"Nate, get moving or we'll miss everything," Dad called out while I was still wrestling with my pants. Mom wanted to help, but I was proud enough to dress myself, thank you very much. Shoelaces, though — yeah, those still beat me. Had to let Mom handle that one.

  Once I was finally dressed, Dad hoisted me up onto his broad shoulders like he always did, and we hurried toward the central square of Daiward. It's a small, rundown little town on the outer ring of the Great Spiral, and honestly the only thing it has going for it is the factory where Dad works.

  I barely remembered the last Reckoning Day. The only thing that stuck was the sheer number of people. Same deal this time — we had to shove our way through this ocean of bodies.

  I'd never seen so many people in my life. Felt like the entire world had crammed itself into Daiward.

  "Dad! Dad! Where'd they all come from?!"

  "The surrounding villages," he said. "Akhon himself is coming this year — the provincial governor!"

  I had no clue who that was, though I'd heard the name a couple of times. Didn't matter anyway. That's not why I was here. Every few years, the Spiral Lords — people sometimes call them the Great Celestial Lords — pick ten lucky souls to ascend to the very top of the Celestial Spiral. They become apostles of the Lords, heroes who guard the world, carry the Lords' word across every celestial ring, and crush demons crawling up from the lower rings. That sort of thing.

  Being chosen is the highest honor there is. Every kid born in the free worlds dreams of becoming an apostle someday — a chosen genius whose power the all-knowing Lords recognized and lifted up.

  But I was way too young to think I had a shot. The chosen ones are usually between fifteen and twenty. Like every other kid, I was here for something else entirely. In our town, Reckoning Day meant a real festival — acrobats, magicians, bards spinning wild tales about the worlds and heroes of the Celestial Spiral.

  What could possibly be better than stuffing your face with treats and listening to amazing stories? Maybe this year there'd even be a shadow theater! But all that came later. First — the official part.

  A special stone tribune had been built in the square for the occasion. Lined up in front of it stood neat rows of students from the Crimson Retribution Academy, the biggest school around here, the place that trains young people to one day try their luck at being chosen.

  We ended up pretty far from the front, but Dad was tall, and I was sitting on his shoulders, so I could see everything just fine.

  When a plain-looking, gray-haired man in long dark robes appeared, the crowd erupted. Was that him? The governor? He smiled at the noise and gestured for everyone to quiet down.

  He gave some kind of speech, but I wasn't really listening. Mostly I was thinking about food. Like a honey-glazed apple... I got so lost in that thought I nearly missed the moment one of the Eternals showed up.

  Or rather — one of her.

  One second there was nothing, and the next, light flared above the tribune and this enormous woman appeared — easily fifteen feet tall, made entirely of metal. My lips went dry just looking at her. Even though she was artificial, the Eternal was beautiful, graceful, draped in a long dress that matched her silver metallic skin. How could something so beautiful and so impossible exist at the same time?

  The crowd went dead silent. Some people hunched their shoulders. She swept those glowing blue eyes — like two chips of ice — over the assembly and smiled.

  Warm and gentle.

  "Greetings, aspirants who have chosen to walk the Spiral and become apostles of the Spiral Lords. I am Delarael, and I have come to select the worthy — and to punish those who have earned punishment. Well then... I see worthy ones among you, and they are: Yumal Airigot, Sarizim Feitau..."

  She read out names, mostly students from the Academy. Each one stepped forward, struck their fist against their chest, then moved aside.

  "Lucky bastard," someone in the crowd muttered.

  "You deserve it!"

  "Make Daiward proud!"

  "Twenty-three this year..." Dad shook his head, and unlike the cheers around us, there was no joy in his voice. "Too many."

  I frowned, not understanding, but Delarael had already moved on to the next part of the ceremony.

  "My congratulations to the aspirants. You will become heroes, just like all who came before you. And to those who were not selected — don't lose heart. Grow stronger, and perhaps next year fortune will smile on you," the Eternal said in that same cheerful, bright little voice. "Now, let us move to the less pleasant part. Ten criminals, vicious lawbreakers who poison our society! They will be sent to hell, to suffer for their sins!"

  That's where I tuned out. Who cares who's going to suffer? And I probably wouldn't even see any of them in this crowd. Criminals don't show up voluntarily. But it doesn't matter — they say their presence isn't required. They get dragged to hell either way.

  Just like with the chosen, the Eternal began reading names.

