After learning all kinds of things about the doors and how they worked, I decided it was time to go there. I didn't expect it to happen like this, but since the voices already knew what was inside my mind, I was instantly transported.
The sky was painted in strange shades of purple and fading pink, unfamiliar yet mesmerizing. Beneath it lay a vast, frozen land, stretching endlessly into the distance. The world felt empty—silent, cold, and untouched.
Surprisingly, a tower stood behind me. One glance was enough to tell—it was the tower where I would gain the power needed to achieve my goal.
The tower wasn't behind me, but it stood clearly within sight. I laughed and asked the voices if they couldn't just teleport me there.
Silence was the only answer.
After several minutes of walking, I reached the tower. It was crowded with people, most of them lying unconscious. I already understood the reason—during the choosing, contact with the outside world was impossible. This was a realm of angels.
According to the book, all I needed was the will to gain power. I pictured Johan far away from me, then imagined him close again, his arms wrapped around me. Deep down, I knew it was impossible—for now.
And that was when I asked for power.
I was surrounded by a vast sea of shifting light and color. It didn't feel like a place, but a space beyond reality itself—silent, endless, and watching.
A door appeared before me—old, heavy, and worn by time. Its surface was scarred with cracks and rusted metal, as if it had endured countless stories before mine.
When I knocked, silence swallowed everything. The air grew cold, and even time felt distant. A dark aura, edged with white, slowly filled the space around me.
I already knew what that meant.
The Door of Tragedy.
The weakest and most useless door—the one I feared the most. And now, it had chosen me.
A laugh echoed inside my head—low, sharp, and dripping with mockery. It wasn't loud, yet it felt impossibly close, as if it were laughing directly at my despair.
Since I had been chosen by the weakest door, I found myself back in the tower once again. I hadn't lost my humanity—I was alive, still myself.
Around me stood people who weren't. Each of them radiated a unique aura, their presence warped by what they had become. There was no one else bearing a dark aura edged in white.
All eyes turned to me.
Some laughed. Others mocked me openly. A few even went as far as crying for me.
Nothing had changed. The Door of Tragedy offered nothing—just as expected. Still, I followed the voices.
Make money.
I was stunned. I didn't know how money even worked in this world, let alone where I was supposed to start.
The voice, heavy with exhaustion, said, "Don't worry, stupid woman. I've prepared for every possible situation like this."
In a single heartbeat, all the knowledge I needed came rushing to me.
I was no longer Mai Spring. My first name hadn't changed, but now I was Mai Fiarra—the eldest daughter of House Fiarra.
According to the knowledge I had gained about my new identity, despite being the oldest, I was considered the most useless of them all. My door was Tragedy.
Surprisingly, though, I wasn't alone. I had a caring younger sister, and two older brothers.
Our family wasn't particularly wealthy, and apparently, I was running a bakery. It was the best I could do.
For centuries, those who bore the Door of Tragedy had become ordinary workers rather than mages.
For the moment, I was satisfied. I had a loving family and a few friends.
The most shocking thing? One of my friends belonged to a high-ranking family—the holders of the Door of Zenith for centuries. Having a friend who bore the Zenith Door was the best thing I could have ever asked for.
One thing, however, bothered me. My appearance was the same—but this time, I had no memory of how I got that burn.
It seemed even the original Mai Fiarra didn't know the answer.
The voice spoke again, sharp and impatient.
"Get a hold of yourself. And why are you worried about your face? You've had that face for over twenty-six years, stupid woman."
I muttered to myself, "Yeah… I won't let it bother me anymore. After all, he likes it."
The voice said, "Ready or not, I'll send you there now."
"There? What do you mean, there?" I asked.
A bright light blinded me, and when it faded, I found myself inside my bakery. My clothes had changed, and without thinking, I was already performing the tasks I was supposed to—guided by the memories of the original Fiarra.
Ahhh… I didn't know working in a bakery could be this tiring.
The original Fiarra must have been a hard worker, someone loved by everyone—even though she carried a scar like mine.
After a long day of work, I finally closed the bakery and headed to my room. I wasn't even sure if I could call it my room, but I had no choice—I had to use it.
I would do anything… just to see him again.
According to everything I had learned from that book—and all the other knowledge I had gained—I would need at least a Door Level 5 to achieve my goals.
The hardest part, however, was advancing through the Doors. And to make things worse… I had the most useless Door of all, one that no one even bothered to advance, since its base level offered absolutely nothing.
thankfully, my friend Marika Ferran, the holder of the Zenith Door, had already advanced to the fourth level and gained extraordinary abilities.
Not to mention… her wealthy family might already have everything I needed to even advance to the second level of my own Door.
After some time, I realized the voices were gone—and I knew exactly why.
In this world, everyone had voices in their head: the voices of angels, beings who shared their power with each Door holder. According to the book, one could only possess a single Door.
That was when I understood. The voices I had heard before weren't random—they were the power of a Door.
But that raised an impossible question. How could an ordinary human gain a Door without ever undergoing the ritual? And those voices… they could do nearly anything. They were almost omnipotent.
Now, however, as the holder of the Door of Tragedy, I hadn't heard a single voice anymore—
other than my own, lost in overthinking.
To advance to the next Door, I would need a large quantity of demonic blood, royal blood, and an artifact that embodied Tragedy itself—a combination meant for no ordinary human.
I decided I should sleep for now and think about it tomorrow. After all… I didn't have any abilities. I was just a human.
The moment I sank into my bed, a strange sound reached my ears, coming from the ground floor. At first, I thought it was just the wind… but then I realized: it wasn't.
Footsteps.
And they were unlike anything I'd ever heard. Heavy, deliberate, and unnatural—each step seemed to shake the very foundation of the house. The pressure reverberated through the walls, making the floorboards groan beneath it. Even the glasses in the cupboards rattled violently, and a few shattered, scattering shards across the room.
My heart raced. Whoever—or whatever—was moving down there was far from human.