"Have you ever had any dreams, Mr. Alric?"
From the interviewer's appearance, I could tell he was indeed an old soul. His short, well-kept hair had long turned a dirty silver. His beard had been recently shaved.
"Dreams? None. But any I had, long turned dead." I chuckled.
I put on this careless facade, but my knuckles turned white just from bringing it up. The smile the interviewer had worn for far too long finally faded, letting his expression turn neutral.
"I assumed so. I have a proposition that will change your life, better than any dream you have ever thought of. "
He took a note, folded neatly inside one of his jacket's inner pockets and slid it across the metal table. I could barely reach the note, the shackles about my hands scraped against their mountings on the table.
From the moment I met him, I knew he had a deal to get me out. The prison that held me was the biggest there was. "Ironbark" was a maximum-security prison capable of holding well over fifty thousand prisoners. Dangerous ones like me were held here for great reasons. My death date was in three weeks, but here, death was seen as a gift.
The note contained an invitation for a program. It was for death row inmates like me. The letter promised that if I signed the contract, the government would be willing to erase all of my previous crimes. But one thing I know, high rewards always come with a higher risk.
My head raised with interest, which caused him to muster a laugh. Once again bringing that smile, he brushed the newly grown stubble.
"Interested?" he asked.
"So what are the terms?"
"No details. Trust and a signature are all I need."
The response made me immediately slouch. My life was ending in three weeks, freedom sounded like heaven. An offer, I called it a gamble, for death row inmates sounded interesting but no less dangerous.
*Maybe the Government is looking for media points by giving death row inmates a chance?*
My thoughts continued to dwell on. The interviewer put his hands in his jacket, as if signaling that there was no time to think it through. That unyielding smile pressed down on me, making my shoulders sag further. I wanted to ask more, but what good were questions with no answers? My careless facade was long gone. My face was tense with sweat.
*Was I making the right choice?* I asked myself.
I would be going through this blind, only the heavens know what I was signing up for. I sighed deeply, and in response, he tossed a pen onto the table. Shortly after, a guard from the side calls out.
"Sulien Alric, the interview is over."
The guard unshackled me from the table, and the interviewer bid me well. My decision will forever change the course of my life. My short life of twenty-four rotations was supposed to end in three weeks.
The murky shade of the grey concrete walls always disgusted me. I spent the next two days wondering whether I'd signed for my freedom, or my last years of life slaving on community work. I took a new view of the cell that I was accustomed to. What once felt like a cage felt like purgatory.
After two days, I saw the light, but it didn't last long. The couple of minutes I spent walking to the van I savored. The sun hitting my skin, I regretted wasting so many years in the shade, a thought I still laugh at. They tossed me inside, shoving my head in a black bag.
"You'd wish I'd shoot you here if you knew what was coming, Rat."
The officer laughed before shutting the sliding door, leaving me alone with whoever was inside the van. It felt ominous in pure silence as the van drove, but one of them began to speak.
"We won't kill ya, if you're wondering." A clear voice called out.
The tension I felt slightly settled. We went through multiple bumps on the road, which caused my tension to rise once again. The van reeked of sweat and metal. Every bump in the road made my spine tense further. My orange jumpsuit was smothered with sweat stains.
"I'm glad." I let out a nervous exhale.
They took off the bag, and the sweat on my forehead caused my hair to stick. Two men lay on the opposite bench that I sat, fully black with masks.
"The bag and masks are for looks. Y'see?" He says, taking off his mask as if trying to prove a point.
A white man, crooked nose, clean head with no hair. He gave a slight smile to relieve me, but did quite the opposite. I gave one back. The other man stayed masked. The masked one saw me glance at him.
"Ah, my friend? He's a little ugly, y'see, " he said, trying to take the other man's mask off.
He let him take it off till his chin before slapping him and slipping it back on. It revealed scarred and aged skin. The man chuckled before slapping his hand again when he attempted again.
"Fuck off wontcha!" The scarred one squawked unbearably. He never talked again, but let out slight grunts throughout the drive.
"Anyways, name Eric. Yours, I know. Info? Don't ask. "
The response made me lean back, jaw clenched. The van continued to whatever fate I had tied myself to. I couldn't help but think about what was going to happen.
