling through the silence like distant thunder.
"You shall be returned… back to thy own world."
The words hung, heavy and final, curling through the hall. They carried the weight of inevitability, of judgment long delayed, and of a world that would never be the same again.
Starless did not move. The sword at his side, the blood on his hands, the hollow shell of him—all ignored the voice. Yet even he could not deny the pull in those words, old and absolute, like the whisper of fate itself.
A chill ran through the hall. The air seemed older, colder, as if the walls themselves remembered the countless who had heard this voice before.
"Go," it said again, softer this time, yet still unyielding. "Return… and bear what thou hast become."
The hall was still. Every shadow waited. Every light flickered once, twice, then held.
The world outside waited.
The awakeners returned to Hall D. Some laughed, their excitement spilling into the high ceilinged space. Smiles were everywhere, faces bright with the kind of pride only raw, newly claimed power could bring.
The blonde officer stepped back into the cell. Smoke curled lazily from his cigarette. He saw Lumian and grinned, hand extended.
"Thanks for watching them for me, brat," he said.
Lumian clasped the hand firmly. The grip was short, formal, enough to pass the courtesy.
The officer took a slow drag of the cigarette, exhaling smoke that drifted lazily toward the ceiling. "I'll talk to the Academy," he continued. "The family of the dead victim will be talked to. Things need… explaining."
Lumian's gaze swept the room. Blood stained the floor, dark and sticky. Bags sat against the walls, bulging with bodies. The smell hung faintly, bitter, metallic.
He noticed Starless walking away. Still trembling, still hollow, still unmoving, yet somehow moving forward. Lumian released the officer's hand.
"Don't let me keep you waiting," Lumian said curtly.
The officer nodded once, taking another drag, watching Lumian as he left.
Lumian followed Starless.
Outside, the sun struck hard against the concrete, blinding in contrast to the dark hall. News crews jostled along the steps, microphones and cameras probing awakeners. Questions shouted, flashes firing, the world clamoring for the new legends of Hall D.
Crowds had gathered, cheering, celebrating the awakeners' return. The laughter and cries of joy made the air tremble. Families rushed forward, hugging, crying, smiling, as their children returned from the trial of the doors.
Some awakeners were met with grief. One was told their daughter would never return. Another their son was gone. The crowd's cheers felt distant to them, swallowed by a private, bitter silence.
Starless walked past it all. Eyes forward. No smiles. No tears. Just the weight of what he had done pressing him down as the noise of celebration and despair collided around him.