From the fragmented memoirs of Alistair, Scribe of the Forgotten Histories, circa 872 A.E. (Aethelgard Era): …and among the scrolls recovered from the Sunstone Citadel’s ruin, one codex stands apart. Bound not in leather but in some strange, vellum-like material, it tells a story of cyclical tragedy. It speaks of a knight, a curse, and a world undone. The script is maddening, shifting between high verse and what appear to be cold, analytical notations. I have transcribed what I can decipher, though I fear the full truth of it is lost to the ages. It begins with an execution… 1. The day they bound me to the Divine Execution Array, I was reborn as the fallen paladin of a forgotten age. Behind them, Lian, the Order’s cherished prodigy, watched me with a triumphant smirk. My mentor, High Mentor Lyra, swung her blade, severing the tendons in my wrists and ankles. “Traitor,” she hissed, her voice colder than the steel of her sword. “For your arrogance, for your cruelty to a brother-in-arms, for casting young Lian into the Abyssal Maw—do you confess your sins?” Sins? I, who had shattered my own Spiritual Roots¹ to defend this very Order from a demonic horde—was that a sin? A voice, not my own, screamed in the hollows of my soul. You are the 108th Soul. If you fail, this pact is void, and I shall be unmade! Play the part! Remind them of their love for you, you fool! A slow smile touched my lips. In the next instant, I reversed the flow of my inner light, channeling it all toward my Golden Core. “I confess,” I whispered, my voice carrying across the silent plaza. “Every dark deed was mine. Kill me. Let it be done.” Who says death isn't its own form of victory? The chains sizzled against my skin, etched with runes meant to purify by fire. A buzzing filled my head, but it wasn't fear. It was the damned whispering of the Pact I was bound to. 【Trial Integrity Critical. Subject’s Trust Metrics at Nadir. Initiate Protocol Omega. Choose Thy Path:】 【A. Prostrate Thyself. Beg for Absolution. Pity is a Weapon.】 【B. Argue Thy Case. Seek the Truth, Though It May Slay Thee.】 【C. Maintain Thy Silence. Let Their Doubt Be Thy Shield.】 I couldn't even be bothered to open my eyes. As the 108th soul to walk this path, I had witnessed the echoes of the 107 who came before me. Their failures were my scripture. Beg, and they would call it the confession of a guilty soul. Argue, and they would name it the sophistry of a cornered liar. Silence, and they would see it as the stubborn pride of a fallen man. Every path led to the same abyss. Beyond the shimmering heat of the Array stood the three women who had once defined my world. My mentor, the High Mentor of the Order of the Empyrean Sun, Lyra. Her beauty was legendary, like a sculpture carved from starlight, but now her eyes were filled with disgust, as if gazing upon a masterpiece defiled by filth. “Traitor. Have you any final words to stain the air with?” My sister-in-arms, Seraphina. Once the closest person to me in the world, she now stood with her jaw clenched, her gaze fixed on the ground at my feet. “Silas… just confess. Please. If you show remorse, the High Mentor and I will plead for mercy on your behalf.” And my betrothed, Princess Isolde of the Silver Throne. Draped in the silks and jewels of her station, her voice was a cascade of icy contempt. “Silas Vallen, you are a profound disappointment. To be so consumed by envy… you possess none of the honor required of a future Prince Consort.” Behind them, nestled in the protective embrace of the other knights, was Lian. His shoulders shook with feigned sobs, but when his eyes met mine, they gleamed with undisguised victory. 【WARNING! THE PACT DEMANDS A CHOICE! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL TERMINATE THE TRIAL!】 Terminate? Finally. The words I’d been waiting for. I slowly lifted my head, my gaze passing over each of them, calm and clear. They were braced for my denials, perhaps even for a final, desperate curse. I was done playing their game. “I have nothing to say.” My voice was raw, my connection to the Light sealed, but the words were sharp. Lyra’s face hardened. “Still you defy us.” I laughed, a dry, rattling sound. I looked at them, and for the first time, I didn't see people. I saw lines of code. Puppets of Fate. “Mentor, you taught me the art of the blade, how to purge the unholy, but you never taught me that the hearts of men are more treacherous than any demon.” “Seraphina, do you remember? Who pulled you from the jaws of the great wyrm? Who took the blow that would have ended you? Your life is a debt owed to me.” “Your Highness,” I said, my eyes finally settling on Isolde. “Our betrothal was always a contract. You desired my celestial bloodline to secure your throne’s divine right. I sought your kingdom’s blessing to protect this Order. Do not pretend it was ever a matter of the heart.” They stared, stunned into silence. This was not in their script. The Voice in my head shrieked. 