"Volume One - "The Great Trial""
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Conrad jolted awake, his eyes wide with terror.
"The last thing I remember…"
His thoughts scattered as he scanned the room. It stunned him—blinding white, smooth, and eerily plain.
No shadows. No texture. No scent.
He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings.
"White and plain," he muttered under his breath.
A dull grey outfit clung to his body, matched with a pair of black sneakers that looked almost too clean. He tugged the shirt up and examined himself, dread pooling in his stomach.
"Kidnapped?" The thought struck like a hammer.
His hands searched his torso, fingers desperate for stitches or surgical marks. Organ traffickers? Experimentation? Something darker?
Nothing. No scars. No bruises. No sign of harm.
He exhaled, tension momentarily loosening in his chest.
"What is this place?"
He stood and turned, eyes scanning every edge of the cube-shaped chamber. No windows. No doors. No cracks. Just infinite, oppressive whiteness.
"Is this a dream? A simulation?"
Anxiety coiled tighter with every passing second. His heart pounded in his ears, faster, harder.
Then it came—the shift.
A low hiss whispered into the sterile silence. Like fog machines, or dry ice fizzling into the air. It built slowly, crawling into his lungs and wrapping around his nerves.
He froze.
From the center of the room, something began to form.
A shape emerged—not walking in, but building itself from the air. Dense, white fog twisted into a humanoid form. Tall. Slender. Ethereal.
But headless.
Where the head should have been, mist continued to swirl. It never dissipated, just spun in slow, mesmerizing chaos—like a miniature storm suspended in time.
Conrad stumbled backward until his spine hit the cold, seamless wall. His breath caught. His instincts screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.
The figure didn't move. It stood with arms relaxed at its sides, still as if sculpted. Waiting.
And then it spoke.
No mouth moved. No lips parted. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, surrounding Conrad, seeping into his very bones.
"You have been pulled into The Mystery."
The words carried weight, like thunder whispered instead of shouted.
"The... what?" Conrad's voice trembled.
The fog entity took one step forward, and Conrad didn't dare flinch.
His hands curled into fists, not to fight—but to brace himself for what he couldn't understand.
"You are not alone. Many have been chosen. Each is tested. Each is watched."
"Watched?" he croaked. "By who? For what?"
The being lifted one hand.
Its long fingers stretched unnaturally, shifting the fog across its arm like rippling smoke.
In its palm, a faint glow pulsed—soft, yet deep. A light that suggested power rather than warmth.
"I am the Admin."
The name echoed inside Conrad's skull, too vast and ancient for human comprehension.
"Humans are pulled into The Mystery at random."
"Why?" he asked again, voice softer, more hollow.
"To be tested."
The word landed like a blade.
"The Mystery is layered reality. Each layer is a trial. Each trial challenges your psyche—your fear, your will, your pain, your logic. Only the strong continue. The weak will fail."
Conrad's legs nearly gave out beneath him.
"Fail…? As in death?"
"Failure is final."
It didn't blink. Didn't waver. It simply existed.
Conrad shook his head. "I didn't choose this! You can't just throw me into something like this—I didn't agree—"
"Consent is not part of the process."
Each word crushed his defiance like ash underfoot.
The Admin stepped aside.
Behind it, light broke into the room.
A circle opened—pure, white light swirling in a perfect ring.
A doorway with no hinges, no frame, just radiant energy flickering softly.
"The first trial begins shortly. You will be sent. You will survive, or you will not."
Conrad's chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.
"What kind of trial? What am I even supposed to do? Do I get weapons? A map? Anything?"
"The Mystery reveals only what is needed. No more. No less."
His desperation reached a new height.
"At least... tell me how many trials there are. Please."
A long silence followed.
Then the Admin finally answered. Its voice didn't change in tone, but in gravity—it felt heavier, deeper. Final.
"As many as it takes."
The circle of light flared like a second sun.
Conrad's vision blurred as his reality began to unravel.
The white room dissolved, melting like snow into something unseen.
The last thing he saw was the figure of the Admin standing silently at the center of the room, mist swirling endlessly where a face should be.
In that moment, deeper than fear, something else rooted itself in his chest—an ancient dread, quiet and absolute.
This wasn't a nightmare.
This was real.
And it was only the beginning.
The light devoured him whole.