When the light returned, it wasn't white—it was red.
The cathedral was gone. In its place stood a circular chamber of mirrored walls, each one pulsing faintly with heartbeat-like light. The air smelled like static and rain.
Matthew, Rin, and Sora lay on the smooth black floor, dazed but breathing. No system voice greeted them at first. Then, from above, a familiar mechanical hum descended like thunder behind glass.
Game: The Seven of Hearts
Players: Three
Rule: One truth, one lie, one must die.
The words rippled across every mirror, repeating into infinity.
Sora sat up first, clutching her chest. "Hearts again," she muttered, voice trembling. "Why does it always have to be Hearts?"
Rin stared at the rule. "It's psychological," she said, her eyes flicking over the reflections that didn't quite match their movements. "It's not testing logic—it's testing loyalty."
Matthew looked between them, jaw set. "Then it already knows which of us breaks first."
The mirrors shimmered, and their reflections blinked out of sync. In some, Matthew was gone. In others, Sora was already falling apart.
The system waited.
"Each player," the voice intoned, "will speak two statements. The others must choose which is true.
If both choose correctly, stability maintained.
If not—loss of data integrity. Permanent."
They played in silence. Words cut sharper than any weapon.
When it was Sora's turn, she hesitated. The cracked Mask of the Forgotten glowed faintly in her lap, its surface flickering with fragments of faces—her own, Rin's, Matthew's—ghosts of memory.
"My first statement," she said, "is that I'm not afraid anymore."
She looked up, meeting their eyes with a calm they'd never seen before.
"My second… is that I want to go home."
Rin's breath hitched. Matthew swallowed hard.
"The second one's true," he whispered. "It has to be."
Rin nodded, her voice breaking. "Yeah. She wants to go home."
The hum deepened.
Error. Inconsistent input.
Sora's smile was small, fragile—but real. "No," she said quietly. "You were right the first time."
The floor beneath her flared crimson.
"Wait—" Rin lunged forward.
Matthew reached out, hands shaking. "No!"
But Sora's Collar Started to Beep Rapidly.
She looked at them one last time. Her expression wasn't one of fear—it was peace. The corners of her lips curved into a soft, genuine smile.
"DON'T LEAVE US!" Shouted Matthew
And then she was gone.
The chamber fell silent. The mirrors dimmed.
Game clear.
Players remaining: Two.
Rin knelt where Sora had stood, clutching the broken Holding her body by his chest.
Matthew's reflection in the glass looked back at him—older, emptier.
He had won again.
And for the first time, victory felt like grief carved into code.