  Thieves, rapists, murderers — they all deserved it.

  That's what I thought as the Eternal read through the list. And not just me — everyone there thought the same. They could practically feel their society being purged of scum and filth. They applauded every name, shouting that they got what was coming to them.

  "Nathaniel Crane."

  My heart lurched. That was my name.

  But no. It couldn't be. I wasn't a criminal. I was just a kid whose worst offense was an unmade bed and the little pranks I pulled sometimes. I couldn't be sent to hell.

  It's just a coincidence. We just have the same name.

  Dad didn't stick around the square. But the news spread through town fast, and by the end of the day everyone knew — the five-year-old boy from house number four was condemned.

  The chosen and the condemned are both given exactly seven days to settle their affairs: say goodbye to loved ones, take care of last business. But the chosen at least have a choice — they can refuse to become aspirants, refuse to step through the portal that appears in the center of town when the time's up. They'd be closing the door to the inner rings and real power forever, but still — the choice exists. The condemned get no such luxury. After seven days, demons drag them to hell no matter where they are. They don't need to come to the square. They don't even need to know they've been condemned. The demons will find them regardless. You could hide at the edge of the world and the result would be the same. For that same reason, no one's allowed to touch a condemned person — let them enjoy their last days.

  That week flew by, and all I remember from it is pure terror.

  My parents kept telling me I couldn't possibly be condemned, but their eyes and smiles had changed since that day. I could read the unspoken question in them — what could I have done? What might I do in the future? Because the Eternals don't make mistakes. The Great Spiral Lords wouldn't send a child to hell without damn good reason.

  I didn't leave the house that whole week, but even so, I could feel the hatred seeping in from the outside. Every morning, Dad found rotten vegetables at the door. One night, a rock came flying through my bedroom window.

  Unlike the Eternals, denizens of the lower rings prefer to arrive quietly. No fanfare, no speeches. A portal just opens under your feet, and strong hands drag you to the other side.

  It happened to me in my sleep. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my parents. I just woke up to something powerful pulling me down. I looked and saw a hideous thing — like a worm made of hundreds and hundreds of hands. It dragged me through the space between worlds, then spat me out into the domain of Ramuil.

  I hadn't even recovered from the shock when a fat, grotesque demon covered in boils appeared in front of me. Without a word, the disgusting thing grabbed me by the throat, lifted me up, and looked me over, ignoring my pathetic attempts to break free.

  A moment later, he tossed me in with the rest of them — other condemned souls, just as scared, just as lost, just as hopeless.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  There were a lot of them. At least two hundred. Men and women, young and old, but I was the only child. They led us to a huge open arena ringed by spectator stands. In the center lay a pile of weapons, and one of the demons pointed at it and told us to arm ourselves. People started grabbing swords, spears — and I figured I shouldn't fall behind. I'd have better chances with a weapon.

  Stupid kid. I actually thought I had any chances at all.

  I ended up with a small dagger — rusty and dull, but better than nothing. The swords were too heavy for me.

  But like I said — I was stupid.

  And that day, I died for the first time. A horrible, agonizing death — gutted and left to bleed out on the sand. Lying there in the middle of the slaughter, I prayed for death to come quicker, but it took its sweet time.

  Long minutes that felt like eternity...

  But death does come eventually — it just doesn't stick. On the twelfth ring of the Spiral, there's no death in the usual sense. People, demons... they don't die there without Ramuil's will.

  That first year was probably the hardest. I was weak, useless, and all I could do was die. A couple of times I got lucky enough to survive long enough to hide under the corpses of other fighters. If I could stay hidden until the horn sounded, they'd send me back to the cage with the other prisoners. But that was rare. Most of the time I was killed in the first few minutes. Sometimes even by "allies" who figured it was kinder to kill me quick and clean than let the gladiator-demons torture me slowly.

  The fights happened every day. Sometimes two or three times if Ramuil was bored or had guests over.

  Prisoners were kept in miserable conditions. We ate scraps — when we were lucky, because the demons often forgot to feed us. We couldn't die of starvation, but the hunger never went away. Cannibalism among the prisoners was just how things were, and of course, who made a better meal than me?

  Until that point, it had never crossed my mind that a human could eat another human.

  Day after day. Year after year. Death after death.

  Though it wasn't all horror. Survive a hundred fights, kill at least two hundred demons — and you become a warrior of the arena. Even the demons respect those. There aren't many, and they get houses, women, good food, and whatever other luxuries this ring has to offer. All because they're strong fighters.

