The light hurt like confession.
Princess Lysandra Caelis crown paladin carried the sun on her shoulder. It took Zion a heartbeat to recognize the taste of a weapon in the room: oaths and daylight and something that made code hiss like water on hot iron.
Awe with threat, again. Not cold this time purifying heat.
Her blade's name breathed itself across Zion's UI:
SOLAR OATHBLADE - system-killer potential.Effect: sanctify code, sever rails at cost of vow.
Lysandra's gaze took him in. He braced for judgment. Instead, she looked past him to Seraphine, and something like sorrow touched the paladin's mouth.
"Lady Vale," she said softly. "They are making you perform again."
Seraphine's mask did not move. "We all perform," she said. "Some of us choose our stage."
The blade lowered a fraction. Lysandra's eyes found Zion again, and now she saw what Maelor sawan anomaly that made the rails sweat.
SYSTEM CUT-INEvent: Trial by Honor.[A] Duel.[B] Spar and speak truth.Reward: Affection (Lysandra) | Collapse mitigation.
Zion's body reacted before his mind: he bowed, empty hands open. "I don't know the rules," he said. "I only know what hurts."
"Truth enough," Lysandra said, easing to [B]. "Guard your heart."
The spar was half dance, half confession. Glitch Step carried him under arcs of sunlight with perfect, timed vanishings; each iframe felt like blasphemy in her light. She pressed him turn, breathe, answer and with every answer a different rail shook loose: he admitted to saving Seraphine because cruelty tasted wrong on his tongue; he admitted he wanted to live; he admitted that the crowd's eyes felt like a blade he did not deserve.
Seraphine watched the whole while, unreadable.
RESULT: Affection (Lysandra) +8 (respect).New Perk Preview (70): Sanctify Code convert a red node to gold (1/arc).
A bell chimed somewhere that wasn't a bell. Mika's name danced on the edge of Zion's vision. Not yet. Soon.
Maelor's quarantine tried to close over the spar like a lid over a flame. The Oathblade flared; the lid warped.
"Enough," Lysandra said gently when Zion's breath hit the edge. "He is not a liar."
Maelor materialized in the doorway, glass voice fracturing. "He is an error."
Seraphine stepped forward, skirts whispering, and placed herself not between them, exactly, but slightly to one side; a geometry that said you will have to consider me when you swing.
"Errors," she murmured, "are how we improve."
E.V.A. pulsed, conflicted. Note: Administrator escalation likely. Safe exit: ballroom tribunal. Unsafe exit: west wing deeper…
CHOICE NODE: RETREAT TO TRIBUNAL[A] Yes - consolidate gains, recruit bard later.[B] No - push deeper, force Debugger to reveal itself.
Zion looked at Seraphine, at Lysandra, at the tear where paper had been a choir. Two paths: safety and speed. He chose neither. He chose a sliver of a third small enough to be ignored by most systems, large enough to set a new habit.
"Lady Vale," he said, "will you author a scene with me?"
That made Seraphine's eyes brighten the way winter does when the sun finds a lake. "Finally," she said.
They turned together toward the door.
Cliffhanger: A second cursor slid into his vision beside E.V.A. same signature, colder intent and typed three words: HELLO, PAST ME.