The sky above the barren plains began to change color, slowly turning a pale gray, as if even the clouds were reluctant to descend upon this nameless world. The wind carried no dust—only silence, and a pressure growing ever heavier. Inside the cave, around the spring that still held traces of freshness, eighteen people sat in silence. It wasn't peace that silenced them, but the absence of words strong enough to fight against hunger, fear, and the creeping uncertainty gnawing at their hearts.
Cael sat near the cave wall, his back against stone. In his hand was the old compass carved with Runes. He still didn't know where it pointed. Or more precisely, he knew—but couldn't read it.
"North… but what does direction mean in a world we don't understand?" he muttered softly, almost to himself.
From across the cave, footsteps approached. Rayhan, a student a year older, sat near Cael, uncertainty in his eyes.
"Are you sure we should continue tomorrow? People are losing trust. Even Miss Alea hasn't spoken much since the storm."
Cael didn't answer right away. He stared at the compass, then closed his eyes for a moment.
"The longer we stay, the weaker we become," he said softly. "This world is waiting for us to give up."
Rayhan fell silent. Then he whispered, "Some of us think… maybe you're hiding something. Why are you the only one who could speak with that spirit? And that sword—"
"I don't know," Cael cut in calmly. "And I don't want to know too soon. If I carry a truth none of you are ready for, it's better I stay silent."
Silence fell again. But this time, it was heavier, sharper.
In a corner of the cave, a group of students whispered among themselves. Their eyes occasionally flicked toward Cael and Rayhan, weighing, measuring. The whispers grew louder—about leadership, about direction, about who could be trusted.
Miss Alea still sat near the altar, her eyes vacant, hugging herself. Trauma clung to her like a second skin.
Then, night arrived.
And in that nearly dead night, one of the students—Seira—stood. Her face was pale, eyes red. "That compass," she said quietly, "we must use it. But we must decide who carries it."
"Cael already—" someone began.
"No! He's too calm, too distant. This world… he understands it more than we do, and that's frightening."
In an instant, division took root. Half slowly moved to Seira's side. The others remained seated—uncertain, hesitant.
Cael did not stand. He looked at them and said softly, "If you want this compass, take it. But make sure you can read a path in a world that doesn't care whether we live or die."
No one spoke.
But before anyone could move further, the cave walls trembled. A whisper—barely audible, like a murmur from the world's depths—slipped into each person's mind.
"The first gate… has not opened. Yet you have touched its foundation. Division is the trial. And from trial… the path is born."
The voice vanished like mist. But its weight lingered.
That night, no one slept.
Some lay down with open eyes, staring at the ceiling of the cave as if trying to read fate in the cracks of stone. Others sat curled up, arms around their knees, shivering not from cold, but from the fear that silently grew within.
Cael remained by the altar, carefully placing the compass beside him. He didn't defend himself, nor did he try to calm the others. He knew, in moments like this, words were nothing more than wind drifting past without meaning. It was not speech they waited for—but action. And fear, shaped by ignorance.
Someone approached quietly. Taput.
"Cael," he said, voice slightly trembling, "do you know what that voice meant?"
Cael closed his eyes for a moment. "That voice wasn't from an ordinary creature. It's not just a spirit, nor a watcher. But it knows—and it judges. This world may be alive. And we are being tested."
"Tested? Tested how?"
"A trial to see who is worthy of understanding this world. Or perhaps… who should be eliminated first."
Taput swallowed. "You sound like someone who's been ready to die since the beginning."
Cael opened his eyes and looked at his friend. "I'm not afraid of death. I just don't want to live without reason."
They were silent for a while, until a faint crack echoed from deeper within the cave. Seira, Rayhan, and a few others approached the altar, but halted mid-step.
"If that voice was true… then we need to open that gate," said Rayhan.
"But we don't even know where it is!" Arga's voice rose with frustration. "All we have is an old compass and a wall of stone!"
"Maybe the gate isn't a place… but a state," Cael replied suddenly, making everyone turn to him. "This division, this tension—maybe that is the key. This world wants to see us tear each other down… or understand each other."
"And which do you choose?" Seira asked suspiciously.
Cael met her gaze for a long moment. "I choose to wait… and observe."
"Waiting is cowardice."
"No, Seira. Waiting is strength. Because not everything can be broken or controlled. Some things… can only be understood."
Seira said nothing. Then turned her face away.
Night slowly gave way to dawn, and from behind the altar, a faint rumble emerged. The stones began to warm, and the once-faded Runes now glowed gently—like the breath of an ancient creature awakening.
"Is that a sign that the gate is opening?" someone asked from the back.
Cael slowly stood, eyes fixed on the glowing symbols. "Or perhaps… it's a sign that this world is opening its eyes."
And from deep within the earth, the whisper returned once more.
"Redeem the division with decision. Redeem the decision with sacrifice. Then the gate shall allow one step."
All fell silent. Breath held. That sentence… wasn't just a message.
It was an ultimatum.
And the dawn that came brought no warmth.
It only brought a new day… and a choice waiting to be fulfilled.