This was the only Sunday of the year when the boy was allowed not to work. But even this day brought no relief—pain and exhaustion were too deeply rooted in his heart. He curled up under an old leather blanket, once soft and warm, but now resembling the frozen skin of an old, long-dead animal. Cold seeped through the thin scraps of fabric, but the shivering that shook his body was caused not by the temperature, but by the bottomless void growing inside him like a black hole.

The boy knew that sleep here was dangerous. It wasn't just a warning—he had seen for himself how many of his companions, succumbing to the temptation of rest, never woke up again. Darkness crept up on them unnoticed, like a wave, carrying them off into an endless, cold abyss. He had learned this from childhood—to survive where survival seemed impossible. Here, in this place, any day could be his last, and he had no right to forget it.

He clutched the blanket as if it could protect him from all the evil in this world. There was no longer any fear or hope in his eyes. Only exhaustion remained, relentless and deep, piercing him to the bone. But even in this darkness, he clung to life like a drowning man to a straw. The thought of death didn't scare him; it loomed over him every day like a black raven, cawing something menacing. But more than death, he feared one thing: that all his struggles would be in vain, that his small, insignificant life would dissolve into eternity without a trace.

Every minute was a struggle. Sleep fogged his mind, ensnaring him in its net, but the boy resisted with all his might. The world around him began to blur, dissolving into the mist, and when his legs gave out, he felt the ground strike his chest. Everything became quiet, even his own thoughts fell silent, leaving only the lonely sound of his ragged breathing.

When the boy opened his eyes again, a tall, thin man stood before him. This person seemed no less worn out than the boy himself. His face was gaunt and empty, as if he had long since resigned himself to the inevitable fate awaiting everyone in this place. He was a slave, appointed as a doctor because his frail health didn't allow him to work in the fields. He couldn't save anyone, couldn't change this world, but still, something in him drove him to try, if only for those who still clung to life.

When the doctor saw the boy, something in his heart stirred. This child looked like a broken toy, discarded and forgotten, yet a spark of life still smoldered within him. The boy lay on the ground, his emaciated face as pale as snow, and the doctor knew he had little time left. However, he couldn't afford to show weakness.

The boy, barely moving his lips, whispered:

"Doctor… I'm not that bad off, am I?"

The doctor, fully aware that this child would likely not survive the week, leaned down to him and softly, but firmly, said:

"You're just tired. Get some sleep, and you'll feel better soon."

These words were a lie, but they carried the comfort the boy needed most. He closed his eyes and soon drifted into a sleep where his consciousness finally let go of the world around him. The doctor stayed by his side, watching the boy. His heart ached with the realization of his helplessness, but there was nothing he could change. All he could do was wait silently for the boy to stop breathing.

Morning came too quickly. The boy awoke with a heavy feeling, as if another struggle for life awaited him. His body refused to obey, every muscle ached with pain, but still, he got up. He knew he had to. Not because he wanted to live, but because he couldn't allow himself to die. Each step was a struggle, but he moved forward, as if something inside him pushed him onward, forcing him to forget about the pain and fear.

The field they were sent to was called "The Rotten Field"—a place soaked in despair and fear. It didn't just threaten them; it reflected all the filth and cruelty of the world they lived in. It was more than just a grim forest—it was a trap where death lurked around every corner. Among the rotten trees and ominous shadows grew cyanide fruits, both deadly and healing, but their harvest was truly a hellish task.

The field was divided into four zones, from A to G, where the cyanide ripened gradually, month by month. They were now heading to zone G—the most dangerous and treacherous. Every step in this place was like dancing on a knife's edge—saber-toothed boars and other monsters could attack at any moment. The slaves were doused with a special dirty water to mask their scent, but even this protection was unreliable, making every breath a potential last one.

They were not in chains, nor bound by magic. They were held by fear—the fear of the fate of the runaways, who were hanged for all to see. The boy knew that any attempt to escape ended in death, but this knowledge did not harden his heart. On the contrary, it made him vulnerable, opening the door to fear and despair that slowly but surely eroded his soul. Even if they ran away, there was nowhere for them to go.

Every morning he woke up feeling like he was losing himself. He was no longer the boy he once was—he had become a shadow, a pale reflection of himself. But even as his strength left him, he didn't give up. In a world where life was worth nothing, where death was an easy relief, he clung to his spark, weak but unyielding. It was all he had left.

