Timeless Assassin

Prologue

Prologue

Standing atop a cliff, overlooking the endless sea, stood Kaelith, the Eternal Sovereign.

As a four-dimensional being, his perception of the universe differed vastly from that of mortals.

To him, the waves below, the shifting sky, and even the land itself were nothing but a frozen painting—stretched across time and space, seen all at once.

Even the little boy sprinting toward him, arms flailing with excitement, was but a flicker in the river of eternity—a brief attachment that was here for a moment, but could easily be gone the next.

"Grandpa! Grandpa!" the child called, his laughter bright, unburdened.

Kaelith turned, his golden eyes softening.

"Look! I made a drawing today—of us, in a garden!"

The boy's excitement was boundless. But in his rush, he tripped.

His small frame hit the stone path, and a sharp yelp escaped his lips as his knee scraped against the ground.

Kaelith chuckled.

With a flick of his hand, the winds lifted both the boy and his drawing into his arms. Another gesture, and the wound on the boy's knee vanished—erased as if it had never existed.

The boy giggled, clutching onto Kaelith's neck, but then, curiosity flickered in his eyes.

"Grandpa, do you never get hurt?"

Kaelith smiled faintly.

"No, little one. I exist outside of time. Even if I were ever injured, I would simply correct it."

The boy blinked in confusion. "Correct it?"

Kaelith's golden gaze drifted toward the horizon. He took a moment before explaining, choosing his words carefully so the young child could follow.

"Imagine time not as something you move through, but as something that already exists—every moment, every second, all at once. A mortal lives in a single instant, bound by it. But a being like me?"

He lifted his hand, fingers curling slightly.

"If I were to be cut in this moment, I would simply step into another moment. One where I was untouched. To you, it would look like healing, like immortality. But to me… it is simply a small correction."

The boy's brows furrowed in thought, his young mind trying to grasp something far beyond human understanding.

After a moment, he looked up again, his voice quieter this time.

"Not even by a mighty sword?"

Kaelith let out a low chuckle. Instead of answering immediately, he pointed at the drawing still clutched in the boy's hands.

"Look at your drawing. If you gave yourself, here in the picture, a mighty sword… Do you think that the little you, in this drawing, could cut the real you?"

The boy hesitated, glancing down at the crude, childish sketch.

A stick figure of himself stood beside an exaggerated version of Kaelith, flowers and trees drawn haphazardly around them.

His small fingers traced the figure of his drawn self, imagining a sword in its hands.

Then he giggled, shaking his head. "No, of course not. It's just a drawing."

Kaelith's smile returned, ever so slightly.

"Exactly. Just as a two-dimensional drawing cannot harm you, a three-dimensional being. A three-dimensional weapon cannot harm me, no matter how well built, for, the blade of a sword is as meaningless to me as ink on paper."

The boy's eyes widened in fascination. "Then… gods really can't be killed? Not ever?"

Kaelith hesitated.

For a moment, the wind stilled.

The waves below, once rhythmic and soothing, seemed to slow.

The boy had asked an innocent question, but its weight was anything but.

After a long pause, Kaelith finally exhaled, his voice dropping lower.

"Oh, no… plenty have died."

Kaelith's golden gaze darkened, his thoughts drifting somewhere far beyond the present.

"There was a time when even gods feared death."

The wind picked up, the once-calm waves below thrashing violently against the cliffs.

"When the Timeless Assassin walked between the moments, even gods trembled in their beds at night."

"He hunted us like prey, with a blade that could sever eternity itself….. and even the strongest among us fell before him."

The boy's heart pounded in his chest. He had never heard his grandfather speak like this before.

"But… but he's gone now, right? Such an evil man, he must have perished right?" He asked, as Kaelith let out a deep sigh.

"Killed during the Great Betrayal, two thousand years ago…. And no God has died since–"

The boy clutched the drawing tighter, but his young mind struggled to grasp the enormity of what he was hearing.

The Timeless Assassin.

The Great Betrayal.

For him, it was nothing more than a fantasy story. But to Kaelith, it was a scar—one etched into the fabric of reality itself.

For a while, Kaelith brooded in silence, but soon he turned back to the boy, his expression unreadable.

"But eternity is long, little one. And history has a way of repeating itself."

"Let's pray that the past stays buried, because if it rises again… even gods will tremble."

Prophecy

When silence reigns and stars grow dim,

When gods grow frail and light grows thin,

His blood will stir, his kin will rise,

With shadowed blade and ageless eyes.