*What could be worse or even equal to Death Row?*
I kept this mindset throughout the drive. The idea of the government letting death row inmates off the hook seemed impossible to me. There was a catch, yet no information could be given to me. Deep in my thoughts, I was startled when the van suddenly stopped. Eric pointed at the bag, signaling me to put it back on as he put his on.
The two men escorted me toward the building.
"You alright? Breathing through that bag okay?" Eric said, giving a mocking tone. He laughed as we walked inside the building. His remarks made me *physically* resist certain urges while we walked to what I assumed was a receptionist.
"Inmate name?" She said, with a busy, annoyed tone.
"Sulien Alric, Mrs," Eric responded.
I was then taken in the hands of an officer, my bag stayed on, along with the shackles I've had on. Several turns, doorways, and patrolling officers later, I entered a room. I instantly heard murmurs and chattering echoes throughout the room. They dragged me toward a noisy group and forced me to my knees.
My knees throbbed against the hard surface. My breaths turned into deep gasps for air through the thick, cotton bag. A couple of moments later, the bag was taken off, revealing a spacious room. Stone Pillars of white marble rose toward the ceiling, light peered inside from the tilted windows above, and the floor gleamed like a mirror made of marble. Most frightening of all, over three hundred souls dressed in orange.
*Oh heavens. Three hundred death row inmates?*
The thought of having three hundred equally dangerous men in the same room startled me. The group next to me seemed to be acquaintances; they all let out a verbal gasp for the view as well. The room was around the same size as a standard auditorium with an elevated floor at the end. Officers guard the exits, multiple of them patrolling near us, waiting for any moment to rise. Every guard was equipped with a military-grade burner, capable of dealing with *anyone*.
I felt fear rise in the air, some laughed, some gasped. On the elevated floor, there were around twenty officers equipped with the same weapon. But one person on that floor was different from the rest. He wore a green uniform, that of a veteran officer. His metals on the left side of his jacket reflected off the light.
He walked toward the microphone that lay at the edge of the platform.
"Hello, Death-row inmates. All of you were ordered to die in about three weeks, but I've dug you out of your graves. I hope you will miss them. Now I give you a choice of strength. Will you continue to strive to become stronger? Or will you perish like the weak? Like how you were supposed to. This isn't a program or a job. This is a mission, a choice. "
The crowd continued to feed into the amusement. His voice was strong, determined. What you would expect from a veteran? The man kept a neutral face throughout the speech. He gave no one time to think, continuing.
"Does anyone believe in magic?" He asked the crowd.
The crowd laughed in return, some stayed quiet. I was one of them.
"Magic, he says! Bah spare me the shit. tell us whytha fuck were here." A heckler called out.
The crowd continued to laugh. The man exchanged a laugh that rasped with age.
An officer from the platform immediately let out a charge, instantly killing the heckler a few paces away from me. The humming of the bullet silenced everyone. My ears were deafened for several moments as the crowd startled.
"This is not a comedy, Rats. I'm giving you an opportunity, respect it. "
My heart began to sink, my ears rang, and my vision blurred. The crowd stayed silent, but suppressed whimpers. The seriousness this man represented finally reflected off the crowd. It only took one person to. My throat was clenched, the air thickened, and I felt as if I was breathing in that bag again.
"Magic is real. Believe it or not, but do not disrespect it. It is complex, its strings are knotted and twisted almost infinitely. Weaved from strength, power, and mystery. You will not be able to see it with untrained eyes like yours. "
The crowd, manipulated by fear, believed him. I did as well. The thought of magic existing isn't comprehensible to humans. They only believe what is in front of them. But this man forced them to.
"Your mission, to enter your first trial. Trials are made up of dimensions created from your fate. Complete this trial, and you are allowed entrance to the next location. That is our goal for now, the rest of us will rendezvous there, and refusal to enter your trial is death. "
The fear in the air was as dense as fog. The crowd, still silent, digested this information. I felt the fear as well, but I wasn't that close-minded. I saw an opportunity. An opportunity for freedom. This said underworld must be free in a new dimension. I couldn't wrap my head around entering magical trials.
*Was this worse than the chair?* I thought to myself.
The whimpers and cries strengthened while I stayed silent and reserved. The man disappeared off the platform, leaving the room in quietness. My thoughts were interrupted when an officer called out.
