The air was cold. Everything surrounding him felt devoid of life— even the fallen leaves had lost any meaning of existence.
Eliah was bound in iron chains, mounted atop a black horse with no eyes, as if it were the embodiment of death itself, or a procession toward execution.
He looked around, trying to find something—anything—beautiful in this dark dimension. He found nothing… only darkness and death.
"And these people live inside a cage with no escape whatsoever," Eliah muttered to himself.
"This place could collapse on our heads at any moment… just thinking about it is terrifying."
Eliah shifted his hands and body, as though trying to stretch himself or find a weak point to break the chains. But a swordsman placed his blade against Eliah's throat and barked sharply:
"Slave, what do you think you're doing?!"
Eliah answered with a mocking smile.
"If you don't want me to move, why don't you loosen the chains… or remove them entirely? What do you say—fair deal?"
The soldier laughed, pressing the blade harder and drawing a shallow cut.
"You've got a good sense of humor. Ever worked in a circus?"
"If I had that job, I wouldn't be here in the first place."
"Then shut up, or I'll send your head flying into the Abyss."
The soldiers numbered between five and seven. They looked as though they had captured a priceless prize—
and in truth, they had.
Nightfarers, those who mastered their incantations early, eventually became monsters no one could stop—
except in rare cases, when facing a Great Power or a true calamity.
"It looks like reaching the designated location will take quite some time… might as well get some sleep," Eliah thought.
Before closing his eyes, he noticed something in the distance, though the fog obscured his vision. Eventually, he shut them.
⸻
Eliah opened his eyes and found himself in a strange place.
He looked down—he was standing on a circular platform, surrounded on all sides by the Abyss.
"Did I fall asleep… or did I die?!"
Confused and unsettled, Eliah slowly lifted his head. Floating above the Abyss was the mysterious woman, a beautiful smile etched across her face.
"That woman again?! Is she following me from place to place?"
As he wondered, she appeared behind him and whispered into his ear:
"Did you miss me?"
Eliah jolted in shock, nearly falling into the Abyss, but she caught him and pulled him back.
"My god… are you really following me everywhere?"
"Am I a nuisance to you?" she asked, her voice flowing as if it swam between his ears.
"No… the only nuisance is the fear I feel."
She stepped in front of him.
"Fear of what?"
He answered, smiling despite the terror in his eyes:
"The unknown. I'm afraid of the unknown."
The space began to tremble. The atmosphere grew heavier, more suffocating. The darkness shrank inward, devouring everything around them.
Eliah was paralyzed with fear—until she spoke in a cold, detached tone:
"If you don't fight the unknown, you'll remain afraid of even your own shadow."
Before the darkness swallowed him, she plunged her hand into his chest.
"Your trial begins tonight… on the first night."
⸻
Eliah snapped awake to the sound of metal striking metal.
He turned his head. A soldier was banging his sword against the chains to wake him.
"Wake up, princess. We've arrived at your new home."
Eliah looked forward. A massive palace loomed ahead—its summit hidden by thick fog. It was enormous… and horrifying.
Shadows surrounded them from every direction.
Screams echoed—screams that sounded as though they were tearing throats apart.
Still in shock, Eliah was violently pulled off the horse and forced onto his feet with one hand.
"Seems you don't know how to behave around nobles," Eliah said with a faint smile.
The soldier grabbed him by the collar with one hand and snarled:
"You're nothing but a Mongrel. Know your place."
The soldier raised three fingers. One of the others blindfolded Eliah.
The sudden action caught him off guard.
"Sons of whores… I swear I'll make you drown in your own blood."
Then another thought crossed his mind.
"Blindfolding me… they're clearly hiding something. Fools."
The soldier struck Eliah's back and ordered him to walk.
He could barely move. Heavy iron chains covered his upper body, shackles dragging at his feet.
The gate was opened.
They entered and proceeded through a narrow alley, walking in a single line—no one beside another.
"It feels suffocating… as if the walls are closing in tighter with every step."
They turned left and entered another passage, until they reached a door adorned with demonic horns. Along the walls, candles melted—dripping blood instead of wax.
The soldier knocked three times.
The door opened on its own.
Both entered a chamber that turned out to be an elevator made entirely of bones.
They stepped onto it. The bones turned black, and the structure began ascending upward.
On the way toward the unknown, Eliah thought:
"What is this place? Its structure is absurdly complex. I try to picture it… but I can't."
"Escaping from here seems impossible."
The elevator stopped in a dark room.
The only glowing object was the door ahead.
The soldier reached for the handle—then strange sounds erupted.
The closest description was madness… torture… death.
