Chapter 1: Broken Wings
Alex had always found comfort in silence. Not the kind that filled empty rooms, but the silence that settled in when you stopped expecting the world to understand you.
He was seventeen, tall but thin, always wrapped in a hoodie regardless of the weather. His classmates called him a ghost—not because he was pale or quiet, but because he was there and not there. Always drifting. Always watching.
At home, it wasn't much different. His mother, once a bright soul full of energy, now lay in a hospital bed, comatose for nearly a year after a car crash. His father had vanished shortly after, leaving Alex with bills, an empty fridge, and a bitter taste for the world.
He worked late at a convenience store, slept less than five hours a night, and dragged himself through school with blank eyes and hollow smiles. No one noticed when he stopped talking. No one cared when he sat alone. And over time, he stopped caring too.
But beneath the numbness, there was something burning. Anger. Resentment. A quiet scream in the back of his mind that begged for someone to acknowledge he existed. That he had suffered. That he mattered.
Then came the night everything ended.
It wasn't dramatic. No gunshots. No screams. Just darkness. One moment he was walking home after a shift. The next, a sharp pain behind his head and the world tilted. Cold concrete kissed his cheek. Blood pooled under his temple. And that was it.
---
When Alex opened his eyes, he wasn't on a street. He wasn't anywhere he could explain.
The ground beneath him was smooth black stone, polished like glass yet warm like skin. A vast emptiness stretched in every direction, lit only by a strange violet hue hanging in the sky—if it could even be called a sky.
Around him were others. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Teenagers mostly, scattered across the stone expanse. Some were crying. Others shouted for help. One girl sat rocking back and forth, muttering prayers. A boy punched the ground, trying to crack it. It didn't even chip.
Alex slowly pushed himself up, head pounding, vision blurry.
"What... what is this?" someone near him whispered.
Before anyone could answer, the silence shattered.
A voice—ancient, thunderous, and cold—echoed through the void.
> "You have died."
Gasps. Screams. Someone vomited.
> "But your souls have not yet been judged. The gods above have turned their backs. The underworld is sealed. You do not belong in Elysium. Nor are you fit for Tartarus."
The air grew heavier. Alex felt it in his chest, pressing down.
> "Thus, you stand here—in the Trial of the Fallen."
The ground trembled as circular patterns lit up beneath everyone's feet—runes of gold, twisting with unfamiliar symbols.
> "Prove yourselves. Survive. And perhaps... you shall earn a second chance."
Then silence. No more voice. Just that humming energy from the runes.
People started panicking. One girl screamed at the sky. A boy tried to run and vanished the moment he crossed the circle. Others huddled in groups, trying to make sense of it.
Alex didn't move. He looked at the others. None of them looked like warriors. Some wore pajamas. One girl had a violin case. Another kid wore a sports jersey and was holding a broken lacrosse stick. This wasn't a test for the strong—it was a purge.
He looked down at his hands. Same pale skin. Same scar across his knuckles from punching a wall two years ago. This felt real.
"You're calm," a voice said beside him.
He turned.
A girl stood there. Not just pretty—she was mesmerizing. Long golden-blonde hair that shimmered even in the dim violet light, soft pink lips, wide emerald eyes framed by delicate lashes. She wore a white blouse with a ribbon at the collar and a flowing black skirt that fluttered slightly in the windless air. She looked like someone pulled straight from a dream, not this nightmare.
She smiled warmly. "Hi. I'm Lysandra. Looks like we're stuck here together."
Alex blinked. His heart thudded once, then again. It wasn't just her beauty—it was her gentleness. Like she had noticed him. Really noticed.
"I'm Alex," he replied, voice rough.
"Nice to meet you, Alex. You okay?"
No one had asked him that in months.
He nodded slowly. "I... I guess."
"Stay close to me," she said with a reassuring grin. "You look like the type who thinks too much. People like us don't survive alone."
He couldn't help it—he smiled, just a little.
They sat together for a while, watching others. She told him she had been a dancer in her old life. That her family had expected her to be perfect, graceful, obedient. But she had run away months ago. She said she died of cold, alone in an alley, clutching a tattered sweater.
Alex listened without judgment. And when he spoke—when he told her about his mom, his dad, his long nights and empty mornings—she didn't look away. She didn't pity him. She just listened.
And that, more than anything, made him feel human again.
Before he could say more, the runes beneath them flared. A sharp sound cracked the air—metal grinding against metal—and from the far edge of the platform, a massive stone gate began to rise.
Beyond it, only darkness.
> "The first trial begins."
The voice again.
> "Enter the gate. Only those who step forward may fight for redemption. The rest will fade."
Some hesitated. Others ran blindly. A group of five rushed in together. A boy tripped at the threshold. He screamed—and then turned to ash.
Alex's stomach twisted.
Lysandra reached out and gently took his hand. Her touch was warm, steady.
"We'll get through this," she said. "Together."
He looked at her. Something about her gave him hope, made him want to fight. He didn't know her, not really, but already, she felt like the light in this void.
"Okay," he said softly.
They stepped forward, side by side.
Into the dark.
And somewhere, high above where neither of them could see, something watched. And smiled..