We stopped when the trail grew too narrow to keep moving in the dark.

  Nothing was announced. The horses simply slowed down, and Ford raised his hand in silence. The caravan obeyed as if it had been expecting this all along.

  A short rest. Long enough to eat, drink something warm, and move again before dawn. Some sat near the wheels. Others chose to remain standing, as if lying down were a luxury they couldn't afford. The sound of dry bread breaking echoed softly, mixed with the wind cutting through the trees.

  I stepped away a little. Not out of suspicion. Just… habit.

  I leaned my back against the trunk of a tree and closed my eyes.

  ?—— ?? Aspects ?? ——?

  Name:『???』

  Title:『—』

  Path:『—』

  Occupation:『Marked』

  Grade:『Newly-Awakened (F)』

  There it was again.

  Motionless. Too clear to be imagination. Too stable to be a dream.

  F… Newly-awakened… I thought to myself.

  "So this is the bottom of the pit…" I murmured.

  If it worked the way I imagined, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. F didn't sound like a beginning — it sounded like leftovers. The lowest grade possible. The point you start at because there is no lower option.

  Which, honestly, fit me perfectly. And it was expected.

  Newly-awakened also felt too straightforward to hide any double meaning. Again, something simple to link together. It was literally the state I — and the other Marked — were in at that moment.

  "Mm-hm…"

  The Occupation field still bothered me.

  Not because of the word itself, but because of the sensation that I should understand it — like a word stuck at the tip of your tongue that refuses to come out.

  "Mm-hm…"

  Maybe it was tied to what I was now. Not who I had been, nor who I wanted to be. Just the role I had been given.

  "Mm-hm—"

  "Hey."

  The voice came from outside, abrupt, tearing my attention away like someone yanking a curtain.

  I opened my eyes on reflex.

  One of the Marked was there, crouched near the improvised fire, staring at me with a slight frown.

  "You alright?" he asked.

  It took me a second longer than usual to answer. My mind was still stuck on that invisible screen, trying to force pieces together that refused to fit.

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He hesitated. Then glanced to the side.

  Some of the others were watching. Two of them were quietly laughing. Another discreetly mimicked a nodding motion. Up and down.

  "Well… he scratched the back of his neck — you've been sitting there for a while. Mumbling to yourself."

  Silence.

  That's when it clicked.

  "Oh."

  It should have made sense sooner. To them, I wasn't analyzing anything. There were no screens, no specifications, no grades. Just a guy sitting in the dark, staring at nothing and agreeing with it.

  I lingered on that thought longer than I should have. Something in what he said felt off.

  "So…" I raised my eyes back to him. "What exactly is a hallucinogen?"

  The conversation died there.

  Not because it was awkward — that was already standard — but because no one really had the energy to keep anything going for long.

  The fire crackled softly. The smell of simple food mixed with the cold, and that alone already felt like a luxury.

  I watched the others more closely this time. Not as a group, but as people.

  The food was simple. Hard. Almost tasteless. Still, no one complained.

  "So…" the talkative one broke the silence, holding his piece of bread like it was something precious. "Anyone here ever crossed a portal before?"

  No one answered right away.

  "I've seen one," the youngest said — the same one who had spoken to me earlier. "From far away. In the city. It shone so bright it hurt to look at."

  "Seeing doesn't count," the talkative one laughed. "Crossing is another story."

  "So you've crossed one, then?" someone asked. "Me?" he pointed at himself, indignant. "If I had crossed one, I wouldn't be here eating this."

  For a moment, everyone laughed. Some short. Some nervous.

  The older man finally spoke, without lifting his head.

  "A cousin of mine was in the army."

  At that, everyone looked at him. Including me.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  "He was one of the soldiers trained for exploration. I was there when he entered that strange structure. The portal."

  He paused. Just long enough for everyone to breathe.

  "So…?" someone asked.

  "I never saw him again."

  The atmosphere grew heavy. Everyone questioning the purpose of the operation. If even trained soldiers couldn't survive in that place, why did they think we would?

  The hooded boy approached with firewood, tossed it into the flames, and spoke for the first time. His voice was low—firm.

  "Marked last longer. Or at least that's what the officers say."

  "'Can' is a dangerous word," someone commented.

  "But it's better than nothing," the talkative one replied too quickly. "I mean… if we got this mark, it has to be good for something, right?"

  Some nodded. Others looked away.

  "It works," the bearded man said. "Just doesn't guarantee you'll survive long enough to understand how."

  "Understand" was the word that lingered.

  I frowned, still staring at the fire.

  If he spoke like someone who had seen something similar, then… it wasn't just a feeling. Not just fear. Maybe it was the same as me.

  I swallowed.

  "Hey…" my voice came out lower than I expected.

  Some looked at me. Others kept messing with their food.

  "You guys…" I stopped for a moment, choosing my words. "Can you see… something?"

  "See what?" the talkative one asked, confused.

