The Derium Trials happen once every fifteen years. This is the seventh on record, which means the first occurred roughly one hundred and five years ago.
No one knows exactly how the Trials work, or where they take place. But the event is always publicly announced. Two individuals wearing strange animal masks present themselves to the world, declaring that the Trials are a chance to leave this world behind. They claim there's another world—a place of magic, freedom, and the power to live without pain, sickness, or limits.
Complete the Trials—that's the only condition.
The application window remains open for the full fifteen years between each Trial. There's no process. No requirements. If you sign up, you're in—regardless of who you are or when you registered.
Once the Trial begins, that's it. No follow-up. No footage. No information. The people who enter are simply never seen again. Nobody knows what happens to them—if they live, if they die, or if they reached the world they were promised. By now, most assume it's a one-way trip.
Families offer quiet goodbyes. Some cut ties completely. Everyone understands, whoever enters the Trials does not come back. Even so, people still sign up. Some believe in the promise. Others just want to escape.
"Go…"
The word echoes across the field like a bad joke.
"Go where?" someone mutters, voice tight with disbelief.
Thousands stand frozen contestants packed shoulder to shoulder, breathing in dust and confusion. There's nowhere to go. No tunnel, gate, or path.
Just cracked, lifeless earth stretching endlessly beneath a blackened sky, walled in by obsidian cliffs that reach toward clouds that never rain.
A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd. Isaac turns slowly, eyes scanning the towering metal gate they entered through. To ensure he didn't miss any clues. However, hundreds of contestants were already on the same track. They all bolt toward the gate, legs pounding, eyes wide with hope and fear.
BOOM! The ground cracks open. Screams tear through the air as stone and dust give way beneath their feet. Then—DOOMSH! Three thousand and seventeen bodies plummet into blackness.
Above, Rig chuckles, watching from the edge of the cliff. "Oof. Guess that wasn't right."
Gemml leans forward, unamused. "You could've just removed the floor the moment you said 'go.'"
Isaac screaming as he free falls. Bodies plummet beside him, arms flailing. Some thrash wildly; others tumble limp in shock. The air fills with howls, prayers, vomit, curses—and the sickening sound of wind ripping past ears.
Someone yells, "I didn't sign up for this!
A girl tumbles past Isaac, spinning like a ragdoll. Her hands claw at nothing. Her face is twisted in silent horror.
"I'M GONNA DIE!" a man shrieks.
Isaac's brain can't catch up. Everything's upside down—twisting and spiralling as gravity punches his gut repeatedly.
Then someone notices him.
"Wait—is that guy flapping his arms?"
"Yes!! What the hell is he—IS HE TRYING TO FLY?!"
"WELL, I HAD TO TRY SOMETHING!" Isaac yells, voice cracking.
A piece of someone's backpack flies past his face.
"I knew this was a cult!" someone screams.
"I'm going to die and I still owe rent—HAHAHAHA—!"
Admis the noise, Isaac notices glistening below, "Water?"
SPLASH!
One after another everyone plunges into the excessively cold and violent water beneath them. The impact knocks the air from Issac's lungs. For a moment, everything goes white as he sinks deeper. Isaac thrashes his limbs in the churning black water. He kicks upward as his heartbeat thunders in his skull.
"Not good. Not good. NOT GOOD." The thought blazes through his mind. "Shit! I don't know how to swim!"
Above the chaos, contestants who came prepared are already surfacing—some with inflatable gear, others gliding down in winged suits, barely disturbing the water's surface.
From the cliff, Rig and Gemml watch the disaster unfold on a glowing projection.
"Three hundred and twenty-seven down already," Rig says casually.
Quite a few contestants are already dead—some from heart failure brought on by the shock, others by drowning, and some from shattering their bones on impact. Gemml eyes narrowing on a ripple of chaos in the water.
It was Isaac! He tries gasping for air but chokes instead. His chest burns. His vision is blurry. Every instinct screams at him to breathe, but he can't.
"No... No, no, no—" He clenches his eyes shut.
"It's fine. I just need to blow really hard and rocket myself to the surface. WHAT AM I EVEN SAYING?"
He claws upward, but his muscles are screaming. His lungs are caving in, and his arms are going numb.
"Mom… Dad…" The thought hits like a spear to the chest.
"I'm sorry." Tears mix with salt and panic. "I couldn't even survive the first damn Trial..."
Elsewhere in the water, Bard—a broad-shouldered veteran with sun-scorched skin—moves like a bullet. He cleaves through the waves with terrifying speed, arms cutting clean strokes as he pulls ahead of everyone else.
"There!" he growls through gritted teeth. Ten metres—just ten more—"
But then screaming cuts through the air. "Something's in the water!"
Bard's eyes snap wide. He twists mid-stroke—just in time to see a shadow dart beneath him. It's massive—fast, and silent.
Back at the cliffside, Rig winces. "Oh ho... things just got spicy."
Gemml smirks, arms folded. "They let me design these trials myself."