-

From fractured time and shattered glass,

Will walk the heir of what once was.

The Timeless Assassin's whispered breath,

Will break the chains of godless death.

-

No banners raised, no armies sworn,

He'll walk alone where light is torn.

Yet empires vast will bow and break,

As heavens tremble, as kingdoms quake.

-

No throne shall stand, no crown remain,

When his descendant walks again.

For gods will weep, and time will break,

When vengeance stirs and heavens quake.

Survive

Rattle. Rattle.

The transport cart shuddered violently, metal grinding against metal as it trundled forward through unseen tracks. Every jolt sent passengers lurching into one another, with the dim overhead light flickering in protest.

The air was thick with the sharp stench of blood, sweat, and something chemical. Chains clinked softly in the dark corners, and low, guttural chuckles rose and fell like a distant echo.

Thud.

Leo's skull slammed against cold steel, and his eyes snapped open as white-hot pain splintered through his head. For a moment, everything was blurred shapes and smeared shadows, the dizziness clinging to him like a heavy fog.

His breath hitched. His pulse thundered in his ears, as conscious thought finally returned to his head.

'Where… am I?' Leo wondered, as the small flickering coach light briefly illuminated the faces opposite him— faces laced with twisted grins and sharp teeth bared in something between amusement and hunger.

Blades glinted faintly in their hands, smeared with something viscous and dark.

"Look who finally woke up," a voice rasped, dripping with amusement, as Leo found one of the men in the coach, staring right at him with his tongue out.

The man was ghastly pale in complexion, his skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes that gleamed with faint amusement. A jagged scar ran diagonally across his face, starting just above his brow and disappearing beneath his crooked grin.

But it wasn't the scar or the hollow stare that made Leo's breath hitch—it was the horns.

Twisted, coiling horns sprouted from the sides of the man's head, curling backward like those of a mountain goat. They were smooth and ridged, faintly glistening under the flickering light.

Leo's chest tightened as he instinctively shrank back against the cold steel wall of the cart. 'Horns? Why does he have horns?'

His gaze darted across the cramped space, scanning the other passengers, and a chill crept up his spine. The figures around him—seven of them, hunched, predatory—were not entirely human either.

One had grayish-blue skin, its veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. Another had serpentine slits for pupils, flickering over Leo with cold calculation. A third passenger, half-hidden in the shadows, let out a low, inhuman hiss from between pointed teeth.

Leo's breath came faster now, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest.

'Where am I? What is this place?'

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingertips against his temples, trying—desperately trying—to remember.

'How did I get here? What happened before this?'

But the moment he reached for those answers, a sharp, stinging pain tore through his skull, like shards of glass embedded in his brain. He gasped, clutching his head as a wave of nausea washed over him.

The memories remained elusive, hidden behind a fog of agony and confusion.

When the pain finally ebbed, Leo was left panting, sweat dotting his brow. His mind was a blank slate—a dark void where his past should have been.

Except for one thing.

Leo Skyshard.

His name. He clung to it like a lifeline, his only tether in the swirling chaos of his fractured mind.

Everything else—the cart, the twisted faces around him, the flickering light—it all felt foreign, like he'd stumbled into someone else's nightmare.

But this was no dream.

It was real. And the fact that it was real, made Leo panic even more.

'What the hell is going on here? Why are the faces around me not even human?' Leo wondered, as he felt something crunching in his left palm.

Although he had been clutching onto that object for a while now, Leo only became aware of its existence when he gripped his left palm hard and the papery texture crunched faintly under his fingers.

Slowly, cautiously, he unfurled his trembling fingers, revealing a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper smeared with faint streaks of something dark.

Its edges were frayed, and the paper felt coarse and brittle, as though it had been handled far too many times before reaching him.

With furrowed brows, Leo carefully unfolded it as jagged, hurried handwriting unfolded before him in smudged black ink:

"You might not remember this, but your name is Leo Skyshard, and you are one of the best assassin's from Earth, not that it matters much here on Planet Rodova.

Your mission currently is to survive the academy entrance test.

Win.

And you will get the answers you seek beyond the gates of the Academy.

My only advice for you is trust no one and that failure to enroll shall mean death."

The words were sharp, final, like a death sentence carved into stone.

Leo's breath caught in his throat as his eyes lingered on the final line. Failure means death.

His hand trembled slightly as he read the note again, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The Academy? A test? Survive?

Nothing made sense, and yet… something deep within him—a primal instinct, maybe—screamed that every word on that note was the truth.

