Damien stared at the worn-out book lying on the bunker floor, its pages yellowed and torn from age. It was one of the few sources of entertainment he had in this confined space. Among the illustrations scattered across the pages, one image caught his eye: a colossal tree that seemed to pierce the sky, its branches stretching endlessly upwards.
"Dad, Dad! Look at this!" little Damien exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the picture of the tree. "This book shows a tree so huge it reaches the sky! Does a tree like that really exist?"
His father, busy preparing their training equipment, glanced over briefly. Back then, his father's expression was still somewhat warm, although hints of the coldness that would define him were already beginning to show.
"Of course," his father replied, his voice softer than usual. "That's the Tree of Life. It appears in many ancient myths. People used to believe trees like that connected the heavens and the earth, a symbol of nature's balance and power. Maybe, once upon a time, such trees existed. But now..." His father's voice trailed off, his eyes turning distant. "Now, everything is gone."
Damien looked at his father, trying to grasp what 'gone' truly meant. At that age, he still didn't fully understand the outside world, knowing only the bunker as his universe. But deep inside, he harbored a sense of wonder and curiosity that would never be satisfied.
"Huh… I haven't dreamed like that in a long time," Damien muttered to himself, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Thinking back, Dad had a side like that, too."
Damien took a deep breath, glancing at the makeshift calendar scratched onto the bunker wall—a personal record of the days that passed, a futile attempt to comprehend the flow of time. "How long has it been?" he wondered. "I'm 19 now, so I've been here for 18 years. I remember it clearly; when I turned 5, Dad started to change. He became colder, more detached, and began to train me mercilessly."
Every day, Damien lived in an unchanging cycle: wake up, intense physical training, studying, and constantly enduring unexpected punishments. There was no concept of day or night; only the constant darkness and the flickering fluorescent lights. Even during study sessions, his father would attack without warning, forcing Damien to stay alert every second.
"Of everything I've learned from Dad, there are three lessons he emphasized above all else," Damien reflected, his thoughts laced with the weight of those teachings. "First, never trust anyone weaker than you. Second, never let potential threats take root. And third, no matter how dangerous the situation, always remain calm."
Damien remembered how his father drilled these principles into him with unrelenting rigor. One mistake, and his father would punish him without mercy, reinforcing the belief that weakness and complacency were the greatest enemies in a world filled with danger. No leniency, no sympathy—only harsh discipline and endless training.
His physical training was brutal: Damien was forced to endure weights equivalent to four times an adult's body mass, performing push-ups, running, and other exercises relentlessly. His body was molded through pain, pushed to limits far beyond ordinary human capacity. Not only his body, but his mind was also sharpened by various trials—reading books about a world he had never seen and eating extreme foods and poisons.
"This isn't just about being strong," his father said one day, as Damien writhed in pain after ingesting a poisonous plant prepared as part of his training. "It's about shaping you into something more. Out there, you won't just face monsters and radiation. You'll face betrayal and the lies of men."
"I know, Dad," Damien replied, his voice weary but resolute. Despite hating the training, he knew he had no choice. He had to be stronger, faster, smarter. "No matter how dangerous the situation, I have to stay calm," he repeated his father's words to himself, ingraining them into his already battle-worn mind.
Every day, Damien also had to endure extreme heat and cold, exposure to various toxins, and exercises that tested his limits. "Your body is now at the peak of human ability," his father once said with pride, though his face remained emotionless. "You're ready to face the outside world."
Damien looked at his father with eyes that could see deeper than the surface. Even as his body ached and bruised, he knew all of this wasn't without reason. His father's harsh training wasn't just to cause pain but to ensure that when the time came, Damien would be strong enough to survive in the unforgiving world outside.
***
Damien paced restlessly around the bunker, each step echoing against the cold metal walls. The bunker, once his entire world, now felt like a prison tightening its grip. He had grown used to every dark corner, every flickering light, and every piece of worn equipment that filled this underground maze. But today, the air felt heavier, and Damien's impatience was boiling over.
"I'm bored," Damien muttered to himself, his voice drowned out by the hum of old machinery. He glanced around, taking in the details of the place that had been his home—and his hell—for so long. "I never realized how impressive this bunker actually is until I started paying attention."
