There was a time when people believed the world could be changed. They believed its sickness, greed, and indifference could be cured. But hope didn't last at all. It faded slowly, like ink in water.
Now, cities gleam—orderly and precise—but hollow. Streets are swept, buildings shine, but the emptiness beneath is unmistakable. The rich occupy gleaming towers, and the poor dwell in cramped, colourless apartments. Life goes on. People live, eat, work, and sleep. But it all feels rehearsed, controlled and worn.
The sky remains pale, never quite blue. The seasons pass, predictable as clockwork, offering no surprise, no thrill, or wonder.
People have stopped dreaming. They move through the world with eyes lowered and hearts subdued, waiting for something that never comes. Not the gods, nor miracles. What they awaited were… heroes.
A boy sits silently in his room. Moderate stature, dark-skinned, bearing black coily hair. On his bed he sat lost in thought.
"People who go out of their way to protect others... to them, nothing is more thrilling than diving headfirst into danger to save someone. That's the kind of hero I want to be. But to become that hero, I must survive this."
"My birth parents entered the Trials a few years after I was born. That's all I know. But still, leaving your two-year-old son behind for the rest of his life... won't be winning any Best Parents awards with that performance. That said, I'm grateful, truly, to Renae and Nick. It was only three years ago when I found out they adopted me."
"Isaac! Isn't it time for you to start heading out?" Renae calls from downstairs.
As Isaac makes his way down, he was greeted by her glowing presence—brought through by her plump, warm figure, along with her deep brown skin and her coily hair streaked with silver.
"Come on Mom, you know I can't leave before seeing Dad off," Isaac replies, stepping out of his room.
"Isaac! You're still here?" Nick yells from outside.
He stands broad and heavyset, bronze-skinned with a calm, weathered face. His curly hair peppered with grey, and a beard that frames his ever-present, steady smile.
"Huh? You're the one who kept me waiting!" Isaac clashes.
The air grew silent. A tear slips down his right cheek—another down his left. Before long, Isaac is bawling his eyes out.
"I'm never going to see you guys again... this damn trial—it's a one-way trip!" he cries.
"You idiot, stop crying! Can't you see you're making us cry too?" Tears gush from Nick's eyes.
Renae sniffles beside them. "What kind of parents would we be if we kept you here tied to us until we die? Go chase your dreams, Isaac. To do that, you need to step into the wider world. Don't hold anything back—face every obstacle with all your might."
Nick flings himself forward, gripping Isaac firmly. Renae follows right after hugging Issac from behind. The small family—cooped up in tears for fifteen long minutes, clings to each other like it's their last breath.
Draining their tear glands dry—they make their way outside to see their son set off to carve his own destiny.
Before he could get too far Renae yelled, "Don't worry, Isaac! You'll be a great her—"
"Ahhhh! Don't say it out loud! It's corny outside my head!" he shouts back, not turning around.
Still, they laugh through their tears, holding each other once more.
From across the fence, their neighbour chuckles. "Ha! You two let him go? New surprises every day."
After running nonstop for an hour, Isaac finally arrives at the trial grounds—his lungs burning, legs aching. The area is swarming with bodies, packed so tightly it feels impossible to breathe.
"There are so many people here... It's kind of suffocating," he mutters, shifting uncomfortably.
Suddenly, a booming voice cuts through the air like thunder.
"CONTESTANTS! PREPARE TO THROW YOUR PATHETIC LIVES AWAY!"
The voice echoes from high above, at the jagged edge of a towering cliff.
A man in a black tuxedo stands there, his face obscured behind a sharp-beaked bird mask. His cloak snaps in the wind as he gazes down at the thousands gathered below. Across the vast plain beneath the cliff, a sea of over three thousand contestants stretches in every direction. Some clutch weapons. Others wear patchwork armour. All wait in tense silence, bracing themselves. The masked announcer speaks again; his voice laced with theatrics.
"This dull, miserable world. A place void of beauty, purpose, or thrill. But you—each of you—have chosen to escape it. To seek a new life. A second chance. A world of magic, freedom, and the power to live without pain, sickness, or limits. That's what you're risking your lives for!"
The crowd erupts, cheers roar, weapons clash, and shields thunder. A storm of metal and noise fills the air. The announcer smirks beneath his mask.
"We've gathered quite the flock this year."
"Yeah," says a second voice.
Another man steps forward—dressed just as sharply, but wearing a feline-shaped mask.
"The Seventh Derium Trials. It's truly a spectacle. If only we didn't have to wait fifteen years every time..."
To this day, no one knows what truly happens inside the Derium Trials. No contestant has ever returned.
For over a century, no one has confirmed whether Derium even exists. It's a gamble—fuelled by desperation, blind hope, and vague promises. And yet, more arrive every cycle.
"Rig, you sure took your time getting here," the bird-masked man says.
"Haha! Don't be like that, Gemml," Rig replies with a shrug.
They scan the crowd.
"Some of them are here for closure," Gemml notes.
"You can tell—by their eyes, their silence, the gear they carry. Family—Friends—Lovers. All chasing answers."
"But why bother?" Rig shrugs.
"If the last hundred years taught us anything, it's that the only thing waiting for them is the same fate."
"And then there are the dreamers," Gemml adds.
"The ones who still believe Derium is real. That fire in their eyes… it's something. They're lit up with hope. Hungry for freedom and power."
Their gazes settle on one figure in the crowd. Isaac. Expression? Blank. Stance? Unremarkable. Ambition? Hidden, if it even exists at all.
"That kid…" Rig mutters.
"Yeah. First time seeing one of those," Gemml replies with a smirk.
Then, in unison, they step forward. "On your marks! Get set!! GO!!!"