The pale moonlight seeped through the cracked lattice window of the Mirror Moon Sect's quietest wing. Amon stood silently by the stone railing, fingers absentmindedly twirling the silver monocle he'd conjured earlier. Below, lanterns flickered in the wind, soft murmurs echoing through the night.
Behind him, Mei Yao sat cross-legged, her breathing steady but strained. The Dao Diagram he had drawn for her on the ground still shimmered faintly, threads of truth pulsing between the lines. Her first true meditation attempt using the Dao of Unveiling.
She was struggling—but not failing.
Amon's eyes remained on the moon. In its pale reflection, he saw not this courtyard, not this girl, but a ruined world of mist and madness. The sea of the collective subconscious. A tall cathedral. A marionette on a throne. And somewhere high above it all, a smiling figure with a monocle like his—only his smile was softer. Wiser. The Fool.
"You're watching, aren't you, Klein? You must be."
"Up there on your puppet throne, aloof and silent, pretending to care."
Amon's smile tightened.
"I, too, was close to that seat. A King of Angels. One step from the truth. You walked the Fool's Path... and I walked away from it."
He tilted his head slightly, the monocle glinting.
"Tell me—when did your truth become the world's law, while mine was branded an Error?"
"Senior," Mei Yao's voice broke through, low and cautious. "I saw... something."
He turned, the reminiscence sliding away from his face like a discarded mask.
"What did you see?"
Her brows furrowed. "Myself, standing in front of a crowd... not hiding. Not ashamed. Speaking truth with my name—my real name. But the more I tried to hold onto it, the more the image blurred. Something was... unraveling."
Amon knelt beside her. "That is your Dao responding. It shows you what you desire—but also what you deny. The trick, little mirror, is to keep watching even as your reflection changes."
She nodded slowly, clearly shaken. "It hurt."
"Truth often does," Amon said with amusement. "But you did well. You peeled back a layer."
Suddenly, the wind shifted—sharp, cutting, laced with golden heat. Amon stood swiftly.
"Who—"
The answer came before the question could finish. A presence was approaching—not physically, but through the sect's spiritual array.
In the Inner Sanctum, a white-robed disciple stood before a polished obsidian mirror. The surface rippled, revealing glimpses of a courtyard, a young man and woman meditating under the moon.
"Unregistered resonance detected," intoned the sect's mirror spirit.
Shen Ziyao narrowed her eyes. "False fluctuation... unrelated to known paths. Likely self-invented, or hidden."
Her fingers closed into a lotus seal. Golden fire pulsed down her arms.
"Begin karmic tracing," she ordered.
The mirror hissed.
Target cloaked in multi-layered falsehood. Signature unstable.
Mirrored name returns: 'Truth.' Mirrored nature: 'Lie.'
Shen Ziyao frowned. "A contradiction. Or worse..."
She turned and strode away, white robes flaring behind her like phoenix wings. Inform Elder Sun Zhen. "There is a shadow in our midst."
Back in the courtyard, Amon smiled. "Well. The net has been cast."
"Should we hide again?" Mei Yao asked quietly.
"No," he said, brushing his sleeve. "Let them come. We've played prey long enough. Now we test the hunter's eyesight."
He looked up at the moon again, muttering, "Come now, little Flame. Let's see how brightly your truth burns."