  Sounds simple? In practice, damn near impossible. At least for someone like me. The counter resets the moment you die even once. And there can only be twenty free warriors at a time, so someone has to make room and go back to being a slave. That means anyone getting close to the finish line gets killed by those very same brave warriors. They do it in groups, just to be sure.

  So that was my life — stuck in this godforsaken shithole the Spiral Lords had forgotten about. And then I found out there was a way out. Ramuil's right hand, Sangranir, had a sword called the Soul Devourer. Anyone killed by it didn't come back. They brought him the ones who'd lost themselves — empty, mindless meat that couldn't fight, couldn't even think.

  "Everyone ends up like that eventually," one of the condemned told me once. "Sooner or later."

  Over the years I grew older, stronger, but it wasn't enough. No matter how hard I fought, no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't get close to those hundred wins. And then I met him. Mirion.

  I remember the day I first saw him like it was yesterday. White robes, a proud bearing, long gray hair and beard. He looked like one of the Spiral Lords come down to the lower ring to save humanity. But I was wrong. He was condemned, same as the rest of us — no savior at all. And yet, he was different.

  Later I learned he really had been a mighty warrior once. The Cutting Blade of the Morning Mist — that's what they called him back home. Third Step of Ascension. When I heard that, I nearly choked with excitement, because that should have made him as strong as Ramuil himself. But it was a premature hope.

  He'd been stripped of his power.

  I don't know what crimes he committed — he never talked about it — but the Spiral Lords had burned out his meridians and sent him here.

  He became my teacher. Practically a second father.

  He showed me the path to strength — and not just me, anyone willing to learn. But I was the one he chose as his true student.

  For decades we fought side by side, turned a handful of wretches into something resembling an army. Tactics, formations. We fought the arena demons with growing confidence and lost fewer people every time. "The Army of Celestial Hope" — that's what he called us. Ramuil didn't like that. He realized the arena fights were turning from entertaining spectacles into something dangerous. A rebellion.

  My teacher was too overconfident.

  They executed him right in front of me with the Soul Devourer.

  And I was alone again. My attempts to carry on what he'd built led nowhere. Without an extraordinary leader, tactician, and master of combat, everything fell apart. The Army of Celestial Hope splintered into petty factions where everyone wanted to play spiral general.

  And me?

  I kept fighting. Alone now, carrying everything Mirion had given me. His techniques, his ideals...

  And so more than a hundred years passed.

  It was a battle of equals, the kind whose power could wipe cities off the map. And I was one of those warriors.

  Thousands upon thousands of bone blades materialized in the air, crashing down on Ramuil like a giant tsunami. But the lord of the twelfth ring was no pushover. A flash — and half the blades dissolved into nothing. He destroyed them with a single sweep of his hand.

  I shot into the air, rocketing straight at him. He swept his hand again and struck at me. I used the bone blades as a shield, blocking his attack.

  We clashed at close range, and the shockwave flattened everything around us.

  His floating palace fell from the sky onto the city below, but I didn't even look. No one down there was alive anymore.

  Ramuil wasn't smiling now. When I'd first challenged him, he thought it was a joke. A funny little game. A human — even a champion fighter — daring to challenge the ruler of the twelfth ring? Hilarious! But now he understood how strong I was, and I could sense something he might never have felt before.

  Fear.

  I came crashing down on him from above, and the blow hammered him into the ground. Ramuil fired back with some technique that set the crimson sky ablaze, but I was already gone, and we collided again — both of us going all out. Ramuil was strong. Even stronger than me. But there was something he'd lost over millennia of ruling unchallenged: experience. He hadn't fought in ages. Hadn't been truly tested by anyone.

  None of his opponents had ever been worthy. And then there was me — a man who'd lost everything, who'd spent his entire life in endless battle, whose only reason for existing was to kill this demon.

  The outcome was inevitable.

  Ramuil lay at my feet, barely alive. That blood-red armor he'd been so proud of was shattered. The legendary spear he'd supposedly used to kill his predecessor was just garbage now.

  "Mercy... I... I gave you everything..."

  "Gave? You took everything from me. Mirion, Yul Ei, Roland, Fendrig, Gaver, Yutatos... I have no one left. And it's all because of you!"

  Ramuil laughed. The kind of laugh that reeks of madness.

