The next day, a crowd of exhausted survivors gathered in front of the mess hall. People stood shoulder to shoulder, silent or whispering fragments of fearful sentences. The air was thick with dread—tangible, like fog. Here and there came hushed voices: terrified questions about the Gate, bitter remarks about the injustice of it all. Some clenched their fists in helpless anger, but most stood with slumped shoulders and eyes fixed on the ground, lost in grim resignation. No one wanted to be chosen, yet few had the courage to volunteer for a journey into the unknown.

  Three officials stepped onto the concrete ptform in front of the hall, dressed in clean, dark uniforms. They were accompanied by armed guards with stern faces. The murmurs fell quiet as the oldest official—a tall man with a cold gaze—raised his hand. Silence fell, tense and heavy.

  "You all know why you’re here," he began, voice loud and clear. "A new Gate has opened on the outskirts. It must be explored and secured. For that, we need volunteers."

  A ripple of unrest passed through the crowd. Volunteers? In times like these, when survival was a daily battle, who would willingly walk into near-certain death?

  The official continued, his voice ft and formal. He announced that the Council had promised generous rewards to those who entered the Gate: extra food rations, better housing, and safety for their families. But the words felt hollow. People exchanged knowing gnces. Promises meant little if you didn’t return.

  "We need five volunteers," the official decred, scanning the crowd. His piercing gaze moved from face to face like a searchlight.

  No one moved.

  Silence. Only a cough from the back broke the stillness.

  Seconds passed like an eternity. Still, no one stepped forward. Here and there came muffled sobs or anxious whispers. Someone near the back murmured, "Why don’t they go themselves? Why not send the army?"—only to be silenced by a sharp gesture, as a guard shot a warning gre toward the voice.

  The official pressed his lips into a thin line. "If no one volunteers," he said coolly, raising a box filled with slips of paper, "we will proceed to random selection. Five individuals will be chosen."

  The crowd tensed, frozen in dread, like animals sensing a predator’s approach.

  Ren stood near the front, his heart pounding. Beside him, Kazik stood stiffly, face grim. Ren gnced at the faces around him—wide-eyed fear, bitter fury. A few steps away, he spotted the young woman and her little boy—the same pair he'd defended from the guards the day before. She held the child tightly, as if her arms alone could shield him from the world. Ren’s stomach twisted. What if she was chosen?

  The official pulled out the first name. Slowly, ceremoniously, he read aloud: "Magdalena Wilk!"

  The name echoed across the square. A gasp came from the left. The young mother jolted as if struck by lightning. Her face turned pale.

  She gripped her son’s shoulders. "No... no, there’s a mistake!" she whimpered, voice breaking with despair. The boy cried loudly, clinging to her legs. "Mommy, don’t go!"

  Two neighbors watched, horrified, but did nothing. A guard stepped forward. "Step out of the line!" he barked when she didn’t move. She seemed rooted in pce. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "Please, I have a child! He’s too young... please don’t take me!" she sobbed, shielding her son like a mother hen protecting her chick. Some in the crowd turned away. Others stared, their fury masked by fear.

  Ren felt the blood drain from his face. His heart pounded in his ears. And then—something inside him broke. That image—the desperate mother, the crying child—merged with another: his own mother screaming for him to protect Hania, his sister being torn from his grasp by a monster.

  Anger and sorrow surged in him.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped forward.

  "Stop! I... I volunteer!"

  His voice rang out, clear and firm. Heads turned. The guard gripping the woman’s arm hesitated.

  "I’ll take her pce! Let her go!"

  He felt Kazik grab his arm, whispering harshly, "Ren, no..."

  Ren ignored him. Another step forward.

  "Did you hear me?! I’ll go!"

  A stunned silence followed. For a moment, no one believed someone had actually volunteered.

  The senior official narrowed his eyes, then nodded to the guards. "Stop the drawing. We have a volunteer."

  Reluctantly, the guard released the woman. She colpsed to her knees, clutching her son as tears flowed. Ren walked toward the ptform, feeling every eye on him—disbelief, admiration, pity. Maybe even scorn. His chest tightened with fear, but there was a strange calm inside him. The choice had been made. That child wouldn’t be left alone.

  A stir nearby. Someone else stepped forward.

  Kazik—pale, jaw tight—followed Ren.

  "I’m going too," he said hoarsely. His eyes were terrified, but resolute.

  The official blinked in surprise. Two volunteers? That wasn’t expected. A murmur swept the crowd.

  Ren stared at his friend in shock. Their eyes met. Kazik nodded, silent but firm: You’re not going alone.

  "Fine," the official muttered. "Two volunteers. Three names left."

  Without further theatrics, he resumed drawing names.

  "Stanis?aw Krawiec." An elderly man with trembling hands leaned on his son and slowly made his way forward.

  "Karolina Matuszak." A pale woman sobbed as her neighbors helped her step ahead.

  "Dominik Zaj?c." A teenage boy at the back screamed, "No! This can’t be real!" He tried to retreat, but two guards grabbed him and dragged him forward despite his sobs. The official didn’t flinch—just marked names on his list.

  Soon, the chosen five stood together, surrounded by guards. A heavy silence gripped the square. People stared like they were watching a funeral procession. Some began to slip away. Others stood frozen. Quiet weeping echoed.

