There was a time when people believed the world could be fixed.
That its sickness—greed, war, disease, pain—could be cured.
But hope is a fragile thing. It doesn't die all at once.
It rots slowly.
Now, cities lie in ruin, eaten from the inside out by corruption and collapse.
Lands once fertile are now nothing more than dust-choked graveyards.
The rich built floating havens in the sky. The poor were left to burn beneath them.
And the sky...
The sky hasn't turned blue in decades.
People don't dream anymore.
They bargain. They scavenge. They survive.
They crawl through this dying world with clenched teeth, downcast eyes, and hollow hearts.
Waiting—for change. For something. Anything.
But nothing comes.
Not gods.
Not miracles.
What they need are—
"Heroes."
A boy stands silently in the crowd.
Moderate build. Dark skin. Black hair swaying gently in the breeze.
His eyes are closed, 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 have to survive this," Isaac tells himself.
"My birth parents entered the Trials a few years after I was born. That's all we know—
All we can know.
Leaving your two-year-old son behind for the rest of his life...
Ha. Some parents you were.
I'm grateful, truly... to Renae and Nick.
It was only three years ago that I found out they weren't my real parents."
A voice calls out from outside the room.
"Isaac! Isn't it time for you to start heading out?" Renae asks gently.
She's plump and warm, her deep brown skin soft and glowing.
Her coily black hair is pulled into a low bun, streaked with silver.
"Come on, you know I can't leave before seeing Dad off," Isaac replies, stepping out of his room.
"Isaac! You're still here?" Nick calls from outside.
He stands broad and heavyset, bronze-skinned with a calm, weathered face.
Short, curly hair peppered with gray, and a beard that frames his ever-present, steady smile.
"Huh? You're the one who kept me waiting!" Isaac says, trying to sound stern—
But his voice cracks.
A tear slips down his right cheek. Then another down the left.
Before long, Isaac is bawling his eyes out.
"I'm never going to see you guys again... This damn trial's a one-way trip!"
"You idiot, stop crying!
Can't you see you're making us cry too?" Nick replies, wiping his face.
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."
They embrace. The small family cries for fifteen long minutes, clinging to one another like it's their last breath.
Because it might be.
Then, finally, Renae and Nick stand at the entrance of the house, watching their son rush toward his fate.
"Don't worry, Isaac! You'll be a great her—"
"Arghhh! Don't say it! That's embarrassing coming from you two!" he shouts back, not turning around.
Still, they laugh through their tears, holding each other once more.
From across the fence, their neighbor chuckles.
"Ha! You two actually let him go? I don't believe it."
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's so many people here...
It's 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 armor.
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.
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 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—fueled 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 particular figure in the crowd.
Isaac.
Expression? Blank.
Stance? Unremarkable.
Ambition? Hidden, if it 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!!!"