The corridors leading out of the Palace of Obedience didn't resemble any hallway Ren Zian had walked before. They were clean, unnaturally symmetrical, as if sculpted by a mind obsessed with flawlessness. The walls bore no artwork—just towering, reflective black slabs that distorted their images slightly, as if watching from the other side.
Ren and Lyra stepped together into the large arch ahead, guided by the Codex of Obedience pulsing in Ren's hand. As they crossed the threshold, the light dimmed behind them, sealing the entrance.
The Hall of Judgment awaited.
A courtroom without sound.
It wasn't built of stone or wood but was instead carved entirely from black glass, forming a perfect circle of mirrored walls. At its center stood a raised circular platform where Ren found himself lifted without warning—separated from Lyra by a sudden ring of translucent energy.
"Ren!" she called, but her voice was muted.
The orb Ren carried floated from his palm and embedded itself into the center of the platform. A ripple of violet light pulsed through the room. From every mirrored wall, figures began to emerge.
They weren't enemies.
They were versions of Ren.
Some with bloody hands. Some with golden eyes. One wore a crown and crushed a world beneath his boot. Another wept beside a burning temple. Each stepped forward and took a seat around him in silent rows—twelve in total. Twelve fragments. Twelve possible Ren Zians.
A voice rang out. Cold. Stern. Genderless.
"You are being judged."
Ren's Chaos Mark burned faintly. His hands remained steady.
"I accept."
"By whom?" the voice asked.
Ren turned to the circle. "By myself. Past, future, corrupted, and forsaken."
From the back, Lyra's voice trembled through the barrier. "Don't let them define you. You're not any of them."
But he knew—this wasn't about proving her right.
This was about facing every path he could've taken.
One of the versions stood—the one with crimson eyes and a jagged scar across his chest.
"You abandoned power for intimacy," he spat. "You could've been a god."
Another, cloaked in chains and silence, simply whispered, "You knelt too early."
Then came the golden-crowned one, lounging like a king. "Or worse—you're wasting your dominance on emotions."
Ren listened. He didn't argue. Instead, he walked to the center and placed his hand over the orb again.
"I've heard all of you in my dreams. I've feared some. Hated others. But I know who I am."
He turned toward the bleeding version of himself—the one who cried beside the burning temple.
"You are what I was when I lost everything."
Then to the king: "You are what I could become if I destroy everything."
And finally, to the one still in chains. "And you… are who I'd be if I let my past rule me."
The orb beneath his hand pulsed.
"What do you choose?" the voice demanded again.
Ren exhaled slowly.
"I choose balance. I'll take the weight of all of you. But I will not be any one of you."
As the words left his mouth, the versions of Ren began to dissolve—some smiling, others sneering. One version, the one bound in silence, nodded solemnly before vanishing.
The courtroom shuddered. The mirrors rippled like water. The barrier between Ren and Lyra disintegrated.
She ran to him. "Ren…"
But his body suddenly bent forward—his knees hitting the floor as the orb exploded into light.
Flashes of memory struck him like lightning:
A battlefield where he stood alone, screaming.
A wedding with no bride.
A throne room where Lyra wept at his feet, his hand raised against her.
Every vision clawed at him—and then vanished.
When the light faded, the courtroom was gone.
They stood now in a quiet chamber, soft light cascading through a dome above. In the center was a single silver mirror, pristine and untouched. No reflection showed in its glass.
Ren approached it slowly. His mark had changed.
From the Chaos Spiral now emerged twelve silver streaks—signifying the judgments passed.
Above the mirror, floating in the air, were the words:
"Only those who survive the gaze of their truths may pass into the Trial of Kings."
Lyra moved beside him, her voice low. "Ren… that was never just a domain. That was a filter."
He nodded. "To remove who I'm not."
A compartment opened beneath the mirror. A box of silver-gray metal rose, clicking softly.
Ren opened it.
Inside lay an obsidian ring, marked with the same twelve-streaked Chaos Spiral. A set of black gloves stitched with silver runes accompanied it.
Item Acquired: Judgment Sigil Ring – Grants resistance to moral manipulation.Bonus Trait: Integrity Anchor – Chaos Powers cannot be stolen, copied, or redirected.
Ren slipped on the ring. The gloves folded into his palm and vanished into storage.
Lyra touched his arm gently. "You didn't just survive that. You defined yourself."
He turned to her, voice steadier than before. "Because I had to. Not for them, not even for the palace—for me."
A doorway opened at the end of the chamber, its frame carved in the shape of a broken throne.
Ahead lay the Trial of Kings.
Ren didn't look back.
He held Lyra's hand, stepped into the dark—
And vanished into the next test.