On this journey, he fell three times, his body protesting every movement, but he rose again, gritting his teeth, refusing to give in to the pain. Reaching zone G, he took the special sticks needed for collecting the fruits and began his dangerous journey.

Zone G was the most treacherous—slaves died here most often. The boy, gritting his teeth from exhaustion and pain, finally reached the center of the field and noticed a pair of fruits hanging from one of the trees. Realizing that no one had found them yet, he began to climb up, using all his experience to avoid attracting the attention of the monsters. But this climb took too much time—more than fifteen minutes. This was bad news—every lost minute could cost him his life.

When he finally descended to the ground, he quickened his pace, heading to the spots where he had previously found the fruits. But something was wrong. It was too quiet. This silence, like a sinister whisper, spoke of only one thing—the presence of monsters.

He noticed them too late. Only out of the corner of his eye did he see a dark silhouette slipping among the trees. Fear paralyzed him, but he remembered one of the rules—don't move if there's no chance to escape. This thought kept him in place. The monster didn't notice him right away; it was busy feasting—on the flesh of another slave. Seeing this, the boy realized that his chances of survival were slim. But he couldn't give up.

He started running, using his last strength to pick up speed, despite his body tearing apart from the pain. He ran without knowing where, just away from the monster. But after a few minutes, he realized he had ended up in the most dangerous part of zone G, where monsters often set up ambushes.

He stopped, trying to figure out what to do next, but then something grabbed him. In that moment, his whole life flashed before his eyes, but it turned out to be another slave. More than ten people had already gathered around him. They all hid in this place, knowing that the main road was blocked. The only way out was to the south, into the forbidden zone, where they could possibly find freedom or face an even more terrifying death.

The slaves hesitated for a long time. The silence weighed on them, making them hesitate, but when two slaves broke away and ran south, the others followed. No one knew what awaited them ahead, but everyone hoped for the best. However, the boy lagged behind, his frail body couldn't keep up the pace, and he fell again.

He lay on the ground, fighting the pain and despair, realizing that he couldn't come to terms with this helplessness. Everything around him slowed down, like in a nightmare, and every moment felt like an agonizing eternity. But soon he heard the screams of the other slaves and realized that the monsters were close. Rising to his feet, he continued moving south with his last ounce of strength.

The boy moved forward, barely alive, his body aching with pain, and his eyes blurred with exhaustion and tears. It seemed that every cell of his being screamed in despair, but he still kept going, stumbling and falling, clinging to life, which with every step seemed more and more out of reach.

The darkness around him thickened, as if death itself was covering him with its icy shroud. He felt his strength leaving him, his mind sinking into a dull abyss of despair. His world became more and more blurred, and it seemed that everything he knew was slipping through his fingers, leaving only emptiness.

Suddenly, he noticed a faint glimmer of light ahead. His heart skipped a beat—could this be salvation? But with each step, he realized that this light couldn't be salvation. It was something else, unfamiliar, yet strangely alluring. A peculiar anomaly, like a beacon in the darkness, beckoned him, and he felt a faint, almost imperceptible hope stir within his chest.

He drew closer, and the light enveloped him, seeping into every cell of his body. But with the light came a realization—this was not salvation. This was the end. For the first time in his life, the boy truly accepted the thought of death. All his fears, all his pain suddenly vanished, giving way to a strange, tranquil peace.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, feeling the last of his strength ebb away. He no longer tried to fight, to flee, or to survive. In that moment, he was ready to let go of everything. As he gazed at the strange anomaly, he understood that this was the end of his journey, but this end no longer scared him. He was even glad that his final moment would be illuminated by this strange light, rather than swallowed by darkness.

A faint smile crossed his face as he whispered:

"I'm tired… So very tired… I'm glad I won't have to die in the dark…"

His eyes closed, and he finally allowed himself to let go of this world. Darkness engulfed him, and everything around him froze, as if time itself had stopped. In that moment, the boy fell asleep, resigned to the inevitable, perhaps even taking his last breath in this cruel world.

In this deep, absolute silence, in the very heart of darkness, a barely audible voice echoed:

"Contender! Welcome to the Gates of Essence. I greet you at your first Trial."