Noah turned… and the entire world vanished.
He now stood in a boundless space—dark, cold, and filled with thick mist that moved like a living creature. Every breath felt heavy, as if even the air was unwilling to stay close to this place.
At that moment, nine cards emerged from the darkness, floating around Noah. There was no sound—only a cold breeze that made his skin crawl.
Noah swallowed a trembling breath. His doubt didn't even have time to settle as his hand moved, almost as if something was guiding it.
He touched one card.
The card vibrated, then flipped on its own, as if it were alive.
—Scholar.
In the same second, the entire formation of cards abruptly shifted. They leapt, spun, and moved quickly in patterns far too precise for anything man-made. And the card he had revealed?
It flew toward the giant silhouette—devoured by the darkness in its chest.
Noah's instinctive reaction was simple: his legs buckled. He didn't know whether he was choosing… or being chosen.
"Choose again."
The voice was louder, closer. Trails of cold crawled from his nape down his spine.
Shivering, Noah touched the second card.
It flipped instantly.
—Shadow.
He hadn't even drawn a full breath when the card shot toward the silhouette, disappearing into its shadow. The remaining cards shifted violently again, like birds driven out of their nest.
Third card. A touch. A faint tremor.
—Wheel. And it was swallowed by darkness.
Fourth. —Mask.
Fifth. —Lover.
Sixth. —Crown.
Seventh. —Hope.
Each card he touched carried a different sensation—piercing cold, burning heat, a soft vibration that twisted his stomach. And each time, the card flew toward the giant silhouette, disappearing without a sound.
The eighth card. Noah almost couldn't bring himself to touch it.
But his finger brushed its edge anyway.
—Death.
His heart stopped for a moment. The card rose slowly… then vanished into the dark.
Only one remained.
Noah's hand shook violently. He didn't want to touch it, but this space rejected any other choice. The final card seemed to approach him on its own.
With ragged breaths, he touched it.
—Sacrifice.
The last card shot toward the silhouette, and the once silent world suddenly felt much colder.
As the final card flew into the giant silhouette, Noah instinctively wanted to know the meaning of all this. The question slipped out, not as a clear voice—more like a restless mumble drowning in the mist.
The silhouette responded without expression, lifting both hands as though offering something to the sky. The creature did not speak with a mouth; instead, its words felt like an echo forced into Noah's chest. A command. A decree. A path that could not be refused.
Walk your destined path.
As the echo faded, the selection chamber fractured. The mist, once flowing calmly, turned into a violent vortex, tearing through the void and striking Noah's small body from every direction. He didn't have time to cling to anything—the darkness swallowed him as fast as a blink.
Then… a faint sound.
Someone calling him from afar, like knocking on a door submerged underwater. A tap followed, a gentle jolt nudging his consciousness back into his physical body.
Noah opened his eyes. The dim light of a tent greeted him, followed by the face of an old man with a tangled beard and eyes full of worry. The man's hand was still raised, ready to tap again if the boy didn't wake.
The old man looked at him for a long time, as if trying to understand how a skinny, ragged child could suddenly appear inside his tent. Noah realized his body was lying on the tent floor, dust clinging to his cheek.
His last memory crashed into him: the market, the stolen food, and the man shouting his family's name. His stomach twisted again—fear, hunger, or both.
He pointed weakly toward the outside of the tent, toward the market that was visible only as a shadow behind the worn fabric. His body still trembled, breaths short and sharp as if he had been running for days.
The old man finally understood. A small shift in his expression showed sympathy mixed with confusion. Seeing Noah's condition—on the verge of fainting again—he could only sigh softly.
Noah stood slowly. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to thank the old man. In return, the man handed him a piece of warm bread taken from his cloth bag—
a small gift that felt enormous to a boy who had eaten only scraps for days.
After tasting the bread with heartfelt gratitude, Noah said his goodbyes and stepped out of the tent while pulling his thin cloak back on. He had taken only a few steps when his small body collided with something far more solid than canvas.
He fell forward. The bread almost slipped from his hands.
Standing before him was a woman. A long cloak covered nearly her entire body, leaving only her pale face visible—her sharp eyes locking onto Noah instantly. She bent slightly—not out of anger, but because something on Noah's finger caught her attention.
A thin burn mark on his fingertip.
A fresh one.
And the faint scent… cold smoke, the same from the dark room he had just escaped.
The woman's eyes widened for a brief moment, enough to show she recognized something significant. She leaned closer, her voice low and controlled.
"You… came out of the Divine Selection Chamber?"
Noah froze. He didn't fully understand the words. He hadn't even steadied his breathing since waking. But when she mentioned "the chamber," the memories surged back—sharp like the edge of a blade. The mist. The cards. The voice shaking his bones.
He answered quietly that he had indeed seen a dark room full of smoke, as if trapped in a nightmare too real.
The woman was shocked again—deeper this time. But before Noah could ask anything, her expression softened, her gaze shifting with a strange calmness that felt protective.
She asked if Noah was in trouble or being chased.
Noah nodded. Slowly. Afraid to speak too much.
Without further explanation, the woman lifted the edge of her cloak and gestured for Noah to follow. She walked swiftly, almost seeming to glide, and Noah could only keep up as best he could. Their path led them to a large structure on the edge of the district—simple in appearance, yet strangely isolated from the noise of the market.
Like a children's shelter… but not quite.
At the wooden door, the woman pressed her palms together as if in prayer. A whispered mantra flowed out, forming faint glowing patterns in the air before being absorbed into the door's surface.
The hinges creaked softly.
Warm light spilled outward.
Noah stepped in cautiously.
What he saw made him freeze: dozens of children around his age or slightly older ran between wooden tables, laughing, playing, hugging dolls, or drawing. Pure joy. Not a single face looked distressed or starving like his had been just hours earlier.
Among the lively room, one child spotted Noah at the doorway. His face brightened instantly.
"Hey! A new kid!"
The shout filled the room. Other children turned, curiosity blooming in their eyes.
Noah still stood near the door, confused, awkward—and for the first time since that morning… a little warm inside.