2. Survivor

  The smell of antiseptic saturated the air.

  Blake opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling light blinded him for a moment until his pupils adjusted. He was in his room, but something was different. Medical devices surrounded the bed. Monitors blinking with green lines. IV tubes at his side. The constant beeping of a heart monitor filling the silence.

  "Well. You're finally awake."

  Victor Grimswell had a book open and was completely absorbed in his reading, not even glancing at his son who had just woken up.

  "At this rate I thought you were never going to wake up," he said, without once looking away from what he was doing.

  Blake tried to speak. His throat was bone dry. The words came out raspy, barely audible.

  "What... what happened? What am I doing here?"

  His father finally looked at him. His eyes were cold as ice.

  "Well. I think you're the only one who knows that."

  And he went back to his reading.

  'Am I seriously alive...? I... didn't I die?'

  'But... the last thing I remember is that creature devouring me, and after that everything just became absolute darkness closing in around me.'

  He looked at his body beneath the sheets. No visible wounds. No fractures. No marks. Nothing to confirm or show any trace of everything he had been through.

  And yet the pain in his throat felt real. The weight of the sheets against his body.

  All of it.

  He was definitely alive.

  This wasn't some kind of dream or fantasy.

  It was real.

  Then the memories started flooding back, and it was horrifying: his group's bodies scattered across the coliseum, each of their deaths burned into his memory forever. And then, the worst of it.

  'Oh no... Darius... Did I actually do that? Did I actually kill him? No, no, no — this can't be real. I would never do that.'

  As his own thoughts tortured him, he brought his hands to his face.

  But then he clung to another idea.

  Had it actually happened?

  Or was it a product of his imagination?

  Maybe the panic had distorted everything. Maybe someone else had managed to get out and was lying in some hospital. Maybe Darius was alive.

  Maybe...

  he wasn't the only survivor.

  "The... the others..." He looked at his father. "How are they?"

  Victor stopped reading once more and looked at him. Something appeared on his face that didn't quite reach a smile.

  "Are you pulling my leg? Because if you are, I don't find it funny at all."

  "No... why would you say that?"

  His father let out a short, humorless laugh.

  "They all died. Don't you remember anything?"

  The words landed like a blow.

  'Then it's real...'

  'Not only did I witness every single one of them die without being able to do a thing to save them — I'm practically a murderer.'

  'And now here I am. Alive and unscathed.'

  'Why...? What is the point of any of this?'

  Guilt twisted his stomach like a serpent. His breathing quickened along with his heartbeat — something his father noticed because the machine caught it.

  "From your reaction, I'll take it you know perfectly well what happened there."

  Blake looked at him and considered telling him what had truly happened. But he stopped himself.

  'What would I even say...? That a human being just like us, with strange powers, killed everyone? That he forced me to choose between Darius and myself?'

  'He'd think I was losing my mind...'

  He shook his head.

  "No... I don't remember much."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "HA!" Victor let out a bitter laugh. "And here I was hoping you could explain to me exactly what happened. I suppose I had too high expectations for you."

  He paused.

  "As always."

  Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. Only the sound of turning pages filled the room.

  Blake tightened his grip on the sheets.

  "I know why you're here."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You came to tell me what happens now that I failed, didn't you?" He lowered his head. "That I'd have to go out and work, that you can't keep someone useless living under your roof..."

  His father didn't respond. He kept reading, completely calm.

  Blake's heartbeat spiked. His hands began to tremble beneath the sheets.

  "I tried! Alright?! I genuinely tried! But... I accept that I couldn't do it. And if I have to face the consequences, I'll face them. I'm only asking one thing from you. Just one: acknowledge that I tried. Acknowledge the effort. That's all I'm asking."

  His father sighed. He set the book aside, stood up, and walked toward the window.

  "You won't have to go work anywhere."

  Blake looked up, confused.

  "Besides," Victor continued, staring outside, "if that were the case, I would have told you the moment you opened your eyes. You know me perfectly well."

  "What...? But I... " He swallowed. "I didn't pass the exam. You have every right to—"

  "You did pass."

  The world stopped.

  "W-what?"

  Victor turned to face him.

  "More or less, I still don't fully understand it myself — but when the sentinels arrived at the rift, they found no one. Just blood everywhere. And there you were, completely unharmed on the ground. It was remarkable. I didn't believe it myself when they told me."

  He crossed his arms.

  "You were unconscious for seven days. Even so, one thing was made clear: you had the misfortune of stumbling into an anomalous rift. Grey rifts are only supposed to cover floors one through five of the underworld. But the rift you were in had a passage that led directly to floor thirty-five."

  'Floor thirty-five? That's impossible. Those floors only exist in blue rifts. Places where even the most experienced sentinels can die.'

