After the director's speech, the students began to be called one by one.
The names were spoken at even intervals — neither rushed nor delayed. One after another, people left the hall and disappeared through the doors leading to separate interview rooms. Some returned a few minutes later with thoughtful expressions, others with relief, and some looking tense, as though the questions had been harder than expected.
When her name was called, Lucia did not hesitate.
She stood almost immediately and headed toward the designated door without looking back. Her footsteps were quiet, yet confident, as though her body itself remembered how to move even if her mind could no longer hold its memories.
The room she entered was unexpectedly calm.
Soft, diffused light filled the space evenly without hurting the eyes. The wooden desk looked simple but well-crafted, free of unnecessary details. Two chairs facing one another created the feeling not of an interrogation, but of a conversation.
A young woman sat behind the desk.
At first glance, she looked barely older than twenty. Her long hair was neatly tied into a bun, not a single loose strand disrupting the strictness of her appearance. A dark office suit emphasized her composure, while her delicate features gave her an expression that was calm yet attentive. In front of her lay a tablet and several sheets of paper already covered with notes.
When Lucia entered, the woman looked up.
Her gaze was not cold, but sharp — the kind that noticed details immediately.
"Come in," she said calmly, gesturing lightly toward the chair opposite her. "Please, sit."
Lucia silently obeyed.
For several seconds, the woman simply watched her, as though comparing something in her mind to what she saw in front of her. Then she lowered her gaze to the tablet and began.
"Name?"
"Lucia Grimm."
"Age?"
Lucia paused for a moment.
The silence was brief, but noticeable.
"…I'm not sure."
The woman raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing, merely making a note.
"Very well. Then let's begin with your general condition. How are you feeling physically? Any weakness, pain, or perceptual disturbances?"
"No," Lucia answered calmly. "My body is fine."
"Dizziness? Disorientation? Auditory or visual distortions?"
"No."
The woman nodded and looked back up.
"Then let's move on to your memories. Tell me what you remember about yourself."
Lucia did not answer immediately.
She looked at the woman as though trying to understand what kind of answer was expected of her. Then she glanced slightly aside, focusing inward.
"Nothing complete," she finally said. "Only fragments. They aren't connected."
"What kind of fragments?" the woman asked at once. "Images? Sounds? Situations?"
"Images… sensations…" Lucia frowned faintly, as though trying to grasp something slipping away from her. "Sometimes it feels like I'm almost remembering something, but… it disappears."
"Faces?" the woman asked gently.
"No."
"Voices?"
"No."
"Places?"
Lucia was silent a little longer this time.
"Sometimes…" she nodded slowly, "but I don't recognize them. They're just… spaces."
The woman observed her carefully without interrupting.
"All right," she said after a pause. "Then let me clarify. Do you remember your family?"
"No."
"Your parents?"
"No."
"Your childhood?"
"No."
Each answer came calmly, without emotion — and that only made them heavier.
The woman frowned slightly.
"Then the trial. Do you remember how you passed it?"
A brief pause.
"No."
This time the woman did not continue immediately.
She lowered her gaze to the tablet, scrolled through several lines, then looked back at Lucia — more attentively than before.
"Do you remember arriving here at all?" she asked.
Lucia frowned faintly.
"No."
"Then…" the woman leaned forward slightly, "what is the last thing you remember before this?"
The silence stretched.
Lucia tried to find an answer, but all that came was emptiness.
"Nothing," she said quietly.
A heavy pause settled over the room.
The woman slowly leaned back in her chair, never taking her eyes off Lucia.
"So," she said more slowly than before, "you remember neither your identity, nor your past, nor even the trial itself… and yet you are here, among those who passed."
It was not a question. It was a statement.
Lucia simply looked at her.
"Yes."
For several seconds, the woman remained silent.
Then she quietly exhaled, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and shook her head.
"This is… the first case like this."
There was no panic in her voice, but there was genuine confusion — not the confusion of someone incapable of handling the situation, but of a professional confronted with something that fit none of the known categories.
She looked at Lucia again — differently this time.
Not merely as a student.
As an exception.
She held Lucia's gaze a moment longer, as though making a decision.
"Then tell me," she said, "your Gift and your Traits."
The question was calm, but it carried the necessity of moving forward despite everything strange that had happened so far.
Lucia frowned almost imperceptibly.
The words felt familiar… but empty.
"Gift?.. Traits?.."
She repeated them uncertainly, as though testing words that awakened no response inside her.
A brief silence settled in the room.
The woman closed her eyes for a second and quietly exhaled, suppressing irritation.
"Damn…" she muttered under her breath before immediately straightening again, regaining her professional composure. "Even that is gone…"
She studied Lucia carefully now, not like an ordinary student, but like a problem requiring a different approach.
"All right," she said more slowly and clearly, choosing her words with care. "Then we'll do this differently. Listen carefully."
She leaned slightly forward to keep Lucia's attention.
"Your Gift and Traits are not something you 'remember' in the ordinary sense. They are part of you. Even if your memories are gone, those should remain. You don't need to remember… you need to find them."
A short pause to let the words settle.
"Close your eyes."