'Survive…'

His grip on the paper tightened. He didn't know who he was supposed to trust, what kind of test awaited him, or where this Academy was, but he knew one thing: he couldn't afford to fail.

Taking a steadying breath, Leo began to fold the fragile paper back into a neat square, intending to tuck it somewhere safe. But before he could finish, a sharp hissing sound cut through the low murmurs of the cart.

Tssst.

A single droplet of thick, glistening liquid flew through the stale air and landed on the corner of the paper.

The effect was instantaneous.

FWOOSH!

Bright orange flames erupted from the point of contact, devouring the paper in seconds. Leo yelped, dropping it as the fire scorched his fingertips. The burning paper fluttered to the grimy floor of the cart, curling in on itself until it was nothing but a heap of blackened ash.

Across from him, one of the passengers—a wiry man with hollow cheeks and serpentine eyes—lowered a small glass vial filled with glistening green poison. His lips curled into a smirk as he gave Leo a slow, mocking nod.

"Careful with secrets, little lamb," the man hissed, his voice slithering between his teeth like smoke. "In here, they're more dangerous than blades."

Leo's jaw clenched as he stared at the smoldering ashes on the floor. Whatever fragile shred of direction that note had given him was now gone.

All that remained were the words "Survive the test."

And the hungry stares of the creatures sharing the cart with him.

Arrival

For a while after the incident, Leo remained silent.

His scorched fingertips still tingled from where the burning paper had seared his skin, but he tried not to focus on it too much.

Instead, his mind kept repeating one sentence on loop— "Trust no one."

The words from the note echoed relentlessly in his mind, like a hammer striking against glass, each repetition threatening to shatter his fragile composure.

His gaze stayed low, his expression unreadable, as if carved from stone. He dared not meet the eyes of the other passengers, nor acknowledge the serpent-eyed man who had flicked the poison onto the note.

Instead, he chose to listen.

The cart rattled and swayed, metal screeching against metal, but beneath the grinding noise, whispers slithered through the dim space like venomous snakes.

"Basilisk venom works fastest when it hits the bloodstream directly. A scratch across the throat, and it's over in seconds."

"Nah, too quick. You want widow's ink. Makes them choke on their own bile. Slow. Painful."

A sharp chuckle followed, thin and sharp as a dagger's edge.

Across from Leo, a man with yellow, cat-like eyes inspected his blade with an eerie kind of reverence. A thick, oily liquid dripped from its tip, sizzling faintly as it landed on the floor.

"Waste not," the man muttered, dragging his tongue slowly across the edge of the poisoned dagger, his slit pupils narrowing with pleasure.

Leo's stomach churned.

They were casual about it—discussing death, suffering, and toxins as if they were recipes in a kitchen. It wasn't just cruelty; it was normalcy to them.

His fingers twitched against his thigh. The instinct to act—to do something—gnawed at the edge of his composure. But Leo forced himself still, drawing slow, measured breaths through his nose.

Survive. Observe. Wait.

Every muscle in his body was taut, like a wire pulled to its breaking point, but his face remained an impassive mask.

For now, silence was his shield.

The cart continued its violent journey, jostling its passengers, but Leo's focus remained razor-sharp. He wasn't just listening to the conversations; he was cataloging them—the poisons they mentioned, the tones of their voices, the way their hands twitched over their weapons.

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a faint thought surfaced—a murmur in the foggy void where his memories should have been.

He'd heard these conversations before.

He'd been surrounded by killers before.

But before he could chase that fleeting thread, the cart screeched to a grinding halt, metal screaming in protest.

The sudden stillness felt louder than the rattling ever had, as outside, the sound of heavy boots and muffled commands echoed faintly through the thin metal walls.

The passengers fell silent, their earlier bravado evaporating into thin air as blades were sheathed and poisons tucked away in one quick motion.

Leo's jaw tightened as a single thought pressed into the forefront of his mind: 'It's starting.'

*Creek*

With a slight creaking sound, the door to the cart groaned open, allowing white light to flood in from beyond the door and cast long, sharp shadows against the metal floor.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in a crisp military-style uniform, it's dark fabric adorned with silver insignias that caught the light.

His cold, calculating eyes swept over the passengers, scanning each face as if he could see straight into their souls.

"All eight alive. Good." His voice was sharp and commanding, carrying an edge that felt like a blade against the skin. "At least you're not stupid enough to disregard university rules. Otherwise, I'd have to eliminate you all here."

