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Perfect — Chapter 37 will deliver the priests' next engineered test: the Trial of Mirrors and Lies. Unlike the raw force of the chainbound, this will be a psychological assault designed to fracture Team Two from within. The priests want to break Ernest's hold over his companions — and to expose his Voice by forcing him to act where no ordinary noble could.
This chapter will be longer, slow-burning, and layered:
The priests announce the trial.
The Academy gathers, curious and fearful.
Team Two enters a space warped by illusions, each tested against personal weakness: Rowan's pride, Mikel's calm, Celina's curse, Ernest's silence.
The illusions pit them against each other — or against versions of themselves.
Ernest's Voice cuts through the deception, but the cost is dangerous visibility.
The priests' suspicion deepens, even as Team Two emerges stronger.
Chapter 37: The Trial of Mirrors
The bells tolled with a sound too sharp, as though the metal itself was struck to fracture. The Academy stirred, but not with routine. Whispers carried in every corridor, buzzing like hornets.
"A new trial.""The priests demanded it.""This one will not be beasts.""They say it will be illusions. Lies. Shadows."
The air was thick with unease. Even the most prideful heirs walked faster, their laughter forced, their eyes avoiding the white-robed priests who lingered at every corner.
Team Two moved through the storm of voices. Ernest walked calm, his black eyes steady, his silence heavier than rumor. Rowan strode beside him, jaw set, still raw from pride but forging into something firmer. Mikel followed, his steadiness anchoring them all. Celina walked apart, her emerald gaze forward, her cursed wrist trembling faintly beneath her sleeve.
The students parted for them, not only out of fear of Ernest's silence, but out of dread of what the priests were preparing.
The courtyard had been transformed again. Chalk lines sprawled wide across the stones, circles within circles, runes glowing faint red. At the far end stood the priests, their white robes gleaming against gray sky. The old one with lashes white as frost raised his pale hand.
"The Trial of Mirrors," he said softly, his voice carrying without force. "Not of beasts, not of chains. Of truth. Each noble heir must see themselves. See their team. See what unity means when lies creep between."
Halvern stood nearby, jaw tight, spectacles flashing. He said nothing. He could not oppose.
The old priest gestured. "Team Two. Step forward."
The crowd buzzed, eager and afraid.
Rowan's breath caught, his palms damp. Mikel's stride was unhurried. Celina's emerald eyes narrowed faintly, though her face remained calm. Ernest walked without pause, his silence a blade sharper than any whisper.
They entered the circle.
The runes flared.
The courtyard vanished.
They stood in a hall of mirrors. Endless glass stretched on all sides, reflecting faces, bodies, shadows. Their own images stared back at them a hundred times over—Rowan's prideful jaw, Mikel's calm eyes, Celina's cursed wrist, Ernest's black gaze.
Then the mirrors shifted.
Rowan saw himself, sneering, broken blade in hand. "You yielded," the reflection spat. "You bent. You are no Stag."
Mikel saw himself, shaking, anchor shattered. "Stone cracks," his shadow whispered. "You are nothing when they fall."
Celina's mirror flared green fire. Her reflection sneered, curse spreading like vines over her body. "Beauty rots. Flame devours. You will burn them all."
And Ernest—Ernest saw himself pale, calm, merciless. But in the reflection, chains wrapped his throat, his wrists, his lips. His Voice silenced, his eyes hollow. The mirror whispered in his own voice: "Chains bind you too. You are no god."
The air thickened. Whispers rose, echoing, the mirrors speaking all at once.
"Yield.""Crack.""Burn.""Bind."
Rowan staggered, his fists trembling. "It's lies!" he shouted, but his own voice cracked against the reflection's laughter.
Mikel's jaw tightened, but his breath wavered. Celina's wrist burned, fire licking her veins.
Ernest stood still, his black eyes narrowing. His lips parted. His voice slid out, low, merciless.
"Silence."
The mirrors shook. The whispers faltered. Rowan gasped, steadying. Mikel's breath calmed. Celina's flame dimmed.
But the reflections did not vanish.
Rowan's sneered louder. "You will yield again."Mikel's whispered sharper. "When they break, you break too."Celina's hissed, "You will burn him. You already bend to his voice."Ernest's chained image grinned, whispering with his own lips. "Chains will bind even you."
Rowan shouted, his blade slashing glass. It shattered, but another image rose. Sweat dripped down his brow. "I won't yield!"
Mikel stood firmer, his anchor holding. "Noise dies," he whispered. "Discipline remains." His reflection wavered, but did not break.
Celina's flame surged, her curse gnawing. She gasped, teeth clenched. Her emerald eyes flicked toward Ernest. He met her gaze, calm, merciless.
"Still," he commanded.
Her flame froze. The curse trembled, but she forced it down. Her reflection hissed, then dimmed.
The mirrors cracked. The air shuddered. Whispers screamed louder, but Ernest stepped forward, his Voice rising.
"Fall."
Glass shattered. The hall of mirrors collapsed, shards raining like ash.
They stood in the courtyard again. The runes dimmed. The air was heavy with silence.
The students gasped.
"They broke it.""They silenced the mirrors.""Aldery commanded again.""Gold's curse steadied. Stag held. Rane stood."
The priests whispered, their pale eyes gleaming. The old one's lashes lowered and lifted. His smile curved thin.
"Yes," he murmured. "Even lies bend. Even curses. Even pride. Dangerous. Too dangerous."
Halvern struck his staff hard against stone. "Trial complete. Team Two—acceptable."
But his voice trembled faintly.
That evening, the dining hall roared with whispers. Nobles stared at Team Two with awe, fear, envy. Some whispered promises of alliance. Others muttered curses under breath.
Rowan sat straighter, pride no longer shame but tempered iron. Mikel ate steadily, unshaken. Celina ignored all, her emerald eyes flicking only once toward Ernest, recognition deeper, sharper.
Ernest ate in silence, his calm heavier than every voice.
At the priests' table, the old one raised his cup, pale eyes never leaving Ernest.
That night, Ernest wrote in his notebook.
Trial of Mirrors. Illusions bent. Voice revealed more. Dangerous.
Rowan staggered, but steadied. Pride hardening.
Mikel calm, anchor unbroken.
Celina bent flame to silence. Recognition sharper.
My own reflection chained. Reminder. Gods still seek leash.
Priests hunger deeper. Their whispers sharper. They will not stop.
He closed the book, stood at the window. The courtyard lay silver, the chalk circle faint. Across the green, Celina's candle burned steady, Rowan's lamp glowed faint, Mikel's light constant.
His reflection stared back—pale, calm, merciless.
"The forest bent. The nobles bowed. The beast knelt. The chain obeyed. The bound fell. The mirrors cracked."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"Let them send lies. Truth is mine. I am the Voice that commands—even in silence."