【WARNING! SUBJECT DEVIATING FROM FATED PATH! CATASTROPHIC FAILURE IMMINENT!】 Catastrophe? Wonderful. I closed my eyes, shutting out their shocked faces. I began to draw upon the last embers of my power, forcing them inward, backward, toward the nexus of my soul. Better to erase myself from the board than to be their pawn. “Silas! You would not dare!” Lyra was the first to realize. A crushing pressure, the weight of her authority, slammed down on me, trying to pin my spirit in place. But it was too late. The light reversed, converging on the alchemical magnum opus within me. The Golden Core, the culmination of a century of Soul Forging, began to glow like a dying star. To shatter one’s own Core was the most violent and final act a knight could perform. It offered no rebirth, no passage into the Light. Only oblivion. The color drained from Seraphina’s face. “No!” she screamed. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Princess Isolde’s regal features. Nothing they had anticipated was happening. I wasn’t begging. I wasn’t bargaining. I was choosing the one path they hadn’t accounted for. I was choosing to prove my innocence with my own annihilation. As a bitter smile stretched my lips, the first crack appeared in my Golden Core. 2. But I did not die. My body felt like it had been ground to dust and hastily glued back together. The forge of my soul, where my Core once burned, was a cold, empty void. I forced my eyes open. Through a halo of hazy light, I saw three familiar faces. Their expressions were a chaotic masterpiece of shock, confusion, and a subtle, rising anger at being deceived. “You’re awake,” Lyra said. Her voice was brittle, stripped of its usual authority. The look in her eyes was one I had never seen before: doubt. “Why would you do such a thing? Attempt to shatter your own soul simply to prove a point?” I looked at her, wanting to laugh, but I lacked the strength to even smile. There she is, I thought. My mentor. Even now, she clings to her judgment, twisting my final act of defiance into a motive she can comprehend: pride. “High Mentor,” Lian sobbed, leaning weakly against Seraphina. “It’s all my fault. If not for me, Brother Silas would never have…” Seraphina’s body went rigid. She started to comfort him, but her hand froze in mid-air. Her gaze snapped to me, her brow furrowed in a tormented knot. “But… Silas, you shattered your own ancestral blade to save me from that archdemon. You told me the bonds of the Order were worth more than life itself. How could that man… how could you possibly try to harm a novice out of simple jealousy?” Before anyone could answer, Princess Isolde stepped forward, her shadow falling over me. She sneered. “Bonds of the Order? Seraphina, your naivete is astounding.” Her eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, bored into me. “You hate me that much, don’t you, Silas? You hated that I showed Lian my favor. You would rather destroy your power, our betrothal, everything—just to spite me with this grand, tragic gesture. To make me regret it for all my days. Is that it?” I listened to their theories, and a sense of profound, weary absurdity washed over me. Proving a point? A crime of passion? Each of them had taken my incomprehensible action and molded it into a story that fit their narrative, a story that preserved their own innocence. The truth was irrelevant. All that mattered was what they chose to believe. My silence became my confession. The three of them fell quiet, the air thick with suffocating tension. Even Lian’s sobs subsided as he sensed the situation spiraling beyond his control. Finally, Lyra broke the silence. She waved a tired hand, her voice heavy with judgment. “Enough. There may be more to this than it seems. But your extremism is a fact.” She turned her back to me, her voice turning to ice. “Take him… to the Glacial Keep. Shatter what remains of his Core and let him contemplate his sins in the cold.” Shatter my Core. The Glacial Keep. I closed my eyes. The tiny spark of life they had forcibly rekindled within me seemed to freeze at those words. Fine. If I couldn't die, I would simply wait in a different kind of darkness. 