The crystalline corridor stretched endlessly before Leon, pulsing with a cadence like a heartbeat. The Codex floated at his side, silent but resonant, its pages occasionally fluttering despite the still air. The corridor narrowed, symbols crawling across its walls like living ink.
As Leon walked, he noticed an unusual change in the pressure around him. The air thickened, space warped, and a voice—stern, feminine, and undeniably powerful—pierced the veil.
"Only those who command themselves may command reality."
A doorway materialized ahead, its surface a black mirror. It shimmered once before parting like a curtain, revealing a vast chamber flooded in pale, starless light. The space was geometrically impossible—gravity twisted, angles defied comprehension, and the floor spiraled upward into the sky.
Leon stepped forward.
"Initiate Leon Veyron. Welcome to your first Dominion Trial."
The voice no longer spoke in his mind alone. A figure stood at the far end of the room—a woman adorned in golden robes, her eyes twin stars, her form radiant yet immaterial. She was the projection of a construct.
"You are a fragment of potential," she said, walking toward him without ever touching the floor. "This realm will test your Command. Body. Mind. Spirit. Fail, and you shall be returned to dust."
Leon met her gaze evenly. "And if I pass?"
"You will wield the Law of Command. Not merely as an idea—but as force."
She gestured, and three pedestals rose from the floor. Upon them sat:
A sword with a shattered hilt but a glowing core.
A mirror shrouded in mist.
A sphere of pure black light.
"Choose your medium of trial," she said. "Each tests a different path: Conquest, Reflection, and Control."
Leon hesitated. His eyes flicked between them. The sword felt familiar—he had always been a fighter, even before the Collapse. But something in the mirror called to him. A challenge not of force, but of insight.
He stepped toward the mirror.
"Reflection," he said.
The woman's eyes shimmered. "So be it."
The world shifted.
He was no longer in the chamber.
He stood on a battlefield of ash and memory. Fires burned in the distance. Figures moved through smoke—soldiers, scientists, civilians. Among them, a younger version of himself barked orders, armed with precision and certainty. It was a vision of the day everything fell apart: when the Cataclysm began and Leon's greatest invention malfunctioned, fusing realities and opening the world to ruin.
"You blame yourself," a voice echoed from the sky.
Leon watched himself arguing with world leaders, frantically trying to halt the protocol he had helped design. It was raw. Painful.
"I was trying to save us all," he muttered.
"And you failed."
He spun around. The golden-robed woman now wore his face—his own image mocking him.
"You crave control because you lost it. But Dominion is not control over others. It is mastery of the self."
The false Leon raised his hand. Blades of golden light descended. Leon ducked, rolled, and summoned the Codex. It floated forward, projecting a barrier.
"No more running," Leon growled.
He lunged.
Their battle was psychological as much as physical. Each blow forced memories to the surface—mistakes, regrets, doubts. He was sliced by guilt, battered by shame. Visions of people he'd failed flashed before him: Natalie, the brilliant engineer he couldn't save; his mother, lost in the collapse of Geneva; even Professor Kray, who had once called him the future of humanity.
He was paralyzed briefly by one vision: himself, standing over the control console of the Cataclysm Protocol, hesitating for just one second too long.
"You are weakness given form," the false Leon snarled. "You believe knowledge will redeem you. But you cannot even forgive yourself."
Leon gritted his teeth. "Redemption isn't given. It's earned."
He surged forward again, this time not with anger—but clarity. As the blades fell again, he didn't fight with power, but with understanding. He embraced each vision—not as failure, but as experience. Each memory anchored him.
"I remember each face," he said, deflecting a strike. "Each mistake. I will not forget. And I will not break."
The false Leon faltered. "You can't—"
Leon drove forward and touched the Codex. "I command myself."
A radiant pulse erupted from him. The battlefield froze. Ash turned to light. The echoes of failure fell silent.
He stood, alone, breathing heavily.
A single word appeared before him, burning into the air:
ACCEPTED.
He gasped as power flooded him. The ouroboros over his heart glowed brilliantly. New information raced into his mind:
Law of Command (Tier 1: Self)
Dominion Construct Access: Partial
Codex Integration: 3.7%
Skill Acquired: Will Pulse (Active): Projects a focused wave of pure willpower laced with Dominion Energy in a forward arc. Disrupts mental illusions and dispels minor to mid-tier psychic debuffs. Temporarily boosts clarity and resistance to manipulation in allies caught within the wave. Strength scales with Leon's mental state, clarity, and the strength of his resolve under pressure.
The golden figure appeared once more, nodding with the faintest smile.
"You have faced your first truth. More shall come. Now awaken, Dominator."
Leon's eyes snapped open.
He lay at the edge of the corridor's exit, the mirror gone. The Codex pulsed warmly at his side.
Leon sat up slowly, breath steady, mind alight.
"Self-mastery, huh?" he muttered. "One step at a time."
But his gaze was sharper now. The path ahead awaited—and he was ready to walk it.