Mud caked his boots. Blood soaked his hands. And still, Eran held his brother-in-arms, cradling him like a child in the middle of the battlefield's dying silence. The smoke had begun to thin, revealing the wreckage—shattered spears, broken shields, the dead left without names.
Ari's breath came in ragged gasps, each shallower than the last. His eyes fluttered, unfocused. "Eran… it's getting hard to see…"
"You're just tired," Eran said, clutching him tighter. "Hold on. Just stay with me."
Ari gave a weak laugh that rattled like loose stones in his chest. "There's light. It's so bright. It's... it's beautiful."
"No." Eran's voice cracked. "Don't look at it. Don't go. You'll be fine, just—just hang in there!"
But Ari no longer heard him clearly. Eran's voice echoed strangely, distant and hollow. The light called to him, warm and silent. He turned toward it—only to feel something tug at him, something deeper than flesh. Darkness flooded in. He fell backward, as if torn from the world, spiraling down into a place where even his thoughts were swallowed.
When he landed, it was sudden and jarring. The ground beneath him was solid—stone or iron, he couldn't tell. He lay still for a long while, gasping. Then, slowly, he crawled.
There was no sound beyond the scrape of his limbs and the uneven rhythm of his breath. Time had no meaning here. The dark had no end.
Then a voice: calm, amused, unwelcoming. "Another fool stumbles into the void."
Ari froze. "Who's there?"
"You cannot see?" the voice asked, almost mocking.
"It's pitch black," he answered, voice trembling.
"Then stop trying to see with the eyes you no longer have. They belong to the body you lost. Visualize. From within."
Ari hesitated. "From... within?"
"Try."
He breathed in—though he had no lungs—and reached for something that wasn't muscle or memory. Shapes flickered at the edge of his mind. Lines. Silhouettes. A passage began to take form, endless in both directions. Around him, others stood—or floated, or simply existed—each shaped vaguely like people, but altered. Worn. Faded. Some turned to look at him.
And Ari could see.
Ari turned in place, his vision still uncertain, like seeing through fogged glass. Though shapes surrounded him, he couldn't make out his own limbs. He raised what should've been his hand—and saw nothing.
"Where... where am I?" he asked. "Why can't I see myself?"
The voice that had spoken earlier came again, this time closer. Ari turned toward it and saw a figure standing nearby—more defined than the rest. He was tall, clothed in vague folds of shadow that seemed to cling to a solid shape underneath. His face was half-formed, like clay in the hands of an unsure sculptor, but his eyes glimmered with focus.
"You're in the Void," the man said. "More precisely, you've landed in the Nowhere Passage."
Ari stared. "Void...? I don't understand. I was with—Eran—and then the light, and now this?"
"You died," the figure said flatly. "Your soul was drawn to the light, like all others. But you turned away. That is what brought you here."
Ari felt an ache that had no place in his body—an echo of loss. "I didn't want to die... I was just—" He trailed off, confused. "I thought I could hold on."
The man gave a small, mirthless smile. "Most who fall here believed the same. They reach for life, but slip past the end. This passage is where such souls drift—those who neither ascended nor dissolved."
"The Nowhere Passage," Ari echoed. "What is it?"
The man spread his arms to gesture at the endless corridor around them. "It is exactly as it sounds. A passage that leads nowhere. It has no destination, no door, no end. Just… wandering."
Ari's throat tightened, though he had no throat to speak of. "Then what do we do? Just walk forever?"
"You can," the man said. "Most do. Others fade, forgotten even by themselves."
Ari glanced again at his invisible hands. "Why can I see you… but not myself?"
"You're unformed. Your sense of self is weak. You still cling to the world behind you. If you wish to be whole, to see yourself as you once were, you must shape yourself from within."
"Shape myself?"
The man nodded. "Manifest your form. Visualize it. Believe in it. Thought here is flesh. Memory is matter. Clarity is strength."
Ari looked down again, imagining his hands. Fingers. Nails. The scars on his knuckles from training in the barracks. The callouses on his palms from sword drills. Slowly, faint outlines began to shimmer at the edges of his vision—flickers, nothing more. But they were his.
The man nodded, approving. "You learn quickly. That may serve you… if you wish to do more than walk in circles."
Ari stared at him. "There's more?"
The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned and began walking into the dark, his form fading slowly.
"Come," he said. "If you truly wish to know what this place is, you must meet the others. And the one who waits."
Ari followed the man in silence, the soft echo of their steps swallowed by the endless corridor. The passage neither curved nor widened, only stretched forward like a scar across nothingness. Around them, figures drifted—some walking, some floating just above the floor, and others simply standing still, as if they'd forgotten how to move.
"Who are we going to meet?" Ari finally asked, struggling to keep pace.
The man didn't slow. "No one's waiting for you, if that's what you think."
"Then who?"
