Sohan woke up to the sound of rattling keys once again. Heavy footsteps approached. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he recalled Nymir's words:
"Tomorrow… your trial begins, Sohan."
The cell door creaked open with a horrifying screech, revealing two Withered standing before him. They carried curved swords, their faces hidden behind thick masks emitting a faint heat.
"Prisoner 219, follow us."
He didn't speak—just rose to his feet. His steps were heavy, eyes fixed straight ahead. He walked through the dark corridors, passing by other prisoners who whispered from their cells—some encouraging, some hopeless, as if bidding him farewell.
The air was suffocating, filled with the scent of iron, sweat, and fear. The new prisoners were led through a narrow hallway with dim lights. Strange symbols were carved into the walls in a dark hue, as if they had absorbed the screams of those who came before.
There were seven of them in total. Pale faces. Avoiding eye contact. Among them was Sohan, walking silently, but observant. Some wept, some murmured desperate prayers, others pretended to be strong.
They reached a vast stone chamber. At its center was a raised platform, where a creature stood—its appearance distorted, not entirely Withered, but a grotesque blend of human and Withered. It had four eyes, each moving independently, and a voice that echoed from three mouths at once:
"Registration of new prisoners… begins now."
The "diagnosis" process commenced. One by one, each prisoner was called forward and asked to place their hand on a cracked black crystal. Upon touch, the crystal would flash, revealing glowing letters in the air.
"Name: Harin. Rank: Lower Ash. From: Dead Wall Camp."
Then another:
"Name: Telma. Rank: Ash. From: Valor Village."
And so on, until it was Sohan's turn. He stepped forward slowly and placed his hand on the crystal. For a moment, nothing happened… then suddenly, the crystal pulsed with an odd color—a mix of gray and faint gold.
"Name: Unknown. Rank: Lesser Ash. Origin: Unclassified."
Some laughed. One prisoner behind him whispered,
"Lesser Ash? That's worse than zero…"
A voice from above the platform declared:
"Those without a name… are not worthy of one."
Then, in a colder tone, it continued:
"New prisoners, to the Sorting Trial."
A massive iron gate opened at the far end of the chamber. Beyond it, a long corridor led to a wide, circular arena shrouded in gray darkness. On the edge of the arena, each was given a rusted sword and a battered shield.
One of the guards spoke in a harsh tone:
"You will be tested. Those who survive… will be re-ranked. Those who fail… become food."
The prisoners stepped forward one by one, taking their weapons. The sword felt cold in Sohan's hand. The shield was heavier than he expected.
They entered the arena.
Suddenly, the gate slammed shut behind them with a thunderous clang. Darkness consumed everything… until five torches lit up at the edges of the arena, revealing walls that seemed to breathe—yes, they moved as if alive.
Then, a strange voice whispered from every corner:
"Welcome… to the Pit of Measurement."
A hatch in the ground opened. Creatures emerged—not ordinary Withered, but twisted monstrosities, known as Blood Waste—unstable experimental abominations used to test human limits.
The prisoners' hearts began to race. Some stepped back. One screamed,
"This is madness! We're not soldiers!"
But there was no escape.
Sohan looked around. His hands trembled, chest rising and falling rapidly… until a memory surfaced—
The words of the strange old man who raised him:
"Your strength isn't tested in victory… but in the moment when all you have left is your will."
He gripped his sword tightly.
And the first spark of battle ignited.