The arena was gone.
Kairo stood in a wasteland of mirrors. Each one stretched into infinity, reflecting a thousand broken versions of himself. Some lay in chains, bleeding into the dust. Others wore crowns of fire, ruling over kingdoms made of ash. Some were hollow-eyed corpses, staring back at him with the accusation of his own failure.
The Threads towered above, their body unraveling into endless strands. They pulled at the mirrors, weaving them tighter, dragging Kairo deeper into the labyrinth.
Every reflection screamed at once.
"You are ours."
"You cannot resist forever."
"The throne burns for you."
Kairo staggered, his hands pressed against his skull. His crimson eyes burned, but the silver in his hair pulsed erratically, each beat sharper, more violent. He could feel his body slipping — the whispers gnawed at him, the Threads coiling around his will.
The crowd above shrieked with joy. They saw only a man drowning in madness.
Igron's voice cut across, calm, deliberate.
"Do not give them what they want."
But Kairo barely heard him. His knees buckled. The mirrors closed in.
He saw himself again under the Remnant's knives, his screams echoing forever. He saw Gloxkir's corpse at his feet, his hands dripping with blood, the crowd recoiling from his savagery. He saw himself standing before Hades, chains broken, the world burning behind him.
The visions blurred, melted together, until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
The seven voices roared in triumph.
"Yes. Fall into us."
"You cannot endure."
"When you break… the world will follow."
Kairo screamed — a sound torn from somewhere deeper than his lungs. His power surged, crimson light spilling from his eyes, the silver in his hair flaring white. The mirrors cracked, shards flying outward, tearing through the illusions.
The Threads recoiled, writhing, but they did not release him. They tightened, desperate to drag him back.
And then — Hades moved.
His hand rose from the throne, fingers curling like a master pulling strings. The arena trembled. The mirrors shattered in unison, the visions collapsing into dust. The Threads screamed — not in sound, but in silence that rattled bone.
"Enough," Hades said, his voice absolute.
The strands writhed, twisting violently, but then froze as though caught in an unseen grip. The creature hissed, unwilling to release its prey, but unable to defy the god who ruled this pit.
Hades' gaze never left Kairo.
"He is mine to break. Not yours."
The Threads recoiled, withdrawing back into their lattice, shrinking into silence. The arena returned, the faceless crowd gasping as reality stitched itself whole again.
Kairo collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, sweat and blood dripping into the sand. His eyes flickered, half-crimson, half-silver, as though something inside him had almost escaped.
From the balcony, Igron tilted his head, his smirk returning — but softer this time, unreadable.
And beside him, one of Hades' generals rose from their seat for the first time, their armor glinting in the torchlight, eyes fixed on the boy who refused to break.
"Interesting," the general murmured. "This one endures more than even the gods predicted."