The portals that open in our world are often completely unpredictable. Over time, however, certain patterns have been identified in how they appear. No one ever truly learned what those structures are made of or how they function. But apparently, they are composed of pure light, and they remain the only known means of passage between our world and the one named "Tartarus".

  I am not saying this because the subject interests me. I am only repeating it, like an animal learning to adapt, what the commander insisted on explaining to us for an entire hour.

  Our main objective, at least at first, was simple. We would once again be escorted by Officer Llewelyn Ford to one of the portals that had opened in that region. No extra details, no specifications, no excessive explanations.

  I would not say their simplicity irritated me. But the lack of purpose did. It almost felt… intentional.

  We had just departed. The dark sky grew heavier as we entered the trail leading toward the portal we were supposed to reach.

  Snowflakes began to fall, intensifying the cold of the night. The snow, strangely dense, weighed on the atmosphere, creating a sense of isolation, as if we were sinking into an unknown sea.

  A deeply melancholic mood.

  There were four guards mounted on horseback surrounding us, serving as extra protection. Aside from that, Ford was the only officer present, handling the horses that pulled the caravan.

  At first glance, it felt like a suicide mission.

  Heading toward an active portal with four low-ranking guards and only one of medium rank sounded ridiculous. The other slaves and I questioned it, and were immediately told that although the portal was active, it had shown no anomalies or constant crossings in recent days.

  Using calculations and estimations, they predicted there would be no issue using this one for the mission.

  I do not understand mathematics—i had to learn how to add numbers on the street. But that explanation did not sound very reliable to me.

  Still, it is not like my opinion mattered anyway.

  Everyone there was completely at the mercy of the situation. All that remained was to believe what they told us.

  I lay down and brought my forearms over my head, already accepting that this would be my reality from now on.

  "Applicable punishment… death." I repeated in a low voice.

  It was not that the message no longer appeared before my eyes. At that moment, I could not even see it. Like a warning that knew it had been understood and no longer needed to return.

  Even so, something kept bothering me.

  "Tsk." I closed my eyes.

  Those warnings had not been heard or seen by anyone else. They existed only for me, within my own perception. Which meant they were not part of the world. They did not depend on sight or sound.

  Then… they must depend on attention.

  I tried something simple. I did not think about the words or repeat the phrase. I only focused on the place where it had appeared, as if staring into the emptiness behind my closed eyelids. For a moment, nothing happened. No pain, no new pressure. Just the night's cold seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes and the distant creaking of the caravan in motion.

  I thought it had been paranoia.

  Then the sensation returned. Not as strong as before. Not suffocating. Just… present.

  Not in my body. In me.

  It was a vague, incomplete presence, like an idea that had not yet found words. When I tried to "look" at it, nothing appeared. No image, no sound, no outline. Only the unsettling feeling that I was no longer whole.

  It did not react to my thoughts or respond to my will. It did not even seem conscious. The more I focused, the clearer it became that it did not respond to commands. It did not obey. It did not "activate".

  It was like holding an egg in my hands without knowing whether something alive existed inside. Too much force could break it. Too much neglect could let it die. Even so, there was the uneasy certainty that, at some point, it would knock from within.

  A faint knock. Almost a reflex.

  Then "it" vanished into the darkness. As if it were not the right time to awaken yet. Not ready.

  Or perhaps… I was the one who was not ready.

  Was this the so-called "mark" they kept talking about. Just a hypothesis—but the sensation fit too well to be ignored.

  Determined to continue, I focused even harder. Not expecting an answer. Only a reaction.

  Then something answered.

  I opened my eyes immediately.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The world had not changed. The caravan kept moving, the cold remained, the wood continued to creak. Whatever that was, it was not outside.

  I closed my eyes again.

  It remained, unchanged. As if it were waiting for an order.

  Thinking that, I forced my attention toward it.

  Then something new responded.

  The air seemed to vanish for a second.

  The lines appeared one after another, without transition, without warning, as if they had always been there and I had only just noticed.

  My heart raced too late.

  "What the hell!?"

  My body reacted before my thoughts. A sharp jolt, as if something had yanked me out of myself.

  I sat up abruptly, the bench creaking far too loudly for the silence inside the caravan.

  Heads turned almost at the same time.

  Nine pairs of eyes stared at me, some confused, others clearly irritated. One of them even brought a hand to his chest, as if expecting an attack.

  It took me a second to realize where I was. The cold, the snow, the road. Nothing had changed. Nothing outside me, at least.

  I swallowed and looked away.

  "Uh… sorry."

  Smiles spread across their faces. Then laughter. Loud, raw, uncontrolled.

  "What the hell was that supposed to be?"

  "You jumped like you were stabbed."

  "Hahaha— did you wet yourself?"

  "And here I thought this one was special."

  "Special how? He can't even sleep without panicking."

  "This is the guy who said he'd escape?"

  "Yeah. In his dreams."

  "Leave him alone." Another said. "After today, anyone sleeping peacefully would be a miracle."

  I rubbed my head while watching them laugh until Ford pressed them back into order from outside.

  That embarrassment did not matter now. What mattered was what I had seen when I closed my eyes.

  That had not come from sleep.

  I lay down again, determined to explore the roots of that ability more deeply. If Tartarus was truly that dangerous, I needed to understand what I had to master right now.

  As expected, it was still there. Unmoving.

  Unchanged. Like something that does not alter without external incentive.

  Strangely, something bothered me as I stared at those specifications. It was not curiosity or surprise. It was something… else.

  Discomfort. I stared at it for too long.

  Not because it was beautiful or complex. But because… it did not make sense.

  Name… empty. Title… empty. Path… I did not even know what it was supposed to mean, but… empty.

  A very clear pattern formed within those static fields.

  I know this was supposed to be the beginning, but… There is nothing. It is too empty.

  At least nothing truly important, I think. The only things registered were my "grade", possibly my current level of power with the curse, and my… occupation. That was useless for now.

  I breathed in deeply.

  It remained there. The same as before. Not reacting to my discomfort, my frustration, or the way I stared at it as if I could force meaning out of it.

  But maybe… that was the point.

  If that was a reflection, not of what I could become, but of what I was, then there was no error there.

  Not because something had been taken from me.

  But because there had never been anything to begin with.

  The realization did not hurt the way I expected. It was not a shock or a cruel revelation. It was simply… coherent. Like looking at a cracked mirror and realizing the problem is not the reflection, but what you are trying to see.

  I had no history, no direction, no real choices long before I ever arrived here.

  So why should it show anything different.

  Before I could finish that thought, something struck.

  A pulse. Sudden and dry, as if someone had tapped my insides with a finger and pulled away instantly.

  It had responded.

  There was no longer any way to pretend it was coincidence or exhaustion. My thoughts had been heard. Not by the world around me. Not by someone outside.

  But by something inside me.

  The mark...?

  The moment that conclusion formed, the image returned for an instant.

  The inner darkness tore open, and I saw that indistinct thing again, wrapped in silence. A fragile outline, closed in on itself. An egg. Not physical, not real, but present. Contained.

  Then… it vanished.

  As if it should not be observed for too long.

  Before I could try to reach it again, the vision changed completely.

  Something new overlaid the previous information, emerging with a clarity that made me hold my breath.