Lucia obeyed without question.
"Take a slow breath… and don't rush to exhale," the woman continued, her voice softer now. "Try to feel yourself. Not your body… yourself."
Several seconds of silence.
"Now imagine there is a space inside you. Don't try to see it immediately. Just allow the possibility that it exists. Like a room you haven't entered yet."
Her voice became steady, almost guiding.
"You don't need to search with your eyes. Don't force yourself to imagine something. Just… let your attention move inward. As though you're feeling for something in the dark."
Lucia took a slow breath.
And followed the words.
At first, she simply sat there.
She heard her breathing.
Felt the chair beneath her.
But gradually…
The sounds began to fade away.
The voices beyond the walls, barely audible before, vanished first. Then even the quiet noises within the room disappeared — the rustle of fabric, breathing, faint movement.
Only silence remained.
Then the sensation of her body faded as well.
Not suddenly, not sharply — but slowly. As though her boundaries were beginning to dissolve. Her arms, legs, breathing — all of it became distant, unimportant.
And at some point, she stopped feeling them altogether.
The outside world disappeared.
Only the inner space remained.
It had no shape.
No color — or perhaps it was dark, but not oppressive. It was not frightening emptiness, but a calm, profound silence in which nothing distracted her.
There was no up or down.
No distance.
Only… presence.
Lucia did not move in the ordinary sense, but her awareness drifted deeper.
And then she felt it.
Faint.
Almost impossible to perceive.
As though somewhere within that silence there was something else.
Not a sound.
Not light.
But… a response.
She focused on it.
Not trying to grasp it, not trying to understand — merely allowing it to exist.
And the response grew clearer.
It neither approached nor retreated.
It simply… became more distinct.
As though she was no longer preventing herself from feeling it.
And at some point, she touched it.
Not with a hand.
Not with thought.
With something deeper.
And then it happened.
Not a flash.
Not a vision.
Knowledge.
It did not appear suddenly like something new. It had always been there — from the beginning, deep beyond memory.
Now it merely took shape.
A shape her mind could comprehend without breaking beneath its scale.
It was not words, but became them.
Not an image, but it gained structure.
And Lucia understood.
She did not remember.
She realized.
Name: Lucia Grimm
Title: The Hunger That Does Not Remember Its Reason
You once came to know everything that could be known.
No mysteries remained. No boundaries. No questions without answers.
But your memory retained not a single fragment.
The knowledge vanished, dissolved, leaving behind only emptiness… and a sense of loss no words can explain.
And now your hunger leads you toward the place where truth once touched you, where you have already been… but no longer remember.
Gift: Seven Deadly Sins
You are not merely the bearer of power.
You are its distortion. The symbol of flaw itself, containing the very essence of human nature.
The seven sins were not granted to you all at once.
They are sealed away, hidden, closed off from you — not as punishment, but as a path you must walk.
Each is not merely an ability.
It is a state. A trial. A reflection.
And the first to awaken within you was hunger.
Gluttony (Hunger)
Within the fog of oblivion, where memories vanished but essence remained, you discovered hunger within yourself.
Not physical. Not primitive.
It is hunger for what was lost.
For something that once belonged to you but disappeared without a trace.
It does not scream.
It does not demand.
It simply exists — constant, quiet, inevitable.
Powers Born from It
Absorption
Enhancement
The Remaining Sins
Lust (Desire) — sealed
Greed (Avarice) — sealed
Sloth (Apathy) — sealed
Wrath — sealed
Envy — sealed
Pride — sealed
They sleep.
But they are not gone.
Symbol of Life
In the registry of fate, your line had already been crossed out.
Your story should have ended before it truly began.
But you survived where death was not an outcome — but the norm.
You remained where no one remains.
And by doing so, you violated the order of things.
The God of Life created the very concept of existence.
But you became its embodiment not by will, but in defiance of it.
He is the author of the idea.
You are its living anomaly.
The only being whose breath does not belong to the heavens.
Life within you was not given — it was held onto.
Bearer of Death
There is something within your silhouette that should not exist.
The shadow following you is no longer merely the absence of light.
It is occupied.
Within it lingers one who knew death… and rejected its peace.
He remained.
Not for himself.
For you.
You are only the earthly prologue, the beginning of a story not yet finished.
The shadow of his will within the world of the living.
Your path is to preserve lives.
To avert chance, disrupt chaos, refuse to let fate end prematurely.
But not for salvation.
For completion.
You preserve them until the end so that, in the final moment, they may stand before the one who became your meaning.
You are the path.
He is the conclusion.
The Flaw of Humanity
Perfection is stagnation.
That which never changes cannot evolve.
And therefore, it is dead.
Life exists only where there is a crack. A mistake. A fracture.
You are that mistake.
Not accidental.
Not unnecessary.
Necessary.
Without you, humanity would be complete… and therefore empty.
You know their hunger — and become the target of their greed.
You give them reason to stop — and become the cradle of their sloth.
You challenge them — and become the steel of their wrath.
You are unreachable — and give birth to envy.
You attract — and become temptation itself.
You exist — and justify their pride.
You are not a sinner.