A chilling silence followed, broken only by the faint sound of someone swallowing hard. The man's implication was clear: If one of them had broken the rule against killing during transit, they would all have paid the price.

But instead of fear, faint snickers and knowing smirks spread across the passengers' faces, as they disregarded the man and his threat as something light.

They began to climb out of the cart, one by one, some with an air of confidence, others with twitchy excitement.

Leo was the last two move, his limbs stiff as he adjusted to standing after hours of stillness, but he managed to follow the others, stepping cautiously towards the edge of the cart.

But just as he was about to jump down, a rough hand clamped around his waist, stopping him from disembarking, as he was pulled back to his spot.

Leo's breath caught in his throat as the uniformed man hoisted him up effortlessly, like a child caught sneaking into a restricted area.

"No concealed weapons allowed here, brat," the man growled, his piercing gaze locking onto Leo's wide eyes. "You wear your utility belt OVER your robes."

Leo froze, his mind blank for a moment. Utility belt?

His eyes darted down to his waist, and sure enough, tucked beneath the coarse black robe he was wearing, there was a leather utility belt strapped tightly around him.

How had he not noticed this earlier?

"Sorry… I didn't—" Leo stammered, fumbling with the belt as he pulled it free and secured it visibly around his waist.

The uniformed man released him with a scoff, stepping back as Leo's gaze dropped to the belt he now wore openly.

It was well-worn but meticulously maintained, fitted with slots and compartments that housed an arsenal:

Twelve sleek daggers arranged in symmetrical sheaths.

Two small, round metal orbs that glinted faintly in the light.

A couple of glass vials filled with strange, shimmering liquids.

Leo's breath caught as his fingers hovered over one of the vials. What were these liquids? What were the orbs?

More importantly…

Why did this belt feel so familiar?

He clenched his teeth, shaking off the unease gnawing at the back of his mind. There was no time for questions—not now.

"Move along!" the uniformed man barked, gesturing sharply towards the others already forming a loose line outside the cart.

Leo jumped down from the cart, landing lightly on the dusty ground below. As he adjusted his belt, his sharp eyes caught glimpses of the environment around him—tall metal fences topped with razor wire, watchtowers looming overhead, and distant shadows moving across large floodlit courtyards.

"Is this a prison?" Leo wondered, as the atmosphere certainly felt like one—heavy with anticipation… and dread.

"Oh man, this year's test is sssooo much sfun," the person ahead of him in the queue slurred, their voice dripping with both excitement and nervous energy.

Suddenly, the queue leader began to move, prompting everyone behind to shuffle forward in unison.

The test was about to begin.

Choice

Leo advanced with the slow, shuffling line of contestants, his boots gliding silently over the cracked concrete as he moved without making a single sound.

It was not something Leo did consciously, but rather a reflexive grace that was born from instinct and years of training rather than thought.

The abandoned prison facility stretched out before him, sprawling and oppressive in its decaying grandeur.

If Leo had any doubts about being in a prison-like facility at first, they vanished the moment he got a clearer look at the test grounds—as the towering fences, rusted barbed wire, and imposing watchtowers left no room for uncertainty.

The courtyard he stood in was vast and rectangular, surrounded on all sides by high concrete walls. Rust stains ran like old blood down the cracks in the walls, and faint scorch marks suggested fires long extinguished.

Above, watchtowers loomed at regular intervals, their steel frames skeletal and weatherworn. Dark figures shifted behind tinted glass windows, their silhouettes barely visible. Sniper barrels occasionally caught the light, a chilling reminder of unseen eyes watching their every move.

The place felt like a graveyard of authority, stripped of life but heavy with echoes of its brutal past.

Leo's sharp eyes flicked over each detail, mapping out the terrain, the choke points, the exits. Instinct drove him to look for high ground, blind spots, and places someone might set an ambush.

But before he could gather his thoughts, the sharp blare of a horn shattered the stillness.

BLARE!

Following the sound, every head turned toward the large raised platform dominating the center of the courtyard.

Above it, a massive digital countdown clock hung suspended by thick steel cables, its bright red numbers frozen at 20:00, glowing like a silent warning.

Soon after the horn sounded, a tall man in a crisp military coat stepped forward onto the platform. His dark uniform bore silver insignias, and across his chest, stitched in precise letters, was his title:

Commander Rourke – Lead Instructor of Covert Tactics and Stealth Operations.

His gray eyes scanned the crowd below with a cold, calculating sharpness, and when he spoke, his voice carried across the courtyard, steady and commanding.

"Elite Assassin Seedlings. That's what you are now—nothing more, nothing less."