Eliah listened to the screams, unease crawling under his skin.
The soldier grabbed Eliah by his shackles and dragged him forward.
They entered an incredibly long corridor. From its depths, black fog shifted endlessly—like a nihilistic end.
Eliah turned his head left and right, listening carefully, yet he could see nothing.
He had no idea what produced those screams.
They finally stopped at a specific cell.
The soldier opened it, drew his sword, and in one swift motion cut the shackles from Eliah's wrists and legs.
Then he kicked Eliah hard in the back, sending him stumbling into the cell.
Eliah removed the blindfold.
Before him was a crimson glow pouring from a hollow void with no face.
A voice echoed.
"Welcome to the Slave Prison…"
The soldier slammed the gate shut with force, then vanished like a shadow.
Eliah rose to his feet and approached the bars, scanning his surroundings.
The ground was smeared with blood, as if it had been painted rather than spilled. The atmosphere was suffocatingly dark, and the screams of prisoners never ceased.
Eliah glanced toward the cell across from him.
Inside, a man sat curled into himself like a ball, shaking as he cried in terror. He kept whispering a single word, over and over:
"Death… death…"
Eliah stepped back from the bars and sat down on the cold floor, unease clearly etched across his face.
"What a twisted atmosphere… if I give in, I'll be the next victim. A victim of madness."
He placed two fingers on his chin and began to speak to himself.
"I need to come up with a plan to get out of—"
Before he could finish, a strange yet calm voice interrupted him.
"A nightfarer captured… how amusing."
Eliah's eyes widened.
He slowly turned his head and saw a handsome young man leaning casually against the wall.
"What's with that look? Did you see a demon or something?"
Eliah studied him carefully.
The man wore a formal suit, possessed white wings, and had long crimson hair.
"No… but from your appearance, you look like one of the nightfarers," Eliah replied quietly.
"You're right. I'm a beginner—so you could say that," the winged man answered.
"A beginner? I don't understand what you mean," Eliah asked, visibly confused.
Shock flickered across the winged man's face before he replied:
"You entered the Gates without knowing the ranks? How foolish… but I'll explain it simply. Beginners are called nightfarers, or Awakened. As one clears more Night Gates, their rank evolves."
He raised six fingers as he continued.
"There are six classifications. Each one requires experience and endurance to unlock."
It seems I ignored this kind of information when I visited the library… no matter. I've learned something new, Eliah thought.
"That's impressive. But why did you look so amused when I was thrown into this cell? Aren't you trapped here too?"
The winged man stepped closer, staring directly into Eliah's gray eyes.
"Do you hear the screams of these prisoners? They're nightfarers as well."
"And as for why I'm here?" he continued calmly.
"Simply because I chose to be."
Eliah froze.
"You chose this? Forgive me, but what kind of idiot willingly enters a hell like this?"
The winged man began pacing the cell as he explained.
"To permanently seal the Night Gates, you must kill a nightlord. But this one is different—we have to kill it across three different kingdoms for the gate to truly close."
Eliah smiled as he absorbed the information for the first time.
He had entered the Night Gates knowing nothing, driven only by thrill and a desire to leave his gloom behind.
"I see. But where did you learn something this important and detailed?"
The winged man pressed his palm to his face and shook his head.
"It seems I'll have to explain everything to you."
Eliah leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, and spoke mockingly.
"I may lack some knowledge, but I have a high survival instinct. Information isn't always necessary."
The winged man looked at him with calm green eyes—far calmer than the situation demanded.
"Everyone who enters the Night Gates seeks a clan—something that helps them survive this hell."
So that's how it is… I had no idea, Eliah muttered coldly.
Joining a clan might be useful. Whether I use them or they use me doesn't matter. What matters is survival… and killing.
"What do you say… before anything else, what's your name?" Eliah asked.
"My name is Aenjel, from the Crimson Clan. And you?"
"Eliah."
"That's a strange name you have," Aenjel said with a smile, "but it suits you."
"Then tell me, Aenjel—how about we work together to escape this place? And if you like my skills, you can let me join your clan," Eliah said confidently.
Aenjel looked him up and down, murmuring to himself.
A boy like this… could he really have any skill at all?
Still, why not give him a chance? His death wouldn't mean anything anyway.
"It's not my decision," Aenjel said aloud. "But I can report it to the clan leader. Before that, however, we need to complete the mission."
Eliah asked as he wiped his mouth:
"Can you describe the mission more precisely?"
Aenjel's wings spread wider, glowing with an even purer white. Excitement crept into his expression.
"The destruction of the Slave Prison Kingdom—
and the killing of one of the nightlord's remains."