On a mild Wednesday around noon, a tall, slender man walked into a small bakery. Atlas felt a deep sadness as he stepped inside, knowing this was the day he would die. That very morning, he had learned of the grim fate that awaited him: facing a "Door."
He ordered a small lemon pie and sat down, contemplating how he might survive the terrifying trial ahead. A "Door" wasn't a door in the conventional sense; it was a deadly challenge. Those chosen were compelled to conquer the Door, and if successful, they could claim the powers it guarded. But Atlas knew little more than that. Coming from a modest background—not destitute, but not affluent either—he had managed to do some research, yet the information he found was of little help.
He savored the last bite of his pie, uncertain when he might enjoy another, then rose and began to walk. To a passerby, he might have looked like a madman, muttering to himself. "Some people, when chosen, threw parties to celebrate their impending death. Some committed suicide to end it on their own terms. Others even livestreamed their final hours. But I am determined to conquer this 'Door' quietly, without any grand display. Not that I have any family to celebrate with, anyway."
Being chosen was never a pleasant experience. It could happen to anyone, without warning, and no one knew what triggered it. All that appeared was a simple timer in your vision, counting down the days—typically between three and ten—before you were transported to your trial. But for Atlas, something was different. His timer gave him only nine hours. When he awoke that morning, he knew by nightfall, his fate would be sealed.
Atlas walked until he was no longer surrounded by the buildings of the inner city but by a dense forest. Keeping an eye on his timer, he watched as it slowly ticked down to the last 60 seconds. He knew it was coming and felt no excitement, only dread. He quickly reviewed all the information he had managed to scour:
The trial can last years or mere seconds; each person's experience is different.
The difficulty is based on how much time you had on your timer.
You can become anyone and anything.
You will not be able to escape until you defeat the main objective.
Before you leave, you can choose one to three abilities that are similar to the Door's own powers.
The second point was the most horrifying to Atlas because a mere nine hours on a timer was unheard of. The fastest one previously recorded was three days, and even that person did not survive.
The timer ticked down: click… click… click…
Without making a sound, a Door appeared in front of Atlas while the rest of his surroundings faded into a stark, featureless white. The Door was surprisingly beautiful, adorned with stars sparkling across its surface. Being a curious yet cautious person, Atlas tried walking to the side of the Door to inspect it fully. But it was as if he was moving in place—the Door never came any closer, like a mirage. However, when he reached out to touch the handle, it was within reach.
Before he turned the handle, he speculated about what powers this Door might hold if he could overcome it. The cosmic appearance left him both confused and a little excited. What if the space represented actual space, granting abilities like teleportation or free travel through the cosmos? Although, most people had to conquer many much harder Doors to achieve something that extraordinary.
He fiddled around in this space, testing the limits of the new realm he was in. He could walk away from the Door, but only for about 100 meters before the same phenomenon occurred: the Door seemed to remain in place, no matter how far he walked. Atlas pondered the nature of this realm. Could he stay here indefinitely? Did he need to sleep or eat? Did time flow here? Would he receive a special reward for not opening the Door for a week?
He decided to stay in this room for several hours to explore its true limits. After what felt like six hours, he began to feel a pang of hunger, indicating that time did indeed pass and he couldn't stay here forever. Taking this rare opportunity, he tested the Door further. He removed his collared shirt and threw it at the Door to see if he could affect it without direct contact. The shirt stopped in midair, mere centimeters from touching the Door. He tried his dress shoes, belt, and even spit, but all attempts yielded the same result.
Preparing for his final test, Atlas decided to partially open the Door and peer inside. He gripped the handle, which felt like pure ice but he endured and turned it slowly. He felt a small pull, almost like a worsened black hole, starting to suck him into the trial. Peering through the crack, he saw nothing but the vast expanse of the cosmos, as if a whole galaxy awaited him. But before he could think further, the pull grew exponentially stronger and yanked him inside.
The Door closed behind him, and the white room with the cosmic Door stood empty.