Chapter 7: Trial of Mirrors
The fortress was not built of conventional stone, but of dense, dark obsidian that seemed to absorb all light and sound. Reiyo, Kenji, and Silas passed through the monolithic gates, leaving the wide, sunny Hinterlands behind.
The moment they were inside, Anima agents, clad in simple, practical garments that matched the obsidian rock, took over. They were silent, efficient, and moved with a terrifying sense of purpose. Reiyo was led away from a terrified Kenji and the now-silent Silas.
"The first step of the Trial of Scrutiny," an elder agent with the same piercing purple eyes as Silas informed Reiyo, That it's not going to be easy. He was stripped of his patched coat and his knife. Surrendering the worn steel blade was agonizing; it felt like giving up his only tether to sanity. The agent took the knife without comment and secured it in a heavy lockbox.
Reiyo was then led through dark corridors until he stood before a reinforced steel door. When it hissed open, he stepped into a room of blinding, disorienting light.
The chamber was entirely square, and every surface—the walls, the floor, the ceiling—was covered in massive, polished mirrors. Hundreds of reflections of Reiyo instantly sprung into existence, surrounding him, multiplying every flaw, every fear, and every suppressed memory. The air in the room felt heavy and pressurized.
In the center of the floor, a single black pedestal held a holy cup. It was ceramic, ancient, and filled to the brim with a viscous, oily black substance that seemed to defy the light, reflecting nothing.
Two Anima officials stood waiting, their faces stern.
"The mirrors show your truth, Source," one explained. "They reflect the man of the Iron District and the fractured life-force beneath. The substance is the concentrated essence of the Unwritten Scars, the raw chaos of your potential. To master your power, you must force the chaos into your deepest self."
On the pedestal, next to the cup, lay a single, obsidian-tipped syringe.
Reiyo stared at the reflections. They weren't just showing his present exhaustion; in the shifting depths, he saw flickers of something else: an older face, eyes burning with a knowledge that wasn't his, a terrifying, momentary glimpse of someone,
He picked up the syringe and looked at the black substance. The mirrors intensified the moment, showing dozens of Reiyos raising the syringe, each one shaking, each one a second away from a disastