We were each given armbands; thin bands of steel and rubber laced with faintly pulsing wires. Numbers were etched into them like brands of ownership, and mine read 263.
A black filter glowed faintly on the surface, the kind you'd expect from a camera lens. They weren't ornaments but were trackers, recording every step, every stumble and every breath we took, all in real time.
Not long after, we were herded outside the academy's safety and scattered across the clearing that bordered the woods. Before us loomed a veil that shouldn't have existed: a wall of nothingness, shimmering like glass caught in moonlight.
It was transparent yet concealing, offering no glimpse of what lay beyond. It wasn't just still; it pulsed, faint with vibrations, as if it inhaled and exhaled with the world itself. That quiet rhythm pressed against our chests, daring us to falter before we even set foot inside.
Students instinctively drew together, clinging to the safety of numbers: Pairs, trios, and some built full squads of five, their voices low and anxious as they tried to mask fear with strategy. Others chose the opposite path, walking off alone with hollow bravado etched into their shoulders.
I on the other hand didn't move toward anyone, I stood alone. Elyen, who had leaned against me during the briefing – head heavy on my shoulder, asleep as though none of this mattered was gone. He vanished with no trace in the crowd.
For a second I wondered if he'd been swallowed by the veil already. Or maybe he was still back at the academy, sleeping, untouched by the dread tightening its noose around the rest of us.
We stepped through, the veil swallowing us whole. For a heartbeat, all I heard was the thrum of my own pulse, the sharp inhale of those stepping beside me. Eyes darted left and right, trying to drink in the alien quiet of the dim lit woods when it shattered.
A voice cracked through the air, disembodied and merciless:
"You need to run! Run until you reach the middle of the woods! If you waste time walking now, you'll get stuck once you reach the center and fail to make it out in time. So RUN!"
It wasn't a suggestion, It was a command wrapped in urgency, every syllable edged with something that cut deeper than fear.
No one asked who had spoken, or where it had come from. No one dared to wait, the crowd erupted at once, bodies jolting forward as instinct took control. I didn't hesitate either, because hesitation here meant being left behind.
The clearing exploded into chaos. The ground roared beneath us, vibrating with the stampede of a hundred desperate footsteps. Breath came ragged and fast. If your speed betrayed you now, then speed itself became your first enemy.
Branches lashed out like claws, tearing at sleeves and cheeks as we barreled blindly through. The forest didn't welcome us; it resisted, every whip of bark and thorn a reminder that this place would devour the weak. Yet we didn't stop. None of us did. There was no direction, no strategy, only forward.
Then the voice struck again; sharper and colder, slicing through the frantic rhythm of our footsteps like a blade through cloth:
"You're all moving in the wrong direction!"
I faltered for a fraction of a second. My chest seized, breath caught, heart hammering against my ribs. I whipped my head left, then right: branches, shadows, bodies flashing past in blur. But there was no one, nothing but the echo.
"You! Turn right! You're heading toward a dead end, not forward!"
The words hit like a lash across my back, but I didn't stop to doubt them. There was no room for thought, only instinct. My body jerked right, legs slamming against the dirt, sprinting as if this was the last stretch of the last race I'd ever run.
Behind me, the voice thundered again, shifting its target:
"You three! Go left, you're heading the wrong way!"
Three girls shrieked and swerved, crashing through brush in the opposite direction. Their panicked movements tore holes in the crowd's rhythm, sending others stumbling into them.
That's when it struck me, this wasn't random. It wasn't a guiding voice. It was deliberate. Each of us was being pushed, pulled and scattered like pieces on a board.
The pounding of footsteps grew chaotic and wild. The unity of the sprint was gone, replaced by a storm of frantic bodies tearing in every direction, like prey herded by an invisible predator.
A boy up ahead shouted, his voice cracking like it might break in half:
"Wait! What if it's a trap?!"
But his legs didn't stop. None of ours did either. Even he, the one who dared to question it, kept running with the rest of us. Fear had welded our feet to motion.
Among the three girls driven left, one caught my eye; red hair snapping wildly behind her, tied into sharp, cat-like ponytails. She gasped between breaths, words tearing out of her throat:
"Do we even know if that voice can be trusted? What if it's a demon's?!"
Before doubt could spread, the voice swept over us again; calm but cold and inhuman.
"Those who doubt will be the first to fail. Trust your instincts. AND RUN."
The last word cracked like thunder, slamming against my chest. My skin prickled; something in that tone didn't belong to a person. It was too measured, too sharp, like it was carved to cut through our thoughts.
The forest grew crueler with every stride. Branches lashed like whips, stinging across arms and faces. Roots coiled from the earth, greedy, snatching at ankles as though the ground itself wanted us down. Shadows thickened into smears that stretched long and unnatural, every one of them a hand reaching out, waiting to drag us under.
Then it came; a scream, not of anger or warning, but raw pain. Somewhere behind me, someone had tripped.
"Help me! Please—!"
The cry tore through the dark, but it was drowned by the endless rhythm of our footsteps. Nobody slowed, none even dared to. The fear of being swallowed whole was greater than the guilt of leaving someone behind.
I clenched my jaw, tasting iron as my teeth ground together. Every warning, every order, every breath of dread in this place – it all pressed the same truth into me. We weren't just running through the woods: We were running from something unseen.
Then the voice came again; no longer urgent, but softer, almost playful, almost mocking.
"The first ones to stop moving will meet the ghosts of this forest. You're being watched… don't look back."
The words slithered through the trees, curling around us like smoke. And that's when it hit us.
The sound of running, of hundreds of bodies tearing through brush collapsed into silence. One by one, as if tethered to the same unseen thread, every student skidded to a halt. The pounding ground quieted. The cries of effort and pain vanished. Even the leaves above seemed to hush.
I froze with them, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. My legs trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of a single thought pounding in my head.
The instructors never said anything about this. He never mentioned a voice. Never warned us about being led from the inside.
The realization sank into me like ice water, numbing, and choking. Whoever—or whatever—was speaking wasn't part of the trial we were promised.
My mind raced, caught between instinct and fear. If we weren't meant to follow the voice… then what had we just obeyed?
---
The three girls moved as one, instincts pulling them close until their backs touched. Weapons flashed into ready hands, gleaming in the dim light like a promise.
The tallest was Liana, she stood firm at the center, dark green hair tied neatly behind her head, every strand refusing to fall out of place. Her navy-green sleeves clung to her arms like armor, her short skirt brushing against the edge of her Knee-high boots. In her grip was a weapon that seemed undecided between staff and sword, its metal edge whispering a low hiss each time it shifted through the air.
Mira was her opposite, wild red hair bound in sharp, cat-like ponytails, her red eyes restless with distrust. Her clothes were practical: short black leggings cut above the knees, a brown double-split top dress built for speed. Twin blades gleamed in her hands, their edges catching fragments of fading light. She held them tight, knuckles pale, as though the metal itself could answer her unease.
Beside them stood Aria, smaller in frame but no less fierce. Her silver hair, cropped short, reflected the shadows like shards of broken glass. A white dress clung to her form, flowing just enough to look like robes, silver leggings flashing whenever she shifted her stance. Resting on her shoulder was her weapon of choice; a brutal spiked metal bat, casual in her grip, lethal in its silence.
Mira's voice broke first, muttering under her breath though every word carried sharp edges:
"Why are we even running? Following orders from a voice we don't even know?"
Liana didn't turn, her eyes darting instead across the trees. Her voice was low, sharp, and steady as steel.
"Did you hear what it said? 'The first person to stop moving will meet the ghosts of this forest.' That means ghosts are what's haunting these woods…"
Aria's reply cut in, harsh and certain, as if she'd been waiting to say it.
"That's wrong. Demons are the owners of this place. An instructor wouldn't make that mistake."
The weight of her words hung heavy, stealing a breath from the air itself.
Liana's grip on her hybrid weapon tightened as she muttered, almost to herself, but her voice carried a tension that made Mira glance sideways.
"Exactly. He said 'the demon forest'… not ghosts."
---
Off to the side, another group had frozen in place, a squad of four boys standing shoulder-to-shoulder, weapons raised in tense readiness. Their eyes flicked between the trees, then to one another, waiting for something to break the silence first.
One of them, Fin, broke it. His black hair hung in messy strands across his face, half-veiling the suspicion smoldering in his eyes. He clutched his gun like a lifeline, finger steady on the trigger guard, a testament to how many times he had used it.
"This is definitely a trick," he muttered, voice rough, threaded with distrust. His words carried farther than he intended, loud enough to tug at the ears of those closest. "If this is a test of survival, why would someone be giving us directions? And why… different directions?"
The doubt in his tone wasn't just his own. It bled into the silence, seeping into the air like smoke. Those standing nearby shifted uncomfortably, hands tightening around weapons, eyes darting to each other. Unease spread like an infection, quiet but merciless, creeping into every uncertain heart.