The crowd stood frozen, breaths held, as Rourke's piercing gaze swept over them.

"You stand here today at the edge of something far greater than yourselves. Beyond this entrance test lies the opportunity to enroll into the Rodova Military Academy—a place reserved only for the finest warriors of the universe. Those of you who survive this test today will join the ranks of history's finest assassins, while the rest… will be forgotten."

Rourke paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"The other departments like Swordsmanship and Archery have their own trials—trials where no lives are lost. But you—assassins—don't get that luxury. Because such is the life of an assassin. Every step you take, every breath you draw, every shadow you step into could be your last. You are always hanging by a thread and hence your entrance test is also designed as such."

A ripple passed through the crowd—some contestants stiffened while others exchanged wary glances.

"There are 2,500 of you selected to be here today, just enough to form 1,250 pairs.

However, at the end of this test, only 125 pairs will earn the right to step through the academy gates, with your selection being as dependent on your partner's performance as your own.

Your partner's death equals your disqualification. Do not mistake this as loyalty or friendship—it is survival. If your partner dies or abandons the test, you fail. Simple."

Delivering this grim message, Rourke raised a gloved hand, and two assistants in matching uniforms stepped onto the platform, carrying small black boxes.

"Each of you will receive two devices to aid you in this test."

The assistants moved through the crowd, distributing the items. Leo took his turn, accepting the two objects and inspecting them:

The first device labelled as 'Counter' felt smooth to touch with a glowing digital display showing the number 1250.

The second device, a small, glass-like sphere was labelled 'Teleportation Orb' and it felt cold and fragile in his palm.

Just as Leo began to lose interest in the objects in his palm, Rourke's voice rose again.

"The Counter will keep you informed of how many pairs remain. The Teleportation Orb is your way out—crush it, and you'll be teleported out of the testing grounds immediately. But know this: using it means disqualification, both for you and your partner."

Rourke's sharp gaze lingered on the crowd.

"You now have 20 minutes to find a partner. After that, the test begins. If you fail to pair up, you will face consequences before the first phase even begins."

With a sharp motion, Rourke stepped back.

Above him, the countdown clock hanging over the stage flickered to life.

20:00

19:59

19:58

And as a result the entire courtyard erupted into motion.

*********

Contestants scattered like insects, lunging toward each other, calling out, bargaining, and threatening.

Some grabbed the nearest person they could find. Others stalked the crowd, eyes scanning for someone who looked strong, capable, or—at the very least—useful.

Fights broke out in isolated pockets as contestants shoved others away from potential partners.

Leo remained still, his sharp eyes darting across the crowd, as his instincts screamed at him to choose wisely.

A few seconds into the selections, a hulking brute shoved his way past smaller contestants, smirking towards him with bloodshot eyes, however Leo ignored him outright.

His gaze was fixed instead on a slender girl with knives strapped across her chest, but as she made eye contact with Leo, she immediately shirked away, clearly rejecting him tacitly.

Leo's thoughts raced. Who could he trust? Who wouldn't turn on him the moment it became convenient?

His hand clenched around the Counter in one palm and the Teleportation Orb in the other.

19:05

19:04

19:03

The seconds were bleeding away, and each tick of the clock felt like a hammer striking against his skull.

Leo gritted his teeth and took a step forward.

He had 20 minutes to make a choice that could mean life or death.

But as he was about to start choosing somewhere deep in his chest, the same instinct stirred again—sharp, cold, and familiar.

Survive. Trust no one.

Decision

The countdown clock ticked relentlessly. 19:05… 19:04… 19:03…

However, despite the pressure of choosing a partner fast, Leo stood still amidst the chaos, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd as contestants lunged, bargained, and threatened their way into forming pairs.

Almost everyone that Leo looked at, seemed mentally deranged to him.

Almost everyone he made eye-contact with seemed to have the look of a predator first and a person next. Which made Leo extremely reluctant to pair with them.

However, as he scanned the crowd, his eyes eventually landed on a chubby round-faced contestant, who waddled his way awkwardly through the crowd trying to find a partner.

He stuck out like a sore-thumb in this crowd of assassin's, who were all physically toned and tended to be lean, as while there were a few physically imposing assassin's in the crowd, he was the only one that was on the obese side of the scale.

Sweat beaded across his flushed cheeks as he shuffled nervously from one group to another, raising his trembling hands in a silent plea for partnership.

However, each attempt ended the same way— in a sharp rejection or cold indifference.

