Birim #0001

The light fades slowly—too slowly. Your boots scrape against cold stone you don’t remember stepping onto. The air stings your lungs when you inhale. Around you, figures solidify one by one, their outlines sharpening into people—units. Above, massive runic rings rotate, shedding pale light over cracked pillars and banners worn smooth by time. Dust hangs in the air like frozen snow. You don’t look up immediately. You already know this isn’t a place that rewards curiosity. A pressure settles in your chest, heavy and wordless. This isn’t a summons. It’s a selection.