On his left, he saw the line of torture devices his father used on him, all meticulously organized as if they were tools of a trade. There were racks of syringes filled with various toxins, each labeled with their effects, from burning pain to paralyzing terror. Next to them, shelves held antidotes and solutions, carefully prepared by his father, an alchemist of terrifying skill. This was where Damien's poison resistance was forged, one painful injection at a time.
On his right was the temperature control room, filled with devices that could create extreme heat or bitter cold in an instant. Rows of dials, switches, and strange contraptions buzzed with faint electrical sounds. This was where Damien had been tested against the elements, his body pushed to survive in searing heat and freezing cold, all to build his endurance.
"Six steps forward," Damien counted as he walked, "and here's the artificial farm." It was a small, sterile room filled with tanks and tubes, each containing genetically modified animals that provided them with food. Hens without feathers, cattle that never moved, and strange fish swimming in nutrient-filled waters, bred for efficiency rather than life.
"Another six steps," he whispered, stopping in front of the next room, "and here's the artificial garden." The walls were lined with hydroponic systems that allowed crops to grow without soil. Vegetables and herbs thrived under artificial lights, their roots submerged in a carefully balanced solution of nutrients. Each plant was engineered to survive in conditions that mimicked a world that no longer existed outside.
Directly opposite the farm and garden was the laboratory. It was a place of stark white walls, humming machines, and the faint smell of chemicals. It was where his father spent most of his time, hunched over experiments that Damien could barely understand. This was also Damien's main training ground—a place where he was pushed beyond his limits daily.
"I've never been outside, but I'm certain," Damien thought as he ran his fingers along a row of test tubes filled with glowing liquids, "Dad must be the best alchemist, even compared to those out there."
As he continued to wander, lost in thought, he heard the sound of a heavy door creaking open behind him. His father's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "What are you doing?"
Damien turned to see his father standing at the entrance of the lab, his face hidden in shadows. "I'm bored, so I'm just… walking around," Damien answered, feeling a twinge of guilt for breaking the usual routine.
His father's eyes narrowed. "Your eyes. What do you see with those eyes of yours?"
Damien's heart skipped a beat. "What? How do you know about that?" His voice shook slightly. "I've never told you about it."
"How long have your eyes been active?"
Damien hesitated before answering. "Five years ago, when I was still a child. That's when it started."
His father's expression flickered with a strange mix of emotions—something almost like recognition, then quickly replaced by his usual coldness. "I see. So you've been accepted by this world," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Damien.
"What do you mean by that?" Damien asked, confused. His father didn't respond immediately. Instead, a fleeting, almost wistful smile crossed his face, the kind of expression Damien had rarely seen.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow will be your last day here. You'll be able to live in the outside world."
Damien froze, his mind racing. "What do you mean, Dad? Are we… are we leaving this place together?" He searched his father's face for answers, but found none. All his life, it was only his father who ever left the bunker, returning with supplies, stories of the outside, and scars he never explained. Why now? Why was he finally taking Damien with him?
His father's eyes hardened, and his smile faded back into the familiar mask of stern indifference. "Go to sleep, Damien. You'll understand tomorrow."
Damien stared at his father, trying to read the faint colors of his soul. But this time, there was only a muted blue, tinged with an emotion Damien couldn't quite place—anticipation, fear, maybe even hope. Whatever it was, it felt distant and unreachable.
"Whatever this is about," Damien thought, "I guess I'll find out tomorrow." But deep down, unease coiled in his gut. The outside world had always been a terrifying mystery, painted in shades of nuclear fire, mutated creatures, and a humanity that had long lost its way.
As Damien lay in his bed, the cold metal beneath him more comforting than it had any right to be, his mind churned with questions. Would they really leave this place? And if they did, what kind of world would greet them beyond the bunker's steel doors? His father's cryptic words replayed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever awaited him was far more dangerous than any training he had endured.
For now, Damien could only close his eyes, listening to the hum of the bunker's machinery—a lullaby of a world that had shielded him from the horrors outside. Tomorrow, everything would change, and Damien knew, no matter what happened, he would have to face it with the strength his father had painfully forged into him.