For a year, the dream had been his nightly ritual. Each night, the GodKing's meditation was breached, his immortal consciousness seized and pulled into the same unyielding vision.
He had learned to resist the pull of the crimson quicksand, its viscous hunger now thwarted. Tonight, as always, he stood upon its unsettling surface, the scarlet floor rippling with each step like a membrane of congealed blood. His entire focus was bent on the twin wooden beams that dominated the space—their forms stark, simple, and maddeningly opaque. Assuming a meditative posture, he floated before them, a star-forged sentinel silently demanding answers from the void.
---
Meanwhile, on L'uminix, the Paladixtus sanctuary thrummed with a history-making energy. Its halls, once reserved for solemn strategy, were now filled with a vibrant, uneasy tapestry of life. Delegates from the northern clans, southern syndicates, and eastern communes mingled under the vaulted stone, their low murmurs a current of anticipation and suspicion.
All conversation died the moment the main hall's door swung open. Ezmelral's lookalike entered, her presence imposing an immediate silence. She moved with a regal grace that belied the tension in her shoulders, her Consilium Disciplinae forming a formidable phalanx in her wake.
She passed the grand feast at the hall's heart—a spectacular display of unity symbolized by overflowing platters and gleaming chalices—and ascended the dais to her throne. Her Consilium took their seats beside her, a line of resolute loyalty.
Raising her hands, she stilled the final whispers. "You honor us with your presence," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners. "We gather not just to feast, but to forge. Today, the east, north, and south unite with the west, to birth a new era for L'uminix—one defined by discipline, and secured by prosperity."
A wave of approving murmurs and measured nods passed through the crowd. The dream, however fragile, was taking hold.
Her tone hardened, the warmth receding like a tide. "For too long, we have been prey. The PraLumunix defile our lands, and warlords savage our people. In division, we are victims. In unity..." she let the word hang, a promise and a threat, "...we become the purge that cleanses this world."
With a graceful gesture, she summoned the eighth Consilium member, Arshara, who presented a ceremonial chalice. The lookalike accepted it, her grip firm as she raised the cup high, its metal catching the firelight.
"To unity!" she declared, her voice sharp and clear as a blade being drawn.
"To unity!" the assembly roared back, a single voice from a hundred throats. Chalices were raised and sipped, the synchronized clink of metal and glass echoing through the hall like the first, fragile chord of a new world order.
Ezmelral's lookalike gave Meryal a subtle nod. Meryal rose, knelt, and presented an Essence Scroll. Accepting it, the lookalike stood and took a few steps forward, her voice ringing out. "The unification treaty is prepared. May the queens, kings, and generals now step forward to affirm it."
The leaders of the north and east rose, their approach measured and solemn. The moment of history was at hand.
Then, a gasp ripped through the hall.
Ezmelral's lookalike staggered, a sharp, cold fire erupting in her side. A blade was buried deep between her ribs. The room erupted into confused murmurs as she turned her head, a pained frown contorting her features. Her eyes met those of Osculi Iudæ—standing behind her, his face a stone mask of betrayal.
Before the Consilium Disciplinae could fully react, the northern and eastern rulers moved with shocking speed. King-Level power flared as they seized the Consilium from behind, driving knees into the backs of their legs, forcing them to the floor and locking their arms in unbreakable holds.
"Unhand us!" Bellavius roared, his Earth Essence flaring uselessly against the superior force.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?!"Libinea snarled, her Fire Essence sputtering as she struggled against the grip of two generals.
High in the veil of time, Ezmelral began, "What is goi—?"
The words died on her tongue.
Raiking's face stopped her cold. His crimson eyes—once steady pools of calm and command—now burned with raw fury, threaded with something far rarer: pain.
The sight chilled her to the core.
Her breath caught as her gaze snapped back to the scene below.
Her lookalike, grimacing, looked down at the weapon protruding from her rib. She tried to grasp the hilt, but her fingers slid off—the texture was wrong, slick and alien. The blade itself was a shard of darkness, its hue echoing the malevolent weapons of the Void Realm. The chilling truth assembled itself in her mind.
From the dissipating shockwave of the attack, Osculi Iudæ emerged. His Paladixtus armor was shattered, hanging from his shoulders in ragged strips. His steps were slow and deliberate, his eyes burning.
"Why?" the lookalike rasped, blood flecking her lips.
"Why?" Osculi Iudæ echoed, a bark of disbelieving laughter escaping him. "You dare ask me that? You, who stand there drenched in deception, pretending to be our salvation!"
"How dare you speak to her like that!" Meryal screamed, her Water Essence boiling around her despite the arms pinning her down.
"Traitor?" Osculi Iudæ's laugh was hollow and bitter. He extended his arm, palm facing the ceiling. "Then let your own eyes condemn you."
A plume of black smoke spiraled from his hand, coalescing not into a vision, but into a shimmering, dark mirror that hung in the air before the entire assembly. Its surface rippled like oil on water, ready to reflect a truth no one was prepared to see.
Within the mirror, the smoky surface rippled—shifting, deepening—until it revealed Ezmelral's lookalike soaring high above L'uminix.
At first, it seemed ordinary: a familiar figure of white light cutting through twilight skies.
But then the "camera" tilted.
The image sank downward, toward the ground—
—and the scene changed.
What it revealed next tore through the room like a blade.
"What is the meaning of this?" the Southern King thundered, his chalice trembling in his grip, disbelief etched into every line of his regal face.
"The truth," Osculi Iudæ said, his voice flat and absolute. The fragments of his shattered armor caught the lamplight with every slow, deliberate step he took toward the center of the hall.
"How can this be…" a young Paladixtus whispered—a boy once rescued from ruin, now a warrior of the order. His voice broke as his eyes clung to the mirror, the reflection of his faith collapsing before him.
The hall fell into chaos.
Gasps, denials, prayers—each word a fracture spreading through the once-unshakable unity of the Paladixtus. The air grew heavy with despair and disbelief, the echo of the revelation hanging over them like a curse.
And in the center of it all, the mirror continued to show its truth—
unblinking, merciless—
as the foundation of the order began to crumble beneath its own reflection