  "Even if you kill me, nothing changes. I'm just a cog in a vast mach—"

  A bone blade materialized behind my back and pierced the demon's heart. His face twisted with pain, despair, and fear. Now he felt what every soul who'd lived under his heel had felt.

  I thought I'd be happy when he died. All I felt was tired. He'd taken everything from me, and killing him wouldn't bring any of it back.

  I dropped to one knee, shoved my hand into his chest, and a few seconds later pulled out a small gilded key.

  "So it's true... You were right, Yul..." I sighed and nearly broke down. Until that moment, I hadn't let myself grieve for the people I'd loved.

  I looked up and saw a double wooden door nearby, carved with the Tree of Eternity. I shook my head, stood, walked over, slid the key into the lock, turned it, and the door swung open.

  A few steps later I was in a mountain temple, but I knew none of it was real. A spatial trick — a subdimension Ramuil had used as a vault. And in the very center of the temple sat an altar, and on that altar lay an amber sphere, crystal clear, with what looked like a spiral spinning inside it, made of thousands upon thousands of tiny particles.

  His greatest secret. His greatest treasure.

  A Sphere of Eternity — a thing that could reshape reality itself by granting wishes.

  I reached out and carefully picked it up. A faint tingling spread through my fingers.

  "Congratulations," said a voice beside me.

  I reflexively tried to summon the bone blades, but nothing came. Either the spatial ring didn't work here, or I'd used them all up in the fight.

  A woman appeared before me — tall, much taller than any normal person. She towered over me, draped in a snow-white dress that created this strange sense of depth. You know how looking at a starry sky makes you feel its endlessness? That's what her dress felt like, and it was terrifying and strange all at once. Spirals spun in her eyes, completing the image of something utterly alien.

  "Who are you?" My voice cracked.

  "Not your enemy," she smiled.

  "That's for me to decide."

  Her smile shifted from warm to condescending.

  "I'll repeat my question. Who are you?"

  "I have many names, but most often I'm called Eternity."

  "You're... the spirit of the Spiral?" I could barely believe it.

  "That too. But I'm hardly a spirit. Even calling me a god would be an understatement."

  "You're here because of this thing?" I asked.

  "Doesn't it bear my name?"

  "Yul told me it grants wishes."

  "It does."

  "And the price? There's always a price."

  "The price has already been paid." The woman kept smiling, though it didn't exactly put me at ease. "Or did you think all those people you outlived died for nothing?"

  "What?"

  "The Sphere of Eternity is forged from human souls. Broken souls — people who wanted their existence to end. You thought Ramuil just enjoyed torturing everyone who ended up in his domain, but no. This place is nothing but a furnace where the Sphere of Eternity is smelted from pain and suffering. The condemned are raw material. The battles and countless deaths are the forging."

  "But if Ramuil had something like this, why didn't he use it? I mean... He wasn't one of the strongest lords of hell, but with this he could've gotten unimaginable power, right?"

  "Correct. He could have rivaled the Lords — if not for two things. First, it's not finished. This sphere needs roughly another millennium to reach completion."

  "Insane... And the second?"

  "It doesn't belong to Ramuil."

  "Then who? You?"

  "The Lords."

  "What?" One revelation after another. "You're telling me Ramuil was making this thing for the Lords?"

  "Yes. This particular one was meant for the Lord of Justice."

  "But... why would he need it?"

  "What do powerful people want?"

  "More power."

  "There's your answer. The Lords are masters of the first step. They've reached their peak and can't grow stronger no matter what they do. They became gods, but they want to rise even higher."

  "And this thing can actually help them?"

  "Break through the barrier of existence? Yes."

  "What about me?"

  "By using it, you could gain power equal to theirs. I'll give you that much, but no more. But — do you really want to spend your wish on that?"

  "What else could I ask for? Bring back the dead?"

  "For example." The woman shrugged. "Focus on it. Channel your power into the sphere and simply wish."

  I squeezed the sphere in my fist, sinking deep into my own thoughts. Could I really wish for anything?

  But what did I want?

  Answers?

  Power?

  To bring my teacher back?

  To see my parents again?

  To kill the Lord of Justice?

  I squeezed it tighter and tighter without even realizing it.

  But... I wanted all of it. Not just one thing — everything at once.

  And I wanted my old life back. No Ramuil, no demons, no endless fighting.

  The sphere answered my wishes — but not at all the way I expected...