"The one who waits," the man said, voice cool. "Some call him Adam. They say he was the first soul to arrive here, though no one truly knows. He doesn't speak of it."
"Why would someone stay here that long?"
"Because here is all he knows. Some forget who they were. Others remember too well. Adam... waits."
Ari frowned. "Waits for what?"
"That's his burden to carry, not yours."
They walked on. Shapes in the distance began to grow clearer—clusters of souls lingering together, sitting cross-legged or suspended midair in silent conversation. A few glowed faintly; most were as dim and undefined as Ari had been.
He looked up. The "sky," if it could be called that, was the same nothing as the ground—gray, smooth, featureless. But above, some figures floated higher, drifting with slow, deliberate grace. Ari watched them with curiosity.
"Why don't they try to fly back?" he asked. "Back to the light I saw? Couldn't they escape that way?"
The man stopped and turned, face set in a shadowed half-smile.
"This place is not a hole in the world," he said. "It is a fold. A sealed loop."
"A loop?"
"If you fly upward, you'll emerge from the ground beneath your own feet. If you run far enough, you'll pass yourself walking in the opposite direction."
Ari shivered. "So there's no way out?"
"Not by flying. Not by walking. Not by begging, either. This place does not open. It just is."
Ari looked down at his hands. They were clearer now—his own shape slowly returning. But the realization pressed heavier than before.
"Then why are we going to meet this… Adam?"
The man turned again, continuing forward. "Because before you decide how long you plan to stay in this purgatory, you should understand what it truly is. And what it does to those who remain."
They walked for what felt like hours—though time here was as meaningless as distance. The shapes of souls thinned, replaced by silence and stillness. Then, in the distance, something jutted out from the smooth, endless wall of the passage.
A man.
Or part of one.
His torso was buried, fused into the wall itself, as if he'd been swallowed mid-stride. Only his head and arms remained visible, clear and vivid—eerily lifelike. His skin looked real. His hair was coarse and dark. His expression, even while motionless, held a strange gravity.
"That," said the man guiding Ari, slowing to a stop, "is the one who waits."
Ari stared. "That's him?"
The man nodded once.
"But he's... stuck."
"He has been like this for longer than anyone remembers."
Ari squinted, taking a cautious step forward. The figure didn't move. Just stared ahead, eyes closed.
"I don't understand."
Before the guide could respond, the figure in the wall stirred.
His eyes snapped open—piercing, colorless, cold as winter stone. He stared directly at Ari.
"Am I a part of the wall," the man asked, his voice as calm as it was jarring, "or is the wall a part of me?"
Ari froze. The voice was deep, steady, and utterly devoid of emotion. The stare held no kindness—only the weight of countless years.
"I—" Ari began, but stopped. The question tangled in his mind.
The guide beside him spoke softly, but firmly. "Answer."
Ari looked back, hesitant. "What does it mean?"
"Answer," the guide repeated. "It matters."
Swallowing, Ari turned back to the man in the wall.
"You're… part of the wall," he said.
The man blinked. His eyes narrowed. His head tilted, just slightly.
Then, silence.
Nothing changed, and yet something felt different—thicker. The air. The quiet. As if the passage itself had drawn a breath.
Ari waited for the man to speak again.
But the one who waits said nothing.
The silence shattered.
The man in the wall opened his mouth wide—unnaturally wide. His jaw cracked as if unhinged. From the dark recesses of his throat, black smoke poured forth—not mist, but shapes.
Shades. Twisted, hollow figures. They flowed out in silence, countless and writhing, like a flood of nightmares given form. They moved with purpose, drawn to the drifting souls like wolves to the scent of blood.
The guide swore under his breath. His calm vanished. "Run."
Ari hesitated, staring in horror. "What are they?!"
"I said run!"
Panic surged through him. He turned and sprinted after the guide, their steps echoing in the endless corridor. Behind them, the soundless tide spread fast.
"What's happening?" Ari shouted, breathless. "What are those things?"
The guide didn't look back. "The Harvest. They come for the dim ones. The forgotten."
Ari's stomach turned. "What do you mean?"
"The ones who lose themselves," the guide snapped. "Who forget their name, their face, their past. They dim until there's nothing left. The Void reclaims them."
Ari glanced back—and wished he hadn't.
The shades moved like smoke caught in a storm, descending on the dimmest of the forms—the ones who barely resembled people anymore. They didn't scream. They didn't run. They simply stood, empty-eyed, as the darkness swallowed them.
Some collapsed into ash. Others faded like mist.
Ari felt his knees weaken. "They're not even fighting..."
"They can't," the guide said. "There's nothing left in them to fight with."
Ari stumbled forward, breath ragged. The corridor kept going, unchanged and indifferent.
"What kind of hell is this?" he whispered.
The guide didn't answer right away.
Then: "One shaped by those who enter it."
And behind them, the one who waits closed his mouth.
And the harvest continued.