  "So it's obvious that whatever killed everyone else was in there," said Victor. "Let's be honest — not even your sister, talented as she is, could survive that. But the Sentinel Association is so incompetent that they determined you survived because you were somehow capable of defeating whatever you faced."

  Then he turned toward him. His gaze was piercing.

  "But we both know that's not true, don't we?"

  Blake didn't answer. There was no need. He was right.

  "As compensation for the incident, the Association made a considerable payment." His father paused. "More than enough."

  Blake took a moment to process that.

  "Compensation...?" he asked, frowning.

  "You know — a rather modest sum of money," his father replied.

  "And the other families... the ones affected... they were given something too, right...?"

  "Of course not. That benefit is exclusive to my position."

  Blake curled his fingers around the sheets.

  "But... there were other kids in there. Their families lost someone. At least I'm still alive... they aren't."

  "And that works in our favor," said Victor, without the slightest trace of discomfort.

  Blake looked at him, confused.

  "Huh...? What do you mean?"

  Victor stared at him.

  "You know perfectly well — you're not that stupid."

  "No... I genuinely don't know what you're referring to."

  "Are you going to make me spell it out for you?" Victor sighed. "Fine. If they were alive, they would have told everyone you cheated on that exam. And that's not exactly something looked upon favorably, is it? Not to mention everyone would know my useless son can't use magic."

  "You pushed me into this..." Blake murmured.

  "Did I specifically tell you to cheat your way into the exam? Or did I tell you to go beg Edward to select you for the final exam the moment I told you about the plans I had for you? Because yes — I know everything you did."

  "And how else was I supposed to get into the sentinel academy?" Blake raised his voice. "It was the only thing I could do! I had no alternative!"

  "You could have accepted what was yours and chose not to." Victor shrugged. "But regardless, let's not dwell on the bad. We should focus on the positive. The fact that they all died means there are no witnesses, which benefits both of us. In my case, the Vinswell name will remain intact. And in your case..."

  He made a gesture, pointing at Blake with one finger.

  "You'll be able to keep living this comfortable, wealthy life you're so accustomed to."

  'I don't know why I'm surprised. The deaths of those kids aren't a tragedy to him. They're a convenience. And the worst part is that he's right — thanks to them, my goal was accomplished.

  'And that is what makes me feel the most miserable of all.'

  Because part of him felt relief. And the other part hated himself for it.

  His father walked toward the door and stopped with his hand on the frame, not quite turning all the way around.

  "From this point forward, think carefully about every decision you make and every move you take." His voice dropped a tone, more threatening than before. "Because given that you've chosen to live inside a lie, you'll now have to maintain it. And if the truth comes to light... you'll wish you had accepted my first offer."

  He turned the knob and opened the door.

  "Oh... I forgot to mention — tomorrow is an important day. It's the ceremony, so get yourself ready."

  "Wait! What?! What do you mean, the ceremony?!"

  Blake called out, but it was useless — his father closed the door without another word.

  "If tomorrow is the ceremony... that means classes at the academy start the day after."

  Blake pressed his hands to his head in desperation.

  "What am I supposed to do? I can't come up with a plan in so little time! And I don't even know if a plan would be enough! How am I going to get through all of this?!"

  'How long before someone figures it out...?'

  How long before everything comes crashing down...?

  The anxiety seized him instantly. But he breathed in deeply to calm himself — there was nothing to be gained from spiraling right now.

  He finally forced himself to get up. His legs nearly gave out. He gripped the edge of the bed and walked toward the wardrobe.

  He pulled off his shirt.

  "Ah...!"

  On his abdomen, just beneath his ribs, there was a mark. Reddish. A strange symbol branded into the skin. He moved closer to the mirror. The mark was circular, with intertwined patterns of impossible shapes. It looked alive. As though it pulsed with every heartbeat.

  He touched it. It was warm.

  Then a memory hit him so hard it sent him to the floor.

  The red windows.

  Choices.

  A pact he had accepted.

  'So that's why I'm alive?'

  The details were blurred, like trying to remember a dream. He knew he had agreed to something, but he couldn't make out exactly what.

  He stayed on the floor with his back against the bed, staring at the mark that pulsed against his skin.

  'I was dead. Inside that creature, with no air, no strength. And something pulled me out of there. Just when there was nothing left to do'

  'Could it be that something — or... someone — decided it wasn't my time yet?'

  'But... if that's the case, why me? Out of so many people, why choose me?'

  'What could possibly be special about me after that horrible thing I did...?'

  "Actually... everyone voted for me to stay."

  He paused.

  "What an irony. The only one nobody wanted to save was the only one who came out alive."

  'Could that have been what decided it? That precisely because of that, they chose me?'

  He didn't know. Maybe he never would.

  But as he stared at the mark still pulsing against his skin, something small and almost extinguished within him arrived at a conclusion:

  "Maybe this is a second chance."

  "And if something so merciful gave it to me at the very moment before I died... I can't waste it."

  "I can't."