No one ever agreed on when it all began.
Some said a thousand years ago. Others swore it was ten thousand. Some claimed that time itself lost meaning at that moment.
But everyone agreed on one thing:
On that day… a voice was heard.
It was not a scream.
Not a whisper.
Not a divine call, as some cults tried to describe it.
It was a neutral voice.
No tone.
No anger.
No mercy.
It spoke one single sentence about massive changes that humanity would face… then it went silent.
No fire fell from the sky.
The earth did not split open.
The seas did not overflow.
The world woke up the next day… and found that the rules had changed.
Giant stone discs appeared across the world.
Floating in the air, perfectly still, as if gravity had chosen to ignore them.
From beneath each disc, ancient stone stairways hung down.
Worn, broken, carrying no readable symbols, as if they belonged to no civilization humanity had ever known.
Those who climbed them… felt it.
An indescribable pressure.
Not only on the body, but on the soul, on willpower, on the desire to live.
As if the stairs were not testing muscles, but asking a simple question:
Do you deserve to climb?
Many fell.
Many died.
Many survived just long enough to understand that climbing was not the end… but the beginning.
When someone reached the disc, they saw no hall, no monster, no treasure.
They saw a system.
A transparent panel, like an old video game interface, floating directly in front of their eyes.
At its center was a single die.
Below it… thousands of dark cards.
Still. Silent.
As if they were watching.
Then the message appeared, known by every child before the age of sixteen:
"You, player… welcome to the Game of Execution."
Below it were two choices. No third option.
Roll the die
Or Execution
The world needed many years to understand.
Rolling the die meant receiving a profession.
Professions became the foundation of modern civilization:
Warriors, mages, archers, healers, contract makers, hundreds of paths…
But the probabilities were cruel. Mathematical. Emotionless:
Common profession: 99%
Special profession: 0.99%
Anything else: 0.01%
As for the second choice… it was always written with the same cold tone:
"If you choose execution, you will be transferred to a special location.
Survival rate: 0%."
"Happy choice."
In the early years, people believed execution was a trick.
An extra challenge.
A hidden stage.
Thousands chose it.
They died.
All of them… almost.
A very rare few survived.
So few that the world did not know what to do with them.
They did not gain stronger professions.
Their luck did not increase.
They were not given legendary abilities.
But they said one thing…
Then fell silent forever.
They said the system panel changed slightly.
And when they tried to explain…
Their hearts stopped at the exact same moment.
The discs had placed restrictions.
Not on mouths… but on hearts.
The real discovery came later.
When one of the survivors of execution was killed, only one thing fell from his body:
A seed.
A strange seed. Small. Without smell.
Anyone who swallowed it…
Their profession evolved.
Common became special.
Special moved closer to the impossible.
And so, quietly and terrifyingly, the world changed once again.
The survivors of execution were no longer human.
They became resources.
Living elixirs.
And from that day on…
No one chose execution anymore.
Not because it was more dangerous.
But because it was worse than death.
And so the world became stable… on the surface.
Children grew up knowing their fate.
At sixteen, they climbed the stairs.
They trained speed, because speed increased luck.
They dreamed of special professions.
And accepted the common ones.
But somewhere in this world…
At least one person existed…
Who chose execution.
And survived.
Without knowing that the entire world…
Would see his existence as a mistake that must be corrected.