The Sanctum's second trial wasn't announced with trumpets or ceremony. It came with silence — and a room full of strangers pretending to be allies.
Lucifer Valtros stood beneath the arched obsidian doorway, staring into what looked like a sunken coliseum carved into the rock. The sky above had dimmed, or maybe that was just the enchantment stretching across the trial chamber — like someone had turned down the world's flame.
Dozens of participants lined the stone steps that spiraled downward, each watching, waiting. Some wore armor. Some wore silk. All of them wore masks — if not on their faces, then behind their eyes.
Judas stood just behind him, arms folded. "There are fewer than before."
Lucifer said nothing.
He descended the first step. One by one, the heads turned.
Whispers followed him down. He didn't need to hear the words. He could feel the weight of them. The ghost duke. The failed heir. The one the gods forgot.
Let them speak. Their voices were the sound of irrelevance.
At the center of the coliseum stood a large, circular platform surrounded by concentric rings of runes. Floating above it: a single obsidian cube.
As Lucifer stepped onto the first ring, the cube flared.
"Candidate acknowledged. Trial Two: The Mask of Judgment."
A voice, neither male nor female, echoed through the chamber like it had lived a thousand lives. Cold. Unyielding.
"This trial will test discernment, intuition, and the ability to command. Each participant will be given a mask. Each mask is a role. But only three roles are real."
The cube pulsed, and a dozen masks appeared in the air — white porcelain with blood-red markings.
"The Reclaimer. The Usurper. The Harbinger."
"All other masks are shadows. Falsehoods. Tools."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed. So it's a game. A social crucible.
The cube continued. "You must discover the real Reclaimer among your peers — without revealing your own mask. And if you are the Reclaimer... you must survive."
One by one, the participants stepped into the platform. Each touched a mask. Each vanished in a shimmer of light.
Lucifer waited until nearly last.
When he stepped forward, the cube hovered closer. Its voice was almost curious.
"You are... difficult to place."
Lucifer didn't reply. He reached out and touched a mask.
The world twisted.
---
He awoke in a hall of mirrors.
His reflection stared back a thousand times. But only one face was truly his — the mask in his hand.
White. Smooth. No markings.
A simple symbol burned on the inside: a blade piercing an eye.
Lucifer's jaw tightened. He slipped it over his face.
A whisper brushed against his ear — not from the mask, but from somewhere deeper:
"Reclaimer."
He felt nothing. No power. No glow of truth.
Only silence.
He turned toward the nearest mirror. This wasn't about strength. It was about seeing without being seen.
Voices echoed from far away — faint, like ghosts arguing down a tunnel.
He walked.
---
The trial chamber had changed.
It was no longer stone. It was glass and shadow. Long corridors stretched in unnatural directions. Every corner seemed to fold reality. And the other candidates were already scattered.
Some wandered.
Some hunted.
Some hid.
Lucifer kept walking, boots silent on the obsidian floor.
He turned a corner — and froze.
Two candidates stood in front of him.
One tall and broad, armored in silver. The other cloaked in scholar's robes, mask etched with golden tears.
Both turned at once.
"Another mask," the robed one said.
"Have you been marked yet?" the armored one asked.
Lucifer said nothing.
They weren't threats. Not yet.
"I've seen two Harbingers," the robed one offered. "Their symbols glow. Yours doesn't. Are you a Shadow?"
"Maybe," Lucifer said calmly. "Or maybe I'm watching you both."
A pause.
The armored one chuckled. "Well played."
And then: "We're forming a temporary pact. Exchange of information. Mutual benefit. Are you in?"
Lucifer considered it.
Temporary allies meant exposure. But also opportunity.
"Fine. For now."
The three moved deeper into the maze. Runes flared as they passed — marking their movements. Testing. Measuring.
Lucifer didn't speak much. He let the others fill the silence with theories and paranoia. Every word they spoke painted a picture of who they feared… and what they wanted.
Eventually, the armored one broke off. "I don't trust the woman with the stitched mask. She lies like she breathes."
"She might be the Usurper," the robed one murmured.
"Or trying to sniff out the real Reclaimer."
Lucifer watched them quietly.
He didn't need to win this trial with charisma.
He needed to survive it.
---
An hour passed. Maybe more.
Lucifer found himself separated again — now standing at the center of what looked like a ruined cathedral. Candles burned upside-down on the ceiling. The air tasted like copper.
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
Her mask was crimson, stitched like skin. Her hair was pale and fell in waves behind her shoulders. She moved like she knew how to kill — quietly, quickly.
"You're not a Shadow," she said.
Lucifer remained still. "No?"
"You don't follow. You watch. Too closely. You ask nothing."
"Maybe I already know what I need."
She tilted her head. "Then tell me. Who do you think I am?"
Lucifer's answer was simple.
"Hungry."
She laughed softly. "Right and wrong."
She took a step closer.
"I think you're dangerous," she whispered.
Lucifer didn't flinch. "You should listen to yourself more often."
Their eyes locked — two predators circling the edge of something sharp.
"I won't warn you again," she said, voice cold. "Whatever mask you wear… it won't protect you forever."
Lucifer stepped past her.
"It doesn't have to."
---
The trial ended with no warning.
A pulse of sound. A flare of violet light.
All the masks vanished. The maze unraveled like it had never been.
Lucifer stood again in the coliseum — the other candidates blinking as they were returned to reality.
The obsidian cube pulsed.
"Trial concluded. Roles successfully obscured. Reclaimer not identified."
Lucifer's hands curled slightly.
Success meant little if no one else failed.
But this wasn't about winning.
It was about understanding the game.
And he had begun to.
The voice spoke again.
"Six candidates eliminated. Twelve remain."
A hush fell over the chamber.
Judas was waiting at the edge of the platform. Lucifer joined him, ignoring the stares.
"You passed," Judas said simply.
"I learned," Lucifer replied. "That's better."
They left the coliseum in silence.
But something was waiting.
As they stepped into the Sanctum's outer hall, a letter sat on a silver tray.
No name. No seal.
Lucifer opened it.
Inside were four words, scrawled in ink that shimmered like blood:
> "We remember the truth."
Lucifer stared.
He didn't know what it meant.
But the mask was gone.
And now, someone was watching without one.