The rain still did not stop.
It fell without rhythm or mercy, as if the sky itself had chosen this night to empty everything it had left behind. Water struck leaves, branches, and mud, layering sound upon sound until the forest seemed filled with a dull, endless echo.
The armored convoy moved deeper into the woods.
With every passing minute, the trees grew thicker. Twisted trunks stood shoulder to shoulder, their branches interlocking overhead, blocking what little light remained in the sky. Under the weak glow of the vehicles' headlights, shadows stretched unnaturally long, warping and sliding across the wet ground like silent observers.
Inside the vehicle, no one spoke.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because everyone understood the weight of what lay ahead.
Words, in moments like this, did not ease tension. They diluted it. And tension was the only thing holding them together.
Ash sat quietly.
His posture was relaxed, his breathing steady, his hands resting calmly on his lap. His eyes stared forward, unfocused, as if fixed on a point that did not exist.
He wasn't thinking of anything specific.
Or perhaps he was thinking of too many things at once.
If someone asked him what was on his mind, he wouldn't know how to answer.
Life.Death.The Door.Tomorrow.His mother's final smile.
None of it formed a single, coherent thought.
Hearth sat beside him, occasionally glancing in his direction. After a while, seeing Ash's stillness, he mistook it for unease.
"You shouldn't worry too much, young man," Hearth said, breaking the silence.
His voice was calm, worn smooth by years of repetition.
"Even if you do, it won't change anything."
He paused, then continued in a tone that carried no malice—only blunt truth.
"After all, you might die in there. And our job will simply be to eliminate whatever monsters crawl out."
What an effective comfort.
Ash mocked the words silently.
There was no anger in him—only acceptance.
Hearth wasn't being cruel.
He was being honest.
And honesty, in this world, was often colder than cruelty.
According to the records gathered over the last five hundred years—
Out of every one hundred Chosen, only ten became Openers.
The remaining ninety died.
Some survived a few hours.Some a few days.Some disappeared the moment they crossed the threshold.
There were rare cases where more than ten survived, but those stories were anomalies—exceptions whispered about, never expected.
The probability was painfully low.
Ash knew this.
Every Chosen knew this.
And yet, none of them had the right to refuse.
Ash didn't know if he would survive the Door.
But that uncertainty no longer frightened him.
"You know," Hearth continued, his gaze shifting toward the rain-streaked window,"all Chosen are between eighteen and twenty years old."
"The youngest. The ones with the most potential."
"But everything changes the moment they step into a Door."
The reflection in the glass showed a man far older than his voice suggested. His eyes weren't focused on the forest outside anymore—but on something buried deep within memory.
"When I was chosen, I was eighteen too," Hearth said quietly.
"Just like you."
"When I learned I would enter a Door, I wasn't calm. I was excited. I thought that once I entered a Place, I'd gain power—real power."
"Enough to change my life."
"Enough to return to the world and have people look at me differently."
His lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something close to regret.
"But I was also afraid."
"I didn't know what waited on the other side."
"I didn't know what kind of hell I would have to crawl through."
"I won't tell you the details of my journey," Hearth added. "But I survived."
"That's why I'm sitting here."
It's quite fortunate for new Chosen like us that our initial Doors only harbor Semi-Spawn level monsters. It's rare to even encounter a true Spawn."
Ash stared blankly at Hearth, his face remaining devoid of emotion.
Hearth then seemed to realize something.
"Ah, I forgot. You probably aren't familiar with the monster classifications inside the Doors yet. Let me enlighten you—just like humans, these creatures have their own hierarchy, ranked from lowest to highest:
1.The Spawn
2.The Predator
3,The Aberration
4.The Colossus
5.The Calamity
6.The Apocalypse"
This was the first time Ash had heard about the specific tiers of monsters; until now, he had only known about human rankings.
"Creatures are born the weakest," Hearth continued, "although there is a sub-level called Semi-Creature, such as Semi-Spawn, Semi-Predator,... they are close to reaching the complete stage but not quite there yet. Still, they are incredibly formidable."Ash asked, "What if I encounter a Spawn-level creature inside the Door, or something even beyond that?"
Hearing the question, Hearth's expression turned dead serious.