"What? No fair."
They both return their attention to the flailing boy still fighting for life.
"There's something about that one," Gemml murmurs.
Rig nods slowly. "Not skill. Not strength. Not even luck. Then what?"
Gemml watches as Isaac kicks with every ounce of strength he has left. "Perseverance. Or maybe just stubbornness. Produced by a hopeless world like this one? Quite the oddity, I must say—a boy who shouldn't exist."
At first glance, the world seems normal. No war, no plague, no famine. People still smile, still fall in love, still live and die as they always have. But something's off.
Something you can't quite name. Civilization has been running for thousands upon thousands of years. Long enough for every system to calcify. Long enough for every dream to be dreamed, every empire to rise and fall—repeatedly—until even change becomes a loop.
People don't suffer in fire anymore. They suffer in routine. In endless comfort that numbs the soul. No one starves—but no one truly hungers either. Not for meaning. Not for wonder. Not for anything that hurts in a way that makes you feel alive. The world has grown old. Not in age, but in spirit—Worn down by repetition, polished smooth by time, until nothing sharp remains.
And then there was a boy. Born like everyone else. Raised like everyone else. But somehow… different. Like a match that struck itself. Isaac didn't learn to notice the world—he just did.
Renae and Nick weren't puzzled by his indifference—they were captivated by it and learned to see the light he carried. In their quiet way, they were the first to catch his spark, encouraging him to chase the dreams the world seemed to have forgotten.
Meanwhile… The waters continue to drown in chaos as the strange lifeform tears through it with overwhelming speed and strength. Then, without warning, it vanishes beneath the surface.
For a moment, there's silence. Just the blood of those who were devoured. The survivors stare—wide-eyed, breath ragged—as dark crimson spirals drift across the water. Limbs floating, backpacks bobbing with the waves.
Some contestants are frozen in place, paddling weakly, mouths open like they want to scream but forgot how. One guy sobs openly, clutching the hand of a girl who isn't moving anymore. Another tries to climb onto a floating corpse, too numb to care.
A quiet panic spreads like a slow-burning fire. At this moment two thousand five hundred and twelve people remain.
Bard gasps, chest heaving as he floats upright. He looks around, stunned by the chaos that unfolded in just moments. Then he forces a breath and speaks.
"What the hell was that thing…?" His voice cracks slightly.
Then softer—more like a broken attempt at optimism than a real statement: "Good thing that's… all over now."
GLOOSH! Everyone's attention snaps upward. The water erupts with a deafening KRASHOOM!—a violent explosion of spray and sound. From the depths shoots a sleek, shadowy shape, moving so fast it seems to tear through the very fabric of the space.
Its body is long and torpedo-like, sleek as a shark but twisted—segmented like a serpent with jagged, unnatural joints. Two grotesque, wing-like fins flare from its sides, snapping open like broken blades as it launches skyward. Its skin is oily black, shimmering faintly with eerie blue veins that pulse rhythmically. Where its eyes should be, only faint, glowing slits remain—cold and unseeing, as if it senses the world in ways no human could. Its mouth unhinges, splitting both vertically and horizontally to reveal jagged, irregular rows of teeth—some thin as needles, others chipped and cruel like shattered glass.
Bard doesn't realize it yet, but in that split second, he's already caught in the beast's jaws.
"What?! Did it deliberately target me because I was the closest to the shore?"
CRUNCH! His head and feet plop into the water. Eyes widen—shivering in fear.
"This… this is impossible." The thought runs through their minds.
"ARGHHHH!!" Someone screams in terror, triggering a chain reaction—the cries of people who've just now realized what they've signed up for.
Rig, impressed by Gemml's decision, grins. "A Virelith? Didn't think you had it in you. Although," he adds, "a Torchworm's rampage is a much greater spectacle."
"And you wonder why they won't let you design a single Trial," Gemml says dryly.
"I need to do something. Anything," Isaac mutters as he desperately clings to life.
He can barely form a thought—just staying conscious makes his head feel like it'll burst. He continues trying to survive, even as he approaches unconsciousness. As his body sinks deeper, the piercing gaze of the Virelith keeps watch. Maybe because he's comatose, the creature doesn't approach.
Then, suddenly—its gills flare wide. It rockets to the surface, sensing someone nearing the shore. It seems the Virelith attacks anyone within ten metres of the shore or floor.
This body of water is a perfect cube, each side one hundred metres long. Isaac is now only twenty metres from the floor. Some contestants attempt to break for the shore while the Virelith is distracted—but its speed, nearing Mach 1, makes escape impossible.
"So that's it—this Trial," a girl speaks up. "It's not about escape... it's an endurance test, or rather, luck."
Everyone nearby turns their attention to her. Risa, she has brownish–purple hair that reaches her waist, plastered wet against her back. Her frame is short and slightly rounded—curves clearly visible beneath her soaked blouse and shorts, which cling to her like a second skin. Her hands grip a waist bag firmly.