NARRATOR
The oppressive silence in the throne hall was shattered the moment the ground rippled like water. Shadows spilled across the tiles, swallowing the marble patterns beneath their feet. The false god's laughter, distant and thunderous, echoed through the air, though the being itself was nowhere to be seen.
"Stay sharp," Yosuke muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his blade.
But the warning was useless—already the darkness surged outward, spiraling into four separate corridors of lightless mist. The ground beneath their feet split, and before Sai could call out to his companions, his vision blurred.
He was alone.
SAI SHINU
Mist swirled, and when it cleared, I was standing at the village gate. My breath caught in my throat.
There she was. My mother. Nailed against the wood like a warning, head slumped, the pistol wound in her chest still bleeding fresh as if it had just happened.
"No…" My legs buckled, but I forced them forward.
The wind howled, and shadows rose from the ground. The men from Sora village—the ones I cut down with my own hands—stepped out, their mouths twisted. "Monster," they hissed. "Betrayer. Demon."
I wanted to run at them, to carve them apart again, but every step drew me closer to my mother's broken body. And then—when I blinked—she wasn't her anymore. It was Yuri, purple hair matted with blood, arms pinned lifeless.
"No!" I screamed, hands clawing at my chest. The moon mark pulsed, hot, as if mocking me.
I shut my eyes. This is an illusion. This isn't real. I lost her once, but I won't lose again.
I pressed my palm against the scar of the moon and whispered, "I still have someone to protect."
The world shattered, glass splintering into light.
YOSUKE SHIN
The air was cold — too cold. I knew it wasn't real, but the pit in my stomach said otherwise. The mist thickened around me until shapes began to form.
And then I saw them.
My father.
My brother.
That night.
The same night I had relived in my nightmares, painted in blood and betrayal. My brother's hand gripped the blade, and my father fell again, his body collapsing in slow, merciless motion.
I froze, every nerve in me screaming. I had been here before. Powerless. Helpless. Nothing but a boy watching his world collapse.
"No…" I muttered. My fists clenched. I could hear his voice mocking me. You couldn't stop me then, and you can't stop me now.
Something inside me snapped. I wasn't that boy anymore.
The ground beneath my feet groaned. I reached out without thinking, and the metal veins hidden in the stones around me responded. Shards rose like liquid mercury, swirling toward my hand, bending, screaming, molding. Sparks kissed my skin as they twisted into form.
A sword.
My sword.
Not given to me. Not found. Forged by me.
I gripped the hilt tight. It pulsed with my heartbeat, raw and jagged, but alive. My golden eyes caught the reflection of its edge, and for the first time, I wasn't afraid of the memory.
"Not this time," I hissed, stepping forward.
The shadow of my brother laughed, swinging his blade as if it were all a game. But when our weapons clashed, sparks exploded in the darkness. Every strike I threw was more than an attack — it was a rejection of that night, a declaration that I was no longer powerless.
He pressed hard, his mocking voice echoing: You'll never be free of me.
I roared, forcing him back. Each swing carried not just rage but everything I had buried for years.
"I am not that boy anymore!" I shouted, my blade shattering the shadow's defense. "I am stronger now. Stronger than you!"
The figure staggered, faltered, and with one final strike I cut through him — through the memory, through the chains that bound me. The mist shattered like glass, and the vision fell away.
But the sword remained in my hand.
Forged in illusion. Forged in truth.
JIRO IKIGAI
The sun was warm. The fields endless. Villagers laughed around me, voices rising like music.
Peace. For the first time in years, peace.
But something shifted. The laughter dimmed. I blinked, and one villager was gone. Then another. And another.
When I looked again, the ground was soaked in blood. Corpses stretched as far as the horizon.
And my hands—my hands—were red.
"No…" I stumbled back. My chest heaved. "I protect people. I don't—"
The false god's voice slithered into my ear. "Everyone kills, Jiro. The only choice is who."
My throat closed. Maybe it was right. I had killed before. Maybe all my protection was just another form of death.
But then I saw their faces—not corpses, but those still living. Sai. Yosuke. Taro. Namae. Even Yuri.
My fists clenched. "If killing is the trial, then I choose my enemy. And it's you."
I slammed my fist into the ground. Light erupted, ripping the nightmare apart.
TARO KOI
Yasu. Before the flames. Before the screams.
And her.
My wife. Standing in the square, arms open, her smile soft and gentle.
I wanted to run to her. Gods, I wanted it more than air. But as I stepped closer, her skin peeled away, her body twisted, charred. Her eyes hollow yet glowing. She reached for me.
"Stay, Taro. Lay down your blade. Rest with me."
Tears blurred my sight. My heart ached so violently I thought I'd collapse. I wanted to. To stop carrying this weight, to be held again.
But then I heard another voice. My daughter's. Yuri. Purple hair. Defiant fire.
If I gave up now, she'd be alone.
My grip tightened on my sword, though my arm shook. "I can't," I whispered through clenched teeth. "I can't join you. Not yet."
With a cry, I slashed. The illusion tore apart, my wife's figure vanishing into ash.
After that we stumbled back one by one into the throne room, sweat on our brows, breath ragged. Nobody spoke at first. The silence was heavy, each of us haunted by what we'd seen.
Finally, Sai looked at us, his eyes still burning. "That wasn't just a trial. It was a wound. And if we don't close it, it'll tear us apart."
The ground rumbled.
On the throne, a figure began to take shape—the false god itself, massive and draped in shadow, its laughter booming.
"You survived your memories," it thundered. "Now face me."
The Trial of Illusions had ended. The true battle was about to begin.