The prison-plane was not a place but a scar across space—a ripple that twisted logic. It was filled with echoes of himself. There was David the Tyrant, David the Coward, David the Scholar, David the Betrayer.
They blamed him. They fought him. And one nearly killed him. The clash of swords rang with emotion, and magic surged from their veins like venom. But even as blood stained the ground, David stood, bleeding and defiant.
"I don't have to be perfect," he said. "I only need to keep moving forward."
In that moment, clarity pierced the fog of guilt. His broken selves disappeared into dust and memory.
The system chimed.David walked out of the prison-plane with a new resolve. His past no longer chained him—it had become his foundation.