Vroom—Vroom—
The low hum of the armored vehicle's engine was the only sound cutting through the heavy silence of the cabin.
Ash sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the blurring landscape outside.
Beside him, Hearth gripped the steering wheel with a seasoned calmness, his face a mask of professional stoicism.
Behind them, the site of the First Door was already a fading memory.
The moment Ash had stepped across the threshold, the swirling vortex of shadows had collapsed into a pinprick of light before vanishing entirely, leaving the clearing as empty as if the gate had never existed.
It was a haunting reminder that in this world, existence was fragile, and the "Places" beyond the doors were fleeting nightmares that left permanent scars.
According to Hearth, only five hours had passed on Earth.
Yet, within the warped temporality of the Place, Ash had endured three days of relentless predation.
Those seventy-two hours felt etched into his marrow, a lifetime of suffering compressed into a few sunless rotations.
Ash turned his head toward the window.
The rain had finally ceased, replaced by the amber glow of a late afternoon sun. Its warmth seeped through the glass, touching his skin with a familiar, nurturing heat—a stark contrast to the pale, frigid light of the sun that had hung over the Gray Forest.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a tether to reality.
They are running out to the edge of the Ash area, they crossed a wide, kilometer-long expanse of untamed greenery.
Ash recognized it; he used to scavenge for wild fruit here, or try to snare a bird to quiet his stomach when his mother wasn't home to provide. The memories bit at his heart, cold and sharp.
The drive was conducted in a dense, contemplative silence. Ash watched the world drift by through the tinted glass.
They passed the familiar ruins of the outskirts, then crossed into the Ash Area—the district where he had spent his life. It was a graveyard of rusted metal and crumbling brick, where thick black smoke belched from ancient factories, staining the horizon a permanent, sickly gray.
"Congratulations,"
Hearth's voice broke the silence, steady and resonant.
"You've become an Opener. The first step for every Chosen—and the hardest for most."
Ash didn't smile. He didn't pump his fist in triumph or let out a sigh of relief. He simply kept his eyes on the horizon, his voice devoid of inflection.
"Thank you."
Hearth shot him a quick, sidelong glance, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before softening into a look of approval.
"You aren't as excited as I expected,"
Hearth remarked.
"Most kids your age would be jumping out of their seats or weeping with joy right now. But that calm... it's a virtue, Ash. Especially in the society of the Chosen. It's a world where emotions are often more dangerous than monsters."
There was an underlying bitterness in Hearth's tone, an implication that the camaraderie among the "Chosen" was a thin veil for something much more competitive and cutthroat.
Ash absorbed the information silently, his Apathy skill acting as a filter, allowing him to process the warning without the interference of anxiety.
"As of today, May 3rd, 2525," Hearth continued, returning to a more formal tone.
"a total of 500 Doors have appeared this year alone. That is the highest frequency we've recorded in a century. The world is becoming... crowded."
He paused, letting the weight of the number sink in.
"You are the 11th Opener of this year. Ten others preceded you. In terms of success rate, this is the lowest number of new Openers we've seen in four hundred years."
Ash's eyes widened, his indifference momentarily eclipsed by shock.
"Wait. Five hundred gates in five months, and only eleven survivors? I read that there are usually only a hundred gates a year."
Hearth let out a short, dry laugh.
"Hah... You've been reading those outdated textbooks from the Ash Area, haven't you? I can't blame you, given the lack of resources back there."
He navigated a sharp turn before continuing.
"The number of Doors increases every year. We suppress the information to prevent mass hysteria. If the public knew how fast the 'Places' were encroaching on our world, they would lose their minds. This truth is a privilege—or a curse—reserved only for those who reach the rank of Opener."
'I see,' Ash thought.
The world he thought he knew was merely a curated lie.
"So," Ash said, his voice cold, "everything you told me before I entered the Door... those were lies?"
"Necessary ones," Hearth replied without a hint of guilt.
"Security protocols. We couldn't risk the truth leaking out, even if you were likely to die inside. The mission always comes before the individual."
Ash fell into a pensive silence.
"One more thing," Hearth added.
"Five centuries ago, the recorded survival rate was one in ten. Today, with better preparation and guidance, the survival rate has jumped to nearly fifty percent of all gates opened in a year."
Ash frowned. Something didn't add up. If five hundred gates had appeared and half the people survived, why were there only ten Openers?
He turned to Hearth, the question burning in his crystalline gray eyes.
Hearth anticipated the confusion.
"Exactly. As I said, this is a record low for Openers. Our investigators are still piecing it together, but the Doors this year... they are different. The difficulty hasn't just increased; it has mutated. The 'Places' are becoming more hostile, more complex."
He glanced at Ash's restored physique.
"You were either incredibly talented or incredibly lucky to walk out of yours."
Ash remained silent. Recalling the Velth, the acid-spitting Crea, and the titanic Colossus stalking the island's edge, he realized "increased difficulty" was a massive understatement.
His gate hadn't just been hard; it had been an execution chamber.
Yet, a strange sense of dark relief washed over him—he wasn't the only one struggling against a world that wanted him dead.
"In the ten who came before me," Ash asked, "surely some of them encountered Predators?"
Hearth stopped the car at a red light and turned fully to look at Ash, his expression one of profound disbelief.
"Did I stutter? I said the difficulty increased, young man, not that it became an apocalypse. The highest-tier entity any of the others faced was a Semi-Predator. And even then, they barely escaped with their lives. If any of them had encountered a true Predator, they'd be nothing but red stains on the floor right now."
Ash maintained a mask of total calm, but internally, his mind was reeling.
'What kind of cursed luck do I have? My First Door didn't just have a Semi-Predator; it had a blood-crazed Predator that only failed to kill me with it one arm. And that's not even counting the Colossus...'
He realized then that his path was fundamentally different from the other twelve.
He hadn't just opened a door; he had kicked his way out of a grave.
Hearth took his hand off the wheel and placed it on Ash's shoulder, his tone shifting to something more instructional.
"Next, we're heading to the Chosen Headquarters. We need to register your Core, log your attributes, and issue your unique identification card. Without that card, you're just another civilian in the eyes of the law."
"And after that?"
"After that, you have exactly forty-eight hours to settle your affairs and pack your belongings."
"Pack my belongings?" Ash echoed, his brow furrowing.
"Yes. Once you are registered as an Opener, you are no longer a private citizen. You are an asset of the state. You will be transferred to a specialized military academy. You'll be joining the other ten Openers. We've been holding the class until we had enough candidates to form a full unit. With you, the roster is complete. Training begins in two days."
Hearth's gaze turned deadly serious, his voice dropping an octave.
"Be warned, Ash. That school isn't a playground. It's a crucible. It's designed to break you so that you can be rebuilt into something that can survive the higher-tier Doors. Death during training isn't just a possibility; it's a statistic."
A heavy sigh escaped Hearth's lips as he looked at the sprawling skyline of New Age City appearing in the distance.
"I was a student there once. It taught me everything I know—especially the true meaning of sacrifice."
Ash didn't respond. He looked down at his hands, feeling the Core of the Void pulsing steadily against his heartbeat.
He had already sacrificed his home, his family, and his innocence. Whatever this academy had to offer, it couldn't take more than he had already lost.
The silence returned, thick and unbreakable, carrying a young man who was no longer quite human toward a future forged in shadow