  "When you close your eyes," I added. "Or even without closing them."

  Silence.

  A strange silence. Too dense to ignore.

  "Man…" the younger one scratched his neck. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

  I took a deep breath.

  "Something appears," I said. "Words, information... Like a screen."

  For a second, no one reacted.

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No."

  "Shit…" one of the Marked muttered. "I thought that was just in my head."

  "Wait," another raised his hand, frowning. "You're saying… you guys see that too?"

  "That what?" the hooded boy asked.

  "The letters," the younger one replied. "The name, grade... That stuff."

  The bearded man lifted his gaze for the first time. "So it wasn't just me."

  The talkative one's eyes widened.

  "Hold on, hold on…" he pointed around. "You're all serious?"

  "I saw it," someone confirmed. "It just appeared."

  "Same here," another said. "Thought I was losing it."

  "Nothing happened to me," a third argued, confused. "I just felt… I don't know, a weight."

  "Then it did happen," the hooded boy replied. "Just not the same way."

  The talkative one dragged a hand down his face.

  "This isn't a coincidence…" he muttered. "There's no way."

  I closed my eyes, and there it was. I could access it now without effort. The others just watched me like someone who had already learned how to handle it.

  "Speaking of that…" I said. "All the occupations are listed as Marked, right?"

  Everyone nodded.

  "So… what about your Grades?"

  One by one, the answers came.

  "F."

  "F too."

  "Newly-awakened."

  When it got to me, I hesitated for half a second.

  "Same."

  No one seemed surprised.

  "Great," the talkative one forced a crooked smile. "All at the bottom of the pit. At least we're together."

  "That's not comfort," the hooded boy replied, without lifting his gaze. "That's statistics."

  "Meh. Still true," he shrugged. "A toast to the futureless."

  He raised his cup of warm water like it was wine. No one followed, but the gesture was enough.

  A few laughs slipped out. Short. The kind that exist only to keep silence from winning.

  "Tsk. Shut up, man!" the older one grumbled, pushing his food with the spoon. "Just hearing that makes me sick. I've got a wife and kids waiting at home."

  There was no anger in his tone. Just exhaustion.

  "What's your name?" someone asked.

  "Darien," he replied. "If I get out of here alive, I'm quitting all of this. Portals, army, government… I'm going home. Even if I have to live in hiding."

  "You'll become an urban legend," the talkative one laughed. "'The man who spat in Tartarus'."

  "Laugh," Darien said. "I just want to sleep in my own bed again."

  "I'm Ilen," the hooded boy said at last. "No plan. Just… surviving is enough."

  "Rafe," the talkative one said, thumping his chest. "And if I make it out, I'm drinking until I forget this ever happened."

  The names surfaced like that. Without ceremony. As if saying who they were was a weak, but honest, way to remember they still existed.

  I listened to all of them. Kept some. Lost others to the crackling fire and the night.

  When the food started to run out, something began to bother me again.

  "Hey…" I said, almost without meaning to. Your penitence will begin. The phrase echoed clearly in my memory.

  "Do you guys know what… penitence means?"

  Some looked at me.

  "Penitence?" Rafe tried. "Like punishment?"

  "Prison?" Ilen suggested.

  "Never heard it," Darien shook his head. "Is that some soldier term?"

  I frowned.

  "That's strange…" I murmured.

  "What?" Rafe asked.

  "Nothing," I replied too quickly. "Probably just my imagination."

  They accepted it easily. Too easily.

  The conversation drifted after that. Someone complained about the cold. Another about the rations. The topic died there, buried under more immediate concerns.

  I let it die.

  Maybe out of exhaustion. Maybe out of fear of looking strange again. Or maybe because, in that moment, I truly believed it wasn't important. The fire was put out little by little, until only a faint glow remained in the embers. The snow kept falling. Thin. Persistent. Covering whatever had been there before.

  Or trying to.

  I stepped away a few paces as the others organized themselves. Not out of curiosity — instinct.

  That's when I saw them.

  Marks on the ground.

  Not deep. Not recent. The marks were uneven, scattered without any clear pattern. Too vague to be identified — the kind of thing the mind prefers to ignore.

  As if whatever had passed through… didn't want to leave tracks.

  The snow was already swallowing the edges, softening everything. If I blinked, I might miss it. Maybe no one else would notice.

  I looked around.

  The trees were still. No sound beyond the wind. No strange scent. No obvious presence.

  "Move out!" Ford called from afar.

  I stepped away from the marks without saying anything. Not by choice. I simply… couldn't find the words.

  The Marked climbed back into the caravan. One by one. Rafe cracked another weak joke. Darien adjusted his coat, staring at the sky for too long. Ilen stayed silent.

  When I sat down, I pulled my arms close to my body.

  The wood creaked again. The horses moved. The trail swallowed our old footprints.

  And, not long after, the new ones too.

  The caravan moved forward. All together. Without looking back.

  Toward the inevitable.