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The lightless world, dark sea.
The surface of the sea rolled into silence, black waves gleaming faintly under the night sky filled with distant, foreign stars.
Time seemed irrelevant here, as if eternity could pass and nothing would've changed.
And then the silence broke.
The white-golden door that stood above the dark sea suddenly opened from the inside.
From within, a flood of rich golden and white light poured down, illuminating the calm dark sea with rich, heavy shades of brilliance.
And for a brief moment, that brilliance painted the dark water into glinting silver particles in its wake.
A shadow of a figure fell from the light, hitting the surface of the dark sea with a thud, his body floating on the surface, swaying with the movement of the waves that weren't quite liquid, weren't quite air.
He appeared to be a boy, wearing a plain, oversized white tunic that extended beyond his waist, and long pants in a similar color.
Messy dark hair clung to his temple, grey eyes half-lidded and lifeless, his skin pale, untouched by sunlight.
But then the boy choked, dragging air into his lungs that he hadn't breathed for a long time; even the act of breathing itself seemed foreign to him.
His pale white lips trembled, every breath shallow; he tried to move his whole body, perhaps to get up or shift to a more comfortable position.
His whole body felt so heavy and sore, unresponsive, as though his nerves were trying to remember their purpose. Every action demanded energy, which he didn't have right now.
He gritted his teeth, lips pursed, as he tried to move his body; then a jolt went through him, along with pain.
Unrelenting, he kept trying, and then, with a twitch, his fingers moved slightly.
Slowly, he placed his hands at his sides, pushing his upper body up; then came the knees, shaking as they withstood the weight of his body.
The effort lasted for a moment before he collapsed again, body heaving, lying face upward.
"It seems that I can't stand for a while," he thought inwardly. His rusty mind had fully awakened after a while; only now could he think straight.
The grey, lifeless eyes simply stared at the endless stars above while he straightened his thoughts that were recovering, along with them came memory.
"Ah, yes, I have been reborn." He remembered the last time he was awake.
His body shuddered uncontrollably at sensation of his body being shredded to pieces and dissolving in the river of golden light, his soul torn open thread by thread and then stitched back together like fabric.
But his face remained indifferent. At this point, he must have been accustomed to pain.
"Be it in the present or the pain that's about to come." His lifeless eyes flashed with a hint of red.
Then he moved his gaze toward the 'three doors' under this starry sky.
The white-golden door, from which he had been cast out, shimmered faintly, golden symbols entwined with silver lines that pulsed like veins.
A serpent and a dragon, their forms overlapping, their presence intertwined.
The door stood silent, indifferent to his existence, as if it had fulfilled its role—or maybe his existence could not even affect this door.
Then he moved his gaze toward the 'three doors' under this starry sky.
And at the edge of his sight loomed the maroon door, sealed by six black chains.
The metal was dark and cold, but behind it something stirred, a shadow that seemed almost alive, closer than before. The chains trembled faintly, whispering of pressure and hunger.
Akane's eyes lingered there only briefly. His body, still weak, trembled with instinctive caution.
"The Abyss…" he whispered, "…I'll deal with you later."
Even without touching it, he could feel it—the pulse of hatred, malice, and his instinct to take revenge for everything.
His gaze moved toward the last thing, his only choice right now.
Next to the white-golden was the white door, its surface pristine, untouched by age.
At its center was a small metal plate etched with words that glimmered faintly under the starlight.
"Make a choice that you won't regret."
For a long time, he stared at it, motionless.
The dim starlight reflected faintly in his empty eyes, and his mind drifted between thought and memory.
Images flickered in the darkness of his mind: burning cities, screaming voices, Irina's trembling hand, the scent of ash and blood. Every memory was sharp enough to wound.
From the depth of his eyes, the color of blood appeared—a hue, the mix of grey and red.
His face twisted, an expression of extreme hatred, hate toward all things and all lives, the desire to bring all things to death.
The sea stirred violently.
The chains on the maroon door rattled.
The sky dimmed, and even a tinge of red could be seen.
The calm world trembled beneath the weight of remembrance.
Akane then closed his eyes; his face eased back to its previous plain expression.
Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the dark sea once again, gazing at the starry sky above that had been painted with a dot of crimson.
The rolling waves brushed around his body as he let out a long breath.
"Enough is enough. I will exact my revenge soon, soon," as if hardening his resolve and mentally suggesting himself.
Slowly, deliberately, he steadied himself.
The sea calmed once more.
His gaze returned to the white door.
The inscription gleamed again: "Make a choice that you won't regret."
He stared at it for a long time, expression unreadable. Then, faintly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes flashed with a meaningful hint of resolve, and he seemed to have decided to do something.
He propped his body up, starting from his upper part to his legs.
His legs trembled. His back was hunched. His breaths came shallow.
Yet he stood up successfully, limping step by step toward the "White Door."
Each motion seemed to scrape away his exhaustion; it was will and determination. He was prepared for what was about to come.
When he finally reached the door, he just stood in front of it for a while.
He hesitated, not out of fear but awareness. Once the door opened, there would be no return.
Memories again flickered through him: fire devouring the horizon, screams drowned by collapsing light, the taste of failure, that hopeless moment when you can only watch the one you love die before your eyes.
The dark sea reflected them all, rippling in sync with his thoughts.
Then the maroon door groaned. The six chains rattled, pulling taut, reacting to the memory of blood and ruin.
The waves churned violently, but Akane did not move. His expression remained still, almost detached, as though the world's turbulence could no longer reach him.
"I don't know if you are watching me right now, either from Heaven or from Hell," he murmured, gazing at the metal plate.
"Father, Mother, do you think I'm ready for this?" He continued to talk to himself—or to the people he longed for most.
"Maybe, or actually, I was never ready all along… never ready for anything, for your death, or for the future that's about to come."
"Is it fate or destiny that forced this situation upon us? Is it your fate to die, or is it fate that our home is destroyed?"
"I don't know. All things are confusing, but… despite this, I wish to know—for my revenge and for the sake of tomorrow.
"So, from today onwards, whether I'm ready or not, I will face all things as they are and create tomorrow myself." Slowly, he placed his hand upon the handle.
"To never turn my eyes from it and see it to the end. And this 'trial' will mark my first step forward."
The white door, once unyielding, turned easily, as if it had been waiting.
The instant the handle gave way, the sea fell silent. The waves stilled. The maroon door's chains quieted.
The stars above dimmed until only one faint glow remained—the light spilling from the opened door. Beyond it was a vast space of pure white, a horizonless void.
Yet above the white space stretched a different kind of sky, not black but silver, dotted with stars that shimmered with unknown colors.
Akane stood before the threshold of two realms.
No words, no hesitation. Only the steady sound of his breath and the faint whisper of the door opening wider.
He took one step forward into the light that erased shadow, time, and doubt.
"To know yourself," he murmured, voice barely audible, "is to know your enemy."
And the door closed behind him.