Steps Into Oblivion

There was no pain.

That was the first thing he noticed. No searing burn. No crushing weight. No suffocating terror. Only… stillness. A silence so profound it rang louder than any thunder he'd ever heard.

The darkness didn't devour him like a predator. It embraced him gently instead. Like a mother cradling her child after a long day of crying.

Like a blanket drawn over a restless sleeper. A strange comfort settled over him, easing the tension in his limbs, stilling the chaos in his heart. His breath—if he was still breathing—slowed. His thoughts grew dim.

His body was dissolving. That much he was sure of. Bit by bit, pieces of him slipped away. Not violently, but naturally, like sand being carried by the tide. He didn't resist. Why would he?

What was left to hold on to?

He had no past. No name beyond the one echoing in his mind, no family, no friends. Not even a goal. While the others had walked forward—chosen, guided, accepted—he had been left behind, repelled and forgotten.

Maybe… maybe it was better this way.

At least now, he thought as his arms faded into the velvet dark, I won't feel anything. No more confusion. No more helplessness. No more of that bitter, gnawing ache of being unwanted.

He closed his eyes—or perhaps they were already closed—and surrendered himself fully.

Let it all go.

The weight.

The longing.

The shame.

The questions.

He could feel even his sense of self beginning to thin. His thoughts blurred at the edges, growing foggy and indistinct. Who was he? What was he? A hollow shape, barely a whisper, drifting in the void. Maybe soon he'd be nothing at all. And maybe that was okay.

Maybe disappearing was the only freedom left.

Just as he was beginning to fade completely, a sound stirred in the abyss—a deep, weary sigh, ancient and knowing.

Then came the voice.

"It's not your time to rest yet."

It wasn't loud. It didn't echo. Yet it carried through the darkness with a presence that left no room for defiance. Neither kind nor cruel, the voice was… inevitable.

Before he could even form a thought in response, he felt something shift.

An invisible force—gentle but firm—pressed against his fading self. It was pushing him, guiding him… somewhere.

Not back to where he came from. No, that door was closed. But ahead of him, a fracture—barely perceptible—split through the dark. Like a tear in the fabric of space itself. Faint and trembling, as if reality had blinked and forgotten to repair itself.

He didn't resist. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. His form— or at least what remained of it—was being drawn toward the tear.

The voice said nothing more. There was no explanation, no comfort, no hand to hold. Only that quiet, inescapable command:

Not yet.

And then—

Nothing.

He slipped through the tear, and the last strands of consciousness unraveled.

Darkness gave way to something else.

But he wouldn't know what that was until he woke again.

---

Silence.

A vast, suffocating silence pressed in from all sides as Adam drifted through the darkness of his own unconsciousness.

Why… why did I even survive?

The memory of Nisrine's tearful apology still echoed, faint and broken. The thunder, the gate, the rejection. He remembered the static crackling through his veins, the moment his body shattered into dust. He had been left behind… discarded.

And then—pain.

His senses returned not with a whisper, but a scream. A dull, throbbing ache surged through his skull, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. Air flooded his lungs as if he were drowning in it.

His eyes fluttered open.

Above him, the sky was painted in vibrant hues of orange and violet, dappled with drifting clouds. Towering trees with bark as thick as boulders stretched into the heavens, their ancient branches coiling like serpents. Leaves, larger than his torso, swayed gently in the breeze. This forest was not normal—it was primeval, alive in a way that made his skin crawl and his breath hitch.

He lay still on a patch of moss, staring up in a daze. His body refused to move, as though whatever had brought him here had wrung every drop of energy from his soul. But strangely, he didn't mind. After the blinding whiteness of the void, the deep, rich greens and warm earth tones felt almost divine.

So this is what color looks like again…

A sharp contrast. This world was vibrant and teeming with life. And yet, within him, there was only emptiness. Just like the void he had been in previously, a blank canvas, cold and dead

He raised a trembling hand and stared at his fingers, the dirt beneath his nails, "Is this still me?" he whispered. His voice cracked.

He had no power. No enlightenment. No destiny carved into his skin. The others—Nisrine, the soldier, the boxer, the office worker, the dancer and the medical studen—they had passed through the gate. Chosen and blessed.

He was… what? A mistake?

He felt the weight of that thought settle into his bones, deeper than fatigue or fear. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be anything after all. He couldn't but think to himself.

Time passed. How long, he didn't know. Eventually, his strength trickled back into him, and with a grunt, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Muscles screamed in protest. Sweat slicked his back.

Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. Leaves rustled. Insects buzzed.

It was beautiful. And he felt utterly alone.

Finally, he stood. His legs were unsteady, but they held. He scanned his surroundings, picked a direction—any direction—and began his descent down the mountain.

In search of what? He didn't know. Maybe someone who could tell him who he was. Maybe someone who could reveal his purpose. Or perhaps he was simply looking for anyone who could silence this gnawing sense of loneliness and worthlessness within him.

Every step was a battle. The undergrowth tangled around his feet. Thorny vines scratched his skin, leaving angry red marks. Tall weeds slapped at his legs. His shoes, if they could be called that anymore, were barely intact. He slipped twice, once nearly tumbling into a ravine hidden beneath a carpet of leaves.

His breathing grew ragged. Sweat trickled down his brow. His body burned.

They probably got powers. He stumbled forward. Strength, speed maybe even flight. And I'm here, struggling like an animal in the dirt. The contrast of his circumstances compared to the other six felt like a cruel joke to him.

He chuckled bitterly. "Maybe that's what I am. The unchosen."

Then it came.

"RRRAAAWWWRRR!"

Not of wind. Not of any beast he had ever known. It was primal, blood-curdling—like the earth itself was screaming.

Adam froze.

Another roar, this time closer to his position.

Before he could think his legs already started running forward.

Branches whipped against his face. Weeds tore at his arms. He didn't care. He had to move. Adrenaline surged through his veins like lightning, numbing the pain.

Behind him, something moved very fast. Trees shook. The thudding of paws hitting soil thundered like drums in his ears.

In his panic, he tripped.

The world spun, and he landed hard on his back. A sharp cry escaped his throat. He scrambled, turning over, eyes wide with panic.

And saw it.

A black panther. No—larger, darker, more monstrous than any cat nature could produce. Its eyes were gold, glowing with hunger. Its fangs, glistening. Muscles coiled like steel beneath obsidian fur.

It leapt meters in the air towards him.

Adam grabbed a thick branch nearby, holding it like a sword, it was the closest thing to him that he could use for self difference. His arms trembled.

His efforts however were soon proven meaningless. One swipe of the creature before him and the branch he held desperately in his hands shattered.

He flew through the air from the sheer force of the swipe, crashing into a tree with a sickening crack. Agony shot through his chest. He collapsed to the ground, gasping, blood pooling in his mouth.

"Why…" he coughed, spitting red onto the green moss. "Why did I… survive… that place… just to die here?"

The panther crept closer, eyes locked onto him ready to feast.

He raised a shaking fist shouting to the sky.

"What kind of joke is this?! Is this all I am?! A mistake?! A discarded toy?!"

No answer came. Only the darkening sky.

As the panther bared its fangs and the world began to fade, he saw it again—the darkness—the same formless darkness that had devoured him before.

He smiled bitterly.

"Fine. Take me again, then."

The panther pounced.

His eyes closed.

He died.