The gloom was a physical weight, a smothering blanket of pitch-black that felt so complete it was blinding. A single, defiant sliver of moonlight fought its way through a high, unseen window, but the oppressive dark swallowed it whole before it could touch the floor. On a small bed, the young Niata slept, tossing as if caught in the thralls of a great nightmare.
He was woken by whispers. Faint and of unknown origin, they slithered into the silence.
He sat bolt upright, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. The door to his room, which he knew,he knew,he had closed, was now wide open. Beyond it, the shadows of the hallway deepened into an impenetrable void, a solid wall of nothing.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the biting cold of the floor. He stood facing the doorway, just a few footsteps away. Dad's playing tricks again, he thought, a flicker of childish annoyance cutting through the fear. He tried to call out, to voice his irritation.
"Dad," he mouthed.
No sound escaped. The air itself seemed to choke the word in his throat. He tried again, pushing with all his might, but the result was the same. A silent shout into the void.
"NIATA!"
The voice was a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the room. A jolt shot through him, stealing the air from his lungs. He had never heard that voice, yet some sliver of childish hope insisted it could still be his father. He took a hesitant step towards the door.
As he drew closer, two lights ignited in the deepest part of the void. He stopped. Three more steps would take him into the abyss. The lights were not lights. They were eyes, their pupils glowing with a malevolent turquoise energy.
Niata stood frozen, fear a cold, heavy stone in his chest. From the threshold of the abyss, a dark liquid began to flow, creeping across the floor towards him. It was blood, a pool of it spreading silently until it stopped just shy of his small feet. His heart hammered, a frantic rhythm against the suffocating silence. The eyes just stared.
There was something deeply wrong about the blood. It seemed to emit its own faint, sickly light, perfectly visible within the blinding darkness. But something else, something far more terrifying, was happening. Hands—dozens of them—began pushing against the surface of the blood as if it were a sheet of transparent plastic.
Terror finally broke his paralysis. Niata tried to step back, then—
WHOOSH!
A dozen arms erupted from the pool, their grip like iron. They seized him, pulling him in. He fought, thrashing wildly, but the strength was beyond human, the number too great. He was dragged into the puddle of blood, but instead of hitting the floor, he fell, plunging deep as if pulled into a lightless ocean filled with nothing but blood.
His eyes shot open.
Teenage Niata sat upright in bed, gasping. A dull, throbbing pain lingered behind his eyes, as though he'd been struck with a rock.
"Same dream," he muttered, his voice raspy. "Again. And this time with a headache."
He took a deep, steadying breath. The air was sterile, recycled. It did little to calm him. He looked around. The room was white, windowless, and unfamiliar. His gaze fell on the posters covering one wall, glossy images of power-armored warriors from his favorite video game, BLOOD-SHED. He reached out and touched one, the cool, smooth paper a small, tangible anchor in his sea of confusion. He got off the bed and walked to a tall wardrobe.
"What?" he mumbled, pulling it open. "My clothes." Neatly folded, just as he had packed them. I remember packing... preparing... But he had no memory of arriving, of unpacking, of this room that felt more like a cell than a place to live.
His eyes landed on his desk. His phone and laptop were there, charging. He snatched the phone, his thumb swiping to unlock it. The screen glowed: 9:00 a.m. The date was the 4th of Sextus. A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. He was supposed to have arrived yesterday.
He scrolled frantically through his contacts and hit the call button for his brother. It rang once, twice, then connected.
"Toro, what is happening?!" Niata asked, his voice tight with panic. "I don't remember anything!"
"Whoa, easy there, Niata," a synthesized, yet unmistakably teenage voice buzzed from the phone. "Panic mode engaged, I see. Toro figured this would happen. He's tied up in the main lab."
Niata sagged with relief. "Conscior?"
"Your Essence was activated yesterday, around 5 p.m., right after you two unpacked," the AI confirmed. "The memory gaps are just the Origin Stone side effects. We talked about this, remember? Or, well, you don't. That's the point. Sorry, I need to get busy now, these boxes won't open themselves. Toro left you a map. Check your messages. See you later."
"Wait-" The call ended.
Niata stared at the message notification. He opened it, revealing a glowing path on a layout of a massive building called the Guardian Dome. He scratched his head. 100 floors? I could have sworn the public site said fifty. They're lying to people.
His brother's instructions were simple: get to the top floor. Floor 100. He was on floor 50. A long way up.
Before leaving, his gaze fell on a small, framed portrait on his nightstand. A much younger version of himself stood between a smiling man and woman—his late parents. He allowed himself a small, sad smirk.
"I guess it begins," he said to the empty room. "My journey of finding the truth." He paused. That sounded really lame. He tried again. "Maybe... vengeance is at my door? Nah."
Shaking his head, he touched the doorknob, and the door slid open silently. A long, sterile hallway stretched out in both directions, lined with identical, featureless doors. His own was marked "102," with "Niata Sanchez" printed neatly below. He glanced back at his phone, following the map's glowing path towards the elevator at the far end of the hall.
As he walked, he noticed the silence. It was absolute. No hum of ventilation, no distant chatter, no sign of life. I can't even smell anything, he thought. No dust, no food, no people. It's like the air is scrubbed clean.
The elevator doors were a sleek, brushed silver. He pressed "100." As the elevator ascended with unnerving smoothness, his mind drifted. Weird. I never really thought my memories would be erased just like that. I always assumed the Origin Stone just... scrambled them. And I don't feel any different, just like the book said, though—
The elevator stopped. The doors slid open, revealing a massive, empty, dome-shaped space. The sterile, hospital-like aesthetic of the building was on full display here, vast and unnerving.
Niata stepped out and was immediately greeted by a tall, muscular woman in gleaming blue, knight-like armor. Her long black hair was tied back, and she seemed to appear from nowhere, startling him.
"Niata! I've been sitting in this empty space for an hour. I promise you, I was going insane!" A booming laugh escaped her, friendly and familiar, as though they were old friends.
"Mrs. Liosa?" Niata's face broke into a relieved smile.
"Hmm? You remember me from yesterday? I thought your memories were—"
"Scrambled?" Niata finished for her. "There's a website with the ranks and abilities of all sixty Guardians. I know you from there, not from yesterday."
"Among all of them, you recalled me. I'm flattered."
Niata's eyes scanned her, his analytical mind kicking in involuntarily. Incredible musculature. Deltoids and biceps are perfectly defined, but not overly bulky. The structure is reminiscent of the great Solliminiah and—
"What are you staring at?" Liosa asked, a playful smirk on her lips.
Niata's eyes darted away, a flush creeping up his neck. "Nothing!" he squeaked, his voice an octave too high.
Liosa let out another hearty chuckle.
CLANG!
A deafening groan of scraping metal erupted from behind him. Niata spun around, his heart hammering. The elevator was gone. Not just the car—the entire enclosure had vanished, leaving only a smooth, sterile wall in its place.
"What happened to the elevator?" he asked, bewildered.
"Don't worry about it," she said with another booming laugh. "It got pulled under. We need the full scope of this 'training ground'!"
Niata stared at her, a fresh wave of unease washing over him. This woman was nothing like the stoic, serious Guardian he'd read about. He didn't feel disappointed, though. He felt relieved.
"Alright, Niata!" Liosa's tone shifted, the playful edge replaced by a focused, friendly intensity. "I guess it is time to teach you how to use your newly awakened power!"