"If you run into a Spawn, your only option is to run. If you're lucky, you might escape and find the Core to get out, but such cases have been exceedingly rare over the past five hundred years."
"As for encountering anything above the Spawn level? That has never happened and is considered impossible. And honestly, even if it did happen, no one would be left alive to report it."
Hearth shrugged as he finished.
Then he turned fully toward Ash and looked straight into his eyes.
"When you enter a Place, stay calm. Analyze the terrain. Understand your situation."
"Don't panic."
"Don't act on impulse."
"Fear clouds judgment," Hearth said.
"And poor judgment gets you killed."
"These are the only words of advice I can give you."
After that, Hearth fell silent.
Ash didn't respond.
He didn't nod.
He didn't speak.
But he heard every word.
The vehicle returned to silence.
Outside, the convoy continued its advance. The distant glow of New Age City had long vanished, swallowed by darkness and rain.
There was nothing left behind them.
Only the forest.And the night.
At some point, Hearth raised his hand.
"Stop here."
The order passed quickly through the convoy.
After another ten minutes of slow, careful movement, the vehicles came to a halt.
Ash stepped out.
His boots sank slightly into the damp earth, cold moisture seeping through the soles. The air here felt different—heavier, sharper, as if it pressed directly against his skin.
They had arrived at an open clearing.
The forest surrounding it was unnaturally silent.
No insects.No animals.Not even the sound of wind.
It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Eagle Team moved immediately. Their formation spread outward with mechanical precision, weapons raised, eyes scanning every angle.
A perfect defensive perimeter.
Hearth stepped forward.
"This is the predicted location where the Door will appear."
Ash observed the clearing calmly.
This was the first time he would witness the birth of a Door with his own eyes.
Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
The rain fell.The forest remained still.
For a brief moment, Ash wondered if there had been a mistake.
Then—
The air distorted.
At first, it was subtle—like heat rising from the ground. But it was wrong. Unnatural.
The rain intensified, yet the droplets that passed through the distorted space slowed, bending and stretching before vanishing completely.
Smoke rose from the center of the clearing.
Thin at first.
Then thicker.
It gathered slowly, pulled together by an unseen force, shaping itself into something unmistakable.
A door.
From the base.To the frame.To the top.
When the shape was complete, the smoke faded away.
A white wooden door stood alone in the clearing.
Five meter wide and ten meters tall.
Plain.
Ordinary.
And Overwhelmed
But harmless when you look from the outside.
But Ash felt it instantly.
A sharp sense of danger crawled up his spine the moment his eyes settled on it.
There was no doubt anymore.
The Door had appeared.
Suddenly, a burning sensation spread across the back of Ash's right hand.
At first, there was nothing.
Then scorch marks slowly formed, carving themselves into his skin—shaping the symbol of a key.
"There's no doubt now," Hearth said quietly.
"You are The Chosen."
Moments later, a pitch-black key fully manifested on the back of Ash's hand.
Ash stared at it.
Then he looked at the white door.
He had prepared himself for this moment.
But preparation did not lessen its weight.
After eighteen years of quiet suffering, everything now came down to a single step.
Life and Death.
Decided by whether he walked forward.
Was this the world's answer to his defiance?
'Fine,' he thought.
'If that's the case—then come.'
The emptiness in his eyes hardened into resolve.
Dressed entirely in black, gloves concealing the mark, Ash stepped forward.
With every step closer to the door, his breathing steadied. The pressure in his chest faded.
Fear had no place here.
He had already been chosen.
Whether he lived or died—
No.
That wasn't true.
He would live.
For his mother's wish.For his promise to stand against a world that had given him nothing.
He would survive.
Hearth stood beside him.
"Open the door," he said.
"And step inside, boy."
Ash raised his right hand and placed it against the Door.
The key burned violently.
Pain flared—sharp and brief.
Then understanding followed.
The moment had arrived.
Ash pushed the door open.
With a long, agonizing creak, the door began to part.
Creeeeeak-------
CLANG-----
Beyond it was darkness.
Endless.
Silent.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
"I wish you survival in the Place," Hearth said behind him.
Ash didn't look back.
There was nothing left behind him worth turning toward.
As his body crossed the threshold, the door slowly closed.
And the last words he heard before it shut completely were—
"Be careful of the things behind the door."