You are the embodiment of their imperfection.
A mirror in which each person sees their true self.
Gluttony
Hunger is your only companion.
But taste is dead to you.
You may eat.
You may satisfy the body.
But never yourself.
You are the embodiment of eternal striving without reward.
Your gluttony is not hunger for food.
It is the reflection of life itself.
You consume the world — events, power, meaning, even the emotions of others…
yet you cannot truly feel them.
Every satisfaction is empty.
Every achievement insufficient.
And therein lies the truth of your Gift.
Endless consumption is not power.
It is the highest form of loneliness.
Lucia opened her eyes.
The return was abrupt, almost painful. The silence she had existed within only moments ago vanished without a trace, replaced once more by reality. Light became tangible again, space regained its boundaries, and her body regained its weight. For a second she remained motionless, as though checking whether she was truly back in the room rather than still somewhere deeper, where everything had been different.
The same woman sat across from her. Expectation was visible in her gaze — restrained, but attentive.
"Well? Did it work?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.
Lucia did not answer immediately. She seemed to be listening to herself, to what remained after what she had seen. Not an image, not words… but a heavy, profound sensation.
"Yes…" she finally said quietly. "I saw it."
The woman gave a faint nod, quickly returning to her professional tone.
"Then tell me your Gift and Traits. You may explain everything you saw… or keep it to yourself if you do not wish to reveal the information. That is not against the rules."
She paused briefly before adding more firmly:
"But if you possess a title, I strongly advise you to state it. That part of registration is mandatory."
Lucia fell silent for a moment.
Those words still echoed within her. Not as text — as something that had already become part of her.
Seven sins.
Hunger.
Life.
Death.
Too much.
Far too dangerous to speak aloud.
"I'll state the title," she answered calmly.
The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, expecting more, but when nothing followed she merely nodded and made another note.
"Very well. That will be enough."
★
By the time Lucia returned to the hall, everything was nearing its end.
There were fewer people now than at the beginning, but the tension had not disappeared — it had merely changed. Now it carried anticipation. Some students were already discussing what they had heard. Others remained silent, lost in thought.
Lucia did not search for anyone.
She stopped off to the side again, remaining outside the reach of conversations and attention.
I stated the title… but the rest is better hidden.
The thought came not as doubt, but as understanding.
What she had seen… was not something to share so easily.
Her thoughts drifted back to the inner space.
To the knowledge.
To what she was.
Gluttony…
The word felt different now.
Not like a term.
Like a state of being.
She frowned slightly, running her tongue across her lips as though testing something.
Nothing.
No taste. No response.
So that's why I can't taste anything…
It was not a loss.
It was part of her.
She exhaled slowly.
Though… the abilities are useful.
The thought sounded almost dry, lacking emotion, yet beneath it lay understanding.
Absorption.
She could draw external energy into herself. Not only obvious things like fire or impact, but motion itself, impulses, force directed toward her.
Not deflect.
Not evade.
Accept.
Enhancement.
What she absorbed did not disappear. It became part of her, strengthening her body, movements, reactions. The more she accepted, the stronger she became.
Simple.
Direct.
Effective.
But behind that simplicity hid something greater.
Lucia lowered her gaze slightly.
For a moment.
As though she saw not the hall…
but the reflection of what existed inside her.
Hunger.
Not for food.
For something she had already lost… and could not even remember anymore.
She exhaled quietly.
And for the first time since arriving, something more than calmness appeared in her eyes.
Understanding of what lay ahead.
Not a path.
A search.
Her gaze slowly lowered.
To her shadow.
It lay at her feet like everyone else's — mirroring her silhouette, obeying the light… and yet remaining wrong somehow. There was something extra within it. Or perhaps something too real.
Lucia narrowed her eyes slightly, observing not with sight, but with instinct.
"So you're something like death?" she asked quietly.
The shadow twitched.
Sharply. Almost indignantly.
The denial was too obvious to dismiss as a trick of the light.
Lucia tilted her head slightly.
"Not death?" she asked more calmly.
The shadow froze for a moment, then gave a short, firm nod.
The movement looked impossible.
But not unnatural.
Lucia exhaled, allowing some of the tension to fade.
"…Then who are you?" she asked more quietly, almost thoughtfully. "And what connects us?"
The shadow did not respond immediately.
One second passed.
Then another.
Only then did it stir faintly, as though agreeing that a connection existed… but could not be explained.
Lucia closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, and a faint, almost tired smile appeared on her lips.
"I see…" she said softly, though nothing had truly become clearer.
She leaned forward slightly, resting against one leg, and looked at the shadow again.
"Then one last question…"
A brief pause.
For the first time, a trace of amusement entered her voice — not cruel, but alive.
"How am I even understanding you?.. Or are you just nodding randomly and hoping I'll figure everything out myself?"
The shadow froze.
For a moment — completely motionless.
Then… it twitched slightly.
Very subtly.
Almost innocently.
Lucia let out a quiet laugh.
"I figured," she exhaled.
There was no answer.
But the feeling…
It remained.
And now there was something more within it — a faint, barely perceptible trace of… presence.