People turned away, avoided eye contact, or flat-out ignored him as if he weren't even there.

"No way piggy"

"Get your snout away from me"

"Team up with you? Why? To die first?"

These were the words people used to reject him, but where others saw weakness, Leo saw an anomaly.

"You are all elite assassin seedlings." The instructor's words echoed in his mind

But it wasn't just that. His thoughts drifted back to the note he'd found in the cart, the one that referred to him as "one of Earth's best assassins."

And it was these two lines put together that gave birth to an idea in Leo's head.

If he was considered as one of Earth's finest, then surely the others here weren't ordinary either. They had to be exceptionally skilled in their own ways.

This wasn't a crowd of random misfits. Everyone here had been chosen. Selected. Vetted.

This meant that although the fatty looked chubby and harmless, if he wasn't built for combat, then his skills had to lie in some other department.

Perhaps stealth, evasion or subterfuge?

It was a gamble, an educated guess of sorts, however, Leo had a feeling that there was more to the fatty than what met the eye at first glance, and with him unsure of his own combat potential, Leo analysed that a partner skilled in hiding was his best shot at survival.

'Alright. I want him' Leo thought, as pushing forward through the chaos, he weaved between contestants locked in arguments or hurried negotiations, until he stopped directly in front of the fatty.

The boy froze, his round face glistening with sweat as he looked up at Leo, his wide eyes brimming with nervousness and suspicion.

"Do you have a partner yet?" Leo asked, his voice low and steady.

The boy hesitated, his shoulders hunching inward as if bracing for rejection.

"N-No," he stammered. "Nobody… wants to team up with me."

Leo's gaze didn't waver. "I'm not asking what others think of you. I'm asking if you want to survive."

For a long moment, the boy stared at Leo. His lips trembled slightly, his eyes flicking downward, then back up.

Then, he gave a small, shaky nod. "Y-Yeah… Yeah, I do."

Leo extended his hand.

"Then we're partners."

The boy stared at Leo's outstretched hand as if it were an anchor in the middle of a storm. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he reached out and gripped it tightly.

His palm was clammy, his grip trembling, but there was resolve in the way he held on—a fragile ember of determination hidden beneath layers of fear.

"My name's Felix," he said, his voice quieter now.

"Leo."

Their hands parted, but the unspoken agreement lingered.

Leo studied Felix briefly—his awkward frame, the sweat glistening on his brow, the nervous twitch of his fingers against the edge of his belt.

But none of that mattered.

'Seedlings'

'One of Earth's best assassins'

Leo's instincts told him he'd made the right choice.

"He's not here by accident. None of us are." He repeated in his head, as he exhaled softly.

The two of them stood side by side as the timer ticked lower. 10:00… 08:30… 05:00…

Felix fidgeted slightly, his hands hovering awkwardly near his utility belt that was equipped with an odd combination of only two daggers and about five giant gourds of liquid.

It was undoubtedly an odd combination for any assassin, however, Leo did not read too much into it.

"Are you… sure about this test, Are you sure about qualification? The others here look so mean and strong–" Felix asked hesitantly, his voice low, however Leo didn't turn to look at him.

"Quiet. Eyes up. Breathe slow and you'll be fine. The other contestants have already begun to stalk us, they are marking us as easy prey, and your lack of confidence is only making things worse" Leo said, as Felix swallowed hard but straightened slightly, his shoulders less hunched now.

Around them, guards in dark uniforms began moving along the edges of the crowd, dragging away the few contestants who had failed to find partners and pairing them forcefully.

The clock ticked: 02:00… 01:00… 00:30…and At 00:10, Commander Rourke's voice thundered across the yard:

"Pairing phase is over. If you're still alone, your fate is sealed." The commander said, as under his strict gaze, even the last two contestants, unwilling to pair with one another, suddenly straightened up, holding hands happily.

The clock reached 00:01—and then froze at 00:00.

At that moment a deafening BEEP echoed across the courtyard, as ahead, the massive steel gates groaned open, their reinforced frames grinding against rusted tracks.

The air grew colder, and silence pressed down on all contestants like a suffocating blanket, as from the platform, Commander Rourke's voice rang out one final time:

"The time for hesitation is over. The test begins now.

We have cast a tracking spell on all your vital signs and shall be watching all your actions through magic crystal orbs.

You have 20 minutes to spread out and hide, after which killing shall be permitted.

The final 125 pairs remaining will move on, but if even after 48 hours, you people have not reached the elimination threshold, all shall be disqualified"

"Goodluck—"