3. They threw me onto the floor of the keep. My bones cracked against the Millennial Ice with a dull thud. The pain was immense, but it was nothing compared to the agony of my Core tearing itself apart. My vision blurred. The faces of those who had condemned me swam in my mind: Lyra’s cold mask of righteousness, Seraphina’s disappointed sorrow, Isolde’s venomous accusations. And Lian’s face, a perfect portrait of innocence concealing a rot that ran soul-deep. After an eternity, the great iron door of the keep ground open. It was not just Seraphina this time. High Mentor Lyra, Princess Isolde, and several of the Order’s Elders entered. Lian followed in Lyra’s wake, casting a timid glance at me, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his eyes. I was leaning against the ice wall, too weak to stand. An Elder stepped forward, holding a crystal vial. His voice was devoid of emotion. “Silas Vallen, to prove Lian’s innocence and to grant you a final chance to prove your own, you will drink this Draught of Truth.” I looked at the vial and let out a low, ragged laugh. Just what I needed. My laughter echoed strangely in the silent dungeon. Isolde frowned. “What is so amusing? Do you feel no remorse, even at death’s door?” I ignored her, raising my gaze to Lyra. “Mentor, if this proves my innocence, what then?” Lyra’s expression was unmoved, as if she were addressing a stubborn rock. “If you are innocent, the Order will grant you justice.” Grant me justice. How generous. Without hesitation, I took the vial and, to their visible surprise, drank it in one motion. As the elixir took hold, my tongue felt like a foreign object in my mouth. Lian stepped forward, his confidence absolute. He asked in his soft, gentle voice, “Brother Silas, why did you push me into the Serpent’s Pit? What did I ever do to offend you?” It was a masterfully crafted question, framing the verdict as a forgone conclusion. All I had to do was explain my motive. Every eye was on me, awaiting the expected answer. I lifted my heavy eyelids and looked at his pitiable face. The magic of the draught worked through me, and I heard my own voice, calm and detached, speak the truth. “I did not push you.” 4. Lian’s expression froze. An Elder immediately interjected, his voice sharp. “Lies! Then why did you repeatedly sabotage him, steal his opportunities, and destroy his alchemical reagents?” My gaze drifted slowly across the room, from Lyra to Seraphina, to Isolde. In my eyes, their faces began to dissolve, resolving into meaningless strings of data. “I never harmed him,” my voice was hollow, honest, and filled with a weariness they could never comprehend. “I was only trying to complete the trial, so I could go home.” “Go home?” Seraphina took a step closer, a tremor in her voice she couldn't hide. “Silas, you’re speaking nonsense. The Order is your home.” “No.” I shook my head. The elixir made lying impossible. “This is not my home. And you… you are all just puppets of Fate in my trial.” “Puppets?” The word detonated in the silent keep. They stared at each other, their faces blank with confusion. “What is this heresy you speak of?” Isolde demanded. Lian’s triumphant smile was now a rigid mask of shock. He had prepared for denials, for pleas, for anything but this incomprehensible madness. But Lyra’s face turned ashen. Her eyes locked on mine, and a terrifying, murderous intent blazed within them. “The whispers of the Void…” she breathed, each word a shard of ice. “So, you were not merely tempted. Your soul was taken. A soul-snatcher from the Outer Dark wears your face. No wonder you became this… monstrosity.” I looked at her and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Behold their logic. What they cannot understand, they label demonic. She had found her answer. And in doing so, she had sealed my fate. Lyra slowly raised her sword—Whispering Gale—the same blade she had once used to teach me my first stance. Its tip glowed with holy light, aimed directly at my forehead. “Abomination,” her voice echoed through the keep, cold as the abyss. “Today, I shall personally purify your stolen soul and end this corruption!” I closed my eyes and let a faint smile touch my lips. Good. Finally.
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