A biting cold seeped through the narrow confines of the cell, clinging to the bare walls and creeping into the skin. Seyrin sat in a corner, his back pressed against the rough stone, knees drawn up to his chest. The dim, flickering light of a crystal embedded in the ceiling cast wavering shadows across his pale face. Each exhale from his lips created a faint mist in the freezing air, a reminder of the omnipresent chill.
The cell was stark, devoid of comfort: a narrow cot with a tattered blanket, an empty bucket in one corner, and a shattered mirror discarded on the floor. The door that confined him wasn't made of steel but of shimmering magic, a translucent barrier that hummed faintly. Beyond it stretched an endless row of identical cells, each containing another child. But Seyrin didn't care about them.
"How long has it been? How many years since I've been trapped here?"
The voice in his head was low, weary, a constant monologue that pierced the silence. The number "4" was stitched in black onto his simple white tunic—the uniform of a test subject, identical to what all the other children wore.
He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical, as though each action was carefully calculated to preserve his strength. His gaze fell to the broken mirror at his feet. The distorted reflection of his face stared back at him, unfamiliar even after all these years.
"Pale skin. Black irises like the void. Red, slit pupils… Is this my true face?"
His fingers brushed against the shattered glass, tracing the jagged edges of his reflection. A faint red glint flickered in his eyes as he stared at himself, a cold, ominous light that sent chills even through him.
"A monster. That's what they see. What they whisper about when they think I can't hear."
But it wasn't just the whispers that haunted him. It was his aura—this oppressive presence he couldn't hide. Even the guards felt it. Seyrin didn't need to act; his mere existence stirred an instinctual fear in those around him.
A metallic chime echoed through the corridor, breaking his train of thought. A soft, almost soothing female voice resonated through the structure:
"Children, it is time to eat."
The magical barrier fizzled out, vanishing with a faint crackle. Seyrin peered into the dim corridor as other pale silhouettes in identical white uniforms stepped hesitantly out of their cells. A procession of fifty children formed in the oppressive silence, each moving like an automaton, their eyes fixed on the ground. The hallways were dark, illuminated only by faintly glowing crystals embedded in the walls, casting a cold, sterile light.
Seyrin's bare feet brushed lightly against the stone floor as he walked, blending into the group, though he was never truly one of them. His slit pupils caught the light differently, his aura making the children nearest him fidget uncomfortably. A few subtly widened the gap between them and him as they moved.
"All the same… Shadows. Nameless experiments. But I'm worse."
He clenched his fists, his face remaining expressionless.
The procession reached a spiral staircase, leading them upward to the next floor. At the top, a vast dining hall awaited. The walls were bare, the high ceiling adorned with unused chains that swayed faintly in an unseen draft. A long wooden table stretched through the center of the room, set with fifty identical plates and glasses. Each plate held a gray, compact bar, strange in texture and bitter in taste. Each glass was filled with a pulsing, crimson liquid.
Seyrin took his usual seat at the edge of the table. His fingers closed around the gray bar, which he chewed slowly, mechanically, without thought or interest. The crimson liquid came next. Once, he had asked what it was. The answer: "It nourishes the soul." He hadn't believed it then, and he didn't believe it now.
The dining hall was silent. No whispers, no glances exchanged, just the muted sound of chewing and swallowing, day after day. Seyrin's gaze drifted across the room, noting the hollow faces and vacant eyes of the other children.
"We're already dead. There's nothing left for us here. Nothing except the next experiment."
He lowered his eyes to his empty glass, the ghost of a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
When the meal was finished, the children rose one by one, filing out in perfect silence. Seyrin lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the chains hanging from the ceiling.
"How much longer? How many days before those chains finally close around me?"
At last, he rose and joined the procession, walking quietly back to his cell, the weight of a fire within h
im burning for nothing but destruction.