Light swallowed him.
For a heartbeat he thought he had died; then he realised he was standing, weightless, inside a cathedral made entirely of mirrors.
Every surface reflected not only his body but all the versions of his body that had ever existed: the child gripping a toy sword, the student half-asleep in libraries, the man kneeling before pages of scripture.
Each reflection breathed on its own, a choir of selves humming in perfect dissonance.
The floor beneath him was transparent crystal.
Beneath that, an ocean of liquid fire rolled, its waves breaking in slow, silent crescendos.
Somewhere in that inferno shapes moved, figures walking upright through flame as if through air.
He felt heat rise through the soles of his feet, up into his bones.
"This is the first gate," said God.
"The Cross of Glass. The test of compassion."
The mirrors began to turn.
In every panel he saw someone suffering: strangers, loved ones, enemies, each frozen at the moment of collapse.
Their eyes met his, pleading.
The air thickened until breathing hurt.
"If magic is real," God whispered, "die for them."
The scholar's knees buckled.
Images pressed closer, famine, war, the small cruelties that build empires.
He could feel their heat, the ache of their hunger, the crush of their despair.
His pulse stuttered; he wanted to dissolve, to burn out his own body in exchange for relief he could never deliver.
"Truth is not soft," God said, voice cutting through the roar.
"It survives force. Put it to the blade. Nothing True Breaks."
The words struck the mirrors like hammer blows.
Cracks radiated outward; the trapped images blurred, not gone, but transformed into light that poured upward like incense.
Pain remained, but it was clean, a line etched through illusion.
The old instinct to retreat rose in him, the longing for warmth, for safety.
God saw it and smiled.
"Comfort is the root of rot. Stay warm too long, forget the climb."
The flame below surged once, then steadied.
He straightened, still trembling, and the mirrors bowed inwards until they formed a tunnel of reflected suns.
At its far end waited another brightness, deeper, more demanding.
"You've seen the cross," said God.
"Now see the mirror behind it. Step forward."
He obeyed, walking into the next light.
The crystal shattered underfoot, and he fell again, not down, but inward.