Adrian stared at the vial. The liquid inside caught the dying light, shifting between pale blue and silver.
It looked fragile, like a promise that would break if he blinked.
He felt the words clawing up his throat—Don't go.
But he swallowed them down.
These warriors had already lost their weapons, their armor, every scrap of metal stripped away by the field outside.
All they had left were their bodies—and the will to keep walking.
He knew what that meant.
They were never coming back.
Damian placed a hand on his shoulder, steady and warm.
"We'll be fine," he said quietly, though he didn't sound convinced.
Adrian nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
"Yeah… I'll wait here."
Damian gave a brief, weary smile, patted his shoulder once,
and turned to follow the others.
The left-hand door slid open with a hiss.
One by one, the team vanished into the lightless corridor beyond.
When the sound of their footsteps was gone,
Adrian stood alone, the vial cold in his palm.
The right-hand door pulsed softly,
and in the silence,
he realized the warmth had never stopped calling him.
He turned toward it,
took a breath,
and stepped through.
Adrian chooses the forbidden right-hand door; silence swallows him.