The first thing Kairo noticed was the silence.
Not the kind of silence you find in a library or during a late-night walk — no, this was the eerie, suffocating kind, like the world had been paused around him.
He opened his eyes.
A dim amber light flickered from a hanging chandelier above. The room swayed slightly — not a room, he realized. A train car. Old, wooden, yet spotless. Velvet seats. Brass rails. Dustless windows. No sound of wheels. No engine hum. Just the slow, subtle sway.
And he wasn't alone.
Across the aisle sat several teenagers around his age — dazed, wide-eyed, silent like statues. Some blinked. One girl clutched the edge of her seat like it might disappear. No one spoke.
In Kairo's lap sat a black envelope.
Smooth. Heavy. His name — Kairo Venn — written in silver ink, neat and precise.
He turned it over. A wax seal pressed with a skeletal hand gripping a scythe.
His chest tightened. He looked around.
No one else seemed surprised by their own letters. Everyone was holding one. Some had already opened theirs. Others, like him, hesitated.
He broke the seal.
Congratulations.
You have been accepted into the prestigious School of Death – Class D.Attendance is mandatory.Failure to comply will result in erasure.
Your life will be tested.Your will judged.Only the worthy graduate.
We hope you survive.
— The Headmaster
A chill ran down Kairo's spine.
What kind of joke was this?
He looked up, expecting someone — anyone — to laugh, explain, break the illusion.
No one did.
Before he could stand, the train jolted. The windows lit with sudden, golden light.
He stumbled forward, catching himself on a seat. Outside, the landscape blurred — trees twisted like tendrils, clouds swirled in unnatural colors. This wasn't any countryside he recognized. This wasn't Earth. It couldn't be.
The girl across from him met his gaze. Her eyes were sharp. Cold. Almost… curious.
"You're awake," she said, voice low.
"What is this?" Kairo asked. "Where are we?"
"You got the letter. That means you were chosen," she said, brushing pink strands of hair from her cheek. "Or cursed. Same thing."
"Is this some kind of simulation?"
"Does it feel like a game to you?"
He didn't answer. Because it didn't. It felt real. Too real.
"I'm Aria," she said flatly, as if annoyed she had to say it. "Class D. Don't get in my way."
The train slowed. A long, drawn-out screech echoed as it pulled into a station.
Kairo looked out the window and froze.
Massive iron gates towered in the distance, twisted and jagged like black thorns. Beyond them stood a sprawling gothic campus — towers stabbed the sky, fog curled around the ground, and a full moon hung in the sky despite the daylight.
A single sign above the gate read:
WELCOME TO THE SCHOOL OF DEATH
The doors hissed open.
No conductor. No announcement. Just a sharp gust of cold wind urging them forward.
Aria was already walking.
Kairo followed.
The other students moved like sheep toward slaughter, some shaking, some quiet, none resisting.
As he stepped off the train, the ground beneath his feet crunched — not gravel.
Bones.
Tiny, bleached bones scattered along the edge of the platform like confetti.
The gates creaked open on their own. The group stepped inside. The moment the last foot crossed the threshold, the iron slammed shut with a thunderous clang.
"Welcome."
The voice was deep, rich, and layered — like a choir of whispers speaking as one.
At the top of the stairs stood a tall figure in a black ceremonial robe, face hidden behind a skull-shaped mask. A silver scythe rested against his shoulder.
"I am the Headmaster. You will refer to me as such. I will be your guide, your judge, and if necessary, your executioner."
Some students exchanged glances. Others shifted nervously.
"You have been chosen because you are exceptional," the Headmaster continued. "Not in talent — but in potential. You may not believe it yet, but your lives are about to change. Permanently."
Kairo's hands curled into fists.
This wasn't right.
"I didn't ask for this!" someone shouted behind him.
The Headmaster turned his masked face slowly.
A boy in a tracksuit — tall, cocky — stepped forward. "You think I'm gonna play your creepy little cult game? Screw that. I'm out."
He turned, stormed toward the gates.
He didn't make it two steps.
With a sharp clang, the scythe in the Headmaster's hand vanished — and reappeared above the boy.
One slice.
Blood sprayed across the courtyard.
Gasps. Screams.
The boy's body collapsed — cleanly split in two.
The scythe flashed back into the Headmaster's grip.
"Lesson One," he said calmly. "You are no longer in control. Those who reject the rules… are removed."
Kairo's heart pounded.
This was no simulation.
"Class D," the Headmaster called. "You will be escorted to your dormitory. Your first lesson begins at dawn."
He paused.
"Oh — and one more thing."
His head tilted.
"Only one of you will graduate."