  Ren’s hands trembled. He gnced at the mother and her child—she was kneeling, holding the boy tightly, tears streaking her face. Her eyes met his. In them—relief, and silent gratitude. She csped her hands in a gesture of prayer. Ren gave a faint nod. For that moment alone, the risk was worth it.

  At the edge of the crowd stood Mrs. Irena—the old neighbor who had known him since childhood. Tears streaked her wrinkled face. She raised trembling hands, making the sign of the cross. Others avoided his gaze, as if already mourning him.

  A voice from the back whispered, "God help them..."

  No one objected. There was nothing more they could do.

  Ren inhaled deeply, eyes lifted to the sky where the sun was setting. His fingers clutched the pendant from his mother—the only thing he had left of her.

  As the guards led the five away, the crowd parted. Kazik walked beside Ren, brow furrowed, eyes wet. Ren felt sweat on his back, a knot of cold in his gut. But he raised his head high.

  He was afraid—terrified—but he knew this was right. He wasn’t that helpless boy anymore. Now, he had chosen to face the unknown.

  There was no turning back.

  As the square faded behind them, silence followed—heavy with pain, fury, and powerlessness.

  Soon, the five stood before the Gate—a gaping tear in reality, rimmed with flickering violet light.

  Ren swallowed, staring into the bck maw. A Gate just like the one that took his family. And now he would walk into it willingly.

  His knees trembled. Yet inside, he felt an eerie calm. He looked around—Kazik, pale but determined, gripping a kitchen cleaver. The others clutched makeshift weapons: a metal rod, a knife, a stick. That was all they had. A few soldiers watched from a distance.

  "You’ll go in, check for survivors, locate the Gate’s core. Then return," said an officer. He didn’t even pretend to believe they’d survive. "Good luck."

  The words rang like mockery.

  Then: "Enter!"

  The old man stepped in first, disappearing silently into the rift. Then the woman and the boy—he had to be nudged by guards.

  Ren looked at Kazik.

  "Together?" his friend asked.

  "Together," Ren confirmed.

  They stepped forward as one, into the Gate’s darkness.

  Cold nothingness swallowed them. Ren felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. The world spun.

  Then—solid ground. He stumbled forward and caught his breath.

  They were inside the Gate.

  A grim forest surrounded them. Tall, gnarled trees stretched into a sky of unnatural purple. The air was damp, thick, reeking of rot and a sickly-sweet stench that turned the stomach. Not a sound—no birds, no insects. As if the pce itself were dead.

  Ren turned. Behind them, between two charred trunks, the Gate shimmered—a warped, translucent curtain. A way back... for now.

  "Everyone okay?" Kazik whispered. They nodded, voices stilled by fear. They huddled together.

  "Which way do we go?" the woman asked, voice shaking.

  No one had an answer. There were no signs in this world.

  Slowly, the group moved between the trees, staying close. Ren held his crowbar tightly, ready to strike at the first sign of movement.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  After several minutes of trudging through the bleak forest, they stumbled upon their first sign of tragedy.

  At the foot of one of the twisted trees y a body cd in military uniform. A dead soldier—one of those who had entered earlier. His lifeless eyes stared bnkly at the ominous sky, and his chest had been grotesquely torn open. The frozen terror on his face said everything about the fate of the previous expedition.

  "Dear God..." the old man rasped, turning away and making the sign of the cross in the air. The teenage boy recoiled, pale as a sheet. His lips quivered; he seemed on the verge of a silent breakdown.

  Ren’s stomach knotted. He fought down a wave of nausea as he stared at the dried blood and shredded scraps of uniform. That could’ve been his father... his mother...

  He shut his eyes. Stop. Focus.

  As if on cue, a deep, guttural growl echoed through the trees—a predator’s warning, sensing prey.

  "What was that?" the woman whispered, raising her shaking hand and gripping her wooden club.

  A sharp snap of a branch cracked through the darkness.

  "Something's out there..." Kazik croaked, shining his fshlight toward the sound.

  The beam caught a glint—eyes in the dark. Yellow. Gleaming. Then another pair. And a third. Ren’s heart stopped for a heartbeat… then smmed into overdrive.

  "Run..." the old man managed to whisper, taking a step back.

  Too te.

  The first beast burst from the right, charging the weakest in the group—the teenage boy. The kid turned to flee, but the creature was faster. A scream rang out, cut short by a sickening thud as his body hit the ground. Before anyone could react, the monster sank its fangs into the boy’s throat. Blood sprayed across the forest floor.

  "No!" the woman screamed, stumbling backward and crashing into Ren, nearly knocking him over.

  Two more creatures emerged from the left, fnking the remaining survivors. They looked just like the monsters from Ren’s nightmares—ravenous shadows with bestial eyes and cws primed to rip flesh.

  They growled low and circled, savoring the fear.

  Ren backed up until his spine hit a tree, dragging Kazik with him. The old man stood frozen, whispering a prayer under his breath. The woman colpsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrolbly.

  One of the beasts lunged.

  Its cws tore through the old man’s chest before he could even scream. Blood sprayed as the body crumpled to the ground.

  The second creature crept closer—its eyes fixed on Ren.

  Panic surged. But something deep within screamed louder. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Not this time.

  The beast howled and leapt.

  Ren roared back, raising his crowbar in both hands.

  And swung.