Behind the Red Door

Kael remained silent, keeping his breathing steady.

The old man's words echoed in his mind.

"What the fuck… since when do people inside traumas become aware of their surroundings?"

That wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible.

Kael had spent years studying dream-walking—the art of traversing the subconscious, stepping into the traumas of one's inner self, witnessing their worst moments like a spectator behind glass.

That was the fundamental rule of dream-walking.

Traumas weren't real.

They were relics of suffering, looping memories formed from a person's deepest scars. They were unchanging, bound to the emotions and pain that had created them.

And yet…

Kael could feel it.

The oppressive atmosphere of the cell, the heavy breath of the prisoners, the way the old man's sunken eyes locked onto him, as if studying a puzzle that shouldn't exist.

This wasn't just a memory playing out.

This was something else.

Something that broke the natural laws of dream-walking.

Kael's heartbeat quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm.

This trauma was different.

Ever since he had stepped into it, nothing had adhered to the natural laws of dream-walking.

First he had been trapped in a foreign body—which wasn't supposed to happen, at least not at his level.

- He had been wounded, felt pain—which wasn't supposed to happen either.

His dream-walking powers had been suppressed another anomaly which shouldn't have taken place.

The people here—they weren't just repeating memories.

They were acting of their own will.

Kael's fingers tightened slightly against the cold metal floor.

This wasn't just an illusion of someone's suffering.

At this moment the old man tilted his head slightly, his sunken eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity.

Kael could feel his gaze—like the man was peeling back layers of flesh, peering into his very essence.

Then—

A slow, dry chuckle left the old man's lips.

"You're still trying to make sense of it, aren't you?"

"Huh", Kael revealed a dubious expression.

The old man leaned forward slightly, his bony fingers pressing into the ground.

"Let me guess... you can't make sense of your situation, and you somewhat thing that l am some kind of anomaly ."

His lips curled.

"You dream-walkers are all the same. Always so fucking sure you understand the rules of this world."

Kael's breath hitched.

The old man knew.

He knew what Kael was.

Impossible.

The old man's expression darkened, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

"l can smell you walkers from a mile away"

A crooked smile appeared on the old man.

"Although l am intrigued in how low minority- what do you call yourselves again?? - ahh yes low stars. Why would a low star walker venture inside a terror like this? "

Kael felt his stomach twist, and his eyes widened as he heard the term.

A Terror.

That was not a term used lightly.

The Federation had strict classifications for traumas.

- F-rank to B-rank traumas were considered manageable—they followed predictable patterns.

- A-rank to S-rank traumas were unstable, dangerous distortions of reality.

- But a Terror?

Terrors were not natural traumas.

They weren't just memories playing out on a loop.

They were… something else.

Something alive.

Something that could consume a dream-walker whole.

Kael's fingers curled into a tight fist, his body tense.

He shouldn't be here.

No low-star dream-walker should ever be inside a Terror.

Then why was he here?

The old man watched him carefully, his bony fingers tapping idly against the steel floor.

His crooked smile widened, his voice thick with amusement.

"Gods, you are truly clueless, aren't you?"

Kael didn't respond.

He was still processing.

Kael's hands then curled into fists.

This man—this relic of someone's trauma—wasn't just aware.

He was seeing through the lie.

Dream-walkers were supposed to be spectators, ghosts passing through memories that could not acknowledge them.

But this man?

This prisoner of a dream subconscious was staring at him with an intensity that made Kael feel like he was the one trapped inside someone else's dream.

Kael took a slow, steady breath.

He needed to think.

Meanwhile – Federation Intelligence Headquarters

The control room of the Federation's Dream-Walking Division was eerily quiet. Dozens of monitors flickered with data streams, their cold blue glow casting ghostly light over the operators seated at their stations. Agent Elisa Thorne stood in the center, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the holographic map hovering above the central console. At her side, Agent Miles Carter stood stiffly, his jaw clenched. Neither of them spoke. Because what they were looking at should not be possible.

The map displayed the last recorded bio-signature of Kael Rithan. And it was moving. Not as a tracking error. Not as a residual energy imprint. Kael's bio-signal was actively pulsing—as if he were still alive and experiencing something in real time. Except…

His body was nowhere in reality.

Only his consciousness existed.

Carter finally broke the silence, his voice tight. "This isn't normal."

Elisa inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "No, it isn't." She tapped a command into the console, bringing up a new data stream. Kael's bio-pattern fluctuations were being analyzed—compared to known trauma distortions. The results? A 99.8% match to Omega-Class Anomalies.

Carter stared. "You think he's inside one?"

Elisa's fingers clenched into a tight fist. "Not just inside." Her gaze locked onto the fluctuating signals. "He's trapped."

The tension in the cell felt heavier than before, like the air itself was thickening. Kael sat on the cold steel floor, his mind racing. The old man's words still hung in his thoughts.

"You're in a cage, boy."

"And you were put here on purpose."

But before he could dwell on it further, the distant sound of alarms echoed through the Arena. It was faint—barely noticeable. But Kael felt it. Something was happening. And whatever it was… it was big.

Kael pushed himself to his feet, trying to gather his thoughts. The other prisoners in the Eternal Cell remained motionless, watching him with unreadable expressions. The old man leaned back against the bars, his gaunt frame still eerily composed. Then, in a low voice, he said something that made Kael freeze.

"You're about to be called."

Kael's eyes snapped to him. "What?"

The old man let out a slow breath, like he had seen this scenario play out a thousand times before.

"You're going to fight again. Soon. And this time… it won't be like before."

A shiver ran down Kael's spine. The Arena thrived on escalation. If Butcher was just a warm-up… Then what the hell was he about to face?

The old man shifted slightly, his deep-set eyes locking onto Kael with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. Then—

"Listen carefully, kid."

"When you step into that ring again, no matter what happens—"

"Do. Not. Fight. The Top Three."

Kael frowned. "Why?"

The old man's jaw clenched slightly.

"Because you'll die."

Kael's breath hitched. The way he said it—it wasn't a warning. It was a fact.

The old man's voice dropped lower.

"You might've survived Butcher. You might even survive what comes next. But if you go up against them—"

His sunken eyes gleamed with something close to pity.

"There will be no survival."

Kael swallowed hard. "Who are they?"

The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he exhaled slowly, as if weighing whether Kael deserved to know. Then, in a quiet voice, he murmured:

"The ones who made this place what it is."

Kael's pulse pounded in his ears.

"And soon…"

The old man's gaze drifted toward the ceiling, as if sensing something above them.

"This whole place will burn."