"One single file line! You will follow the officer ahead!"
Everyone did what was said, some stragglers caused it to take longer than needed. Multiple inmates had passed out from sheer fear. For most, it wasn't the death that startled them, but the strength and truth in his words. His words had the power to control. I smelled the mix of sweat and blood from the recently killed inmate, and it made me nauseous.
Eventually, we left the room. We marched through halls, turned corners until the line stopped. Hours had passed with slight shuffling forward with little to no progress. The fear the man spoke into me still lingered, and I assumed lingered in everyone else, but diminished mostly. Some prisoners who were known for running dragged their chains that screamed against the floor with every step. I heard chains clinking closer from behind.
"You know who that man was?" a raspy voice behind me whispered.
I shook my head
"Some old soldier they snatched to teach us something, I guess," I muttered, resisting the urge to look back due to officers strictly patrolling around us. The raspy voice laughed and never spoke again. I noticed that the security was tighter than the prison; each corner had a camera, and no hall was left unpatrolled.
I tried looking ahead without being obvious, but my view was blocked from the muscular, broad back of the man a few paces ahead. He barely fit his uniform; he shifted, and our march halted again. Hearing the previous conversation, the broad man called out in a slight whisper.
"The man was Damien LI Bernadotte. He's a renowned veteran despite only being nineteen years of age. "
He stopped after a sudden shout from an officer came from behind. My curiosity further rose after hearing the man's response. I clenched my jaw. Nineteen certainly didn't match. The guy looked decades older with wrinkled skin and gray hair.
*Could it be magic-related? Something that happened in a trial, he speaks of?*
Thoughts continued to linger, I couldn't help but be confused. My mind stopped when he brought up the magical trials. The thought of fate being intertwined with the trial certainly was interesting. I assumed this meant that they were unique to everyone, and I would probably be alone when one occurs.
From a distance, I could hear the same door constantly open and close when the march began to start again, meaning we were entering the room individually. I would have to be prepared if we were entering a trial. My jumpsuit was loose, I was starved for multiple days due to punishment. Something felt wrong. My mind began to fog, the air felt thicker. I began to feel waves of fear when we marched closer.
A couple of moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing became closer. I assumed we reached the end. I could only see the door when the broad-backed man entered the room and closed the door behind him. The metal doorknob clicked as the door closed. A couple of paces away lie two officers guarding outside the door. The door looked carved from an ancient blackwood, with twists, curves, and dents that I've never seen. Its deep color contrasted with the white walls and further added an ominous weight.
I heard the rumbling and muffled grunts of the man inside. Eventually, the noise dissipated, and one of the guards ordered me to enter. Twisting the knob, the cold metal made me shudder.
Upon entering, the room's color was that of no other. Its pure white made my eyes water from the brightness. The room was about ten feet in all directions, and one thing lay in the middle. My gaze fell on a podium being the only thing in the room. I noticed its weird shape, carved from wood. The lumber was darkened from age. Its swirls and scars reminded me of the door I had just entered. But the most important of all was what lay atop the podium. My tension that I had been holding for so long started to grow, and my calm breaths had turned into shuddering quivers for air. A black hand made from an unknown material.
*Is it a real one? I hope not.*
Its wrinkled skin confused the marble material it was made from. The wrinkles were so intricate and complex, my mind began to tangle into knots, as if the hand was too much to even glance at. My head continued to throb until I finally gave in and stopped looking. I didn't realize that an officer was in the room the whole time by the time he spoke.
"Shake hands with the podium, and your crimes are pardoned."
He refused to say anything else, but the burner in his hand said I had no option. Without noticing, my body seemed to inch a couple of feet closer to the podium than I would have liked. The Relic was a spectacle I had never seen before. Shortly, I only stumble upon a handful of Relics that are at the same level as this hand.
*Am I going to be tossed into a random dungeon? A jungle of some sort? No, maybe a different world. *
My mind continued to scatter; the thought of being alone inside a magical trial made me shiver.
I had to prepare for what was going to happen next. My eyes had locked onto the hand, refusing to look away. The wave of pain only grew stronger, and I had no intention of touching that disgusting, shriveled hand. Yet my body inched even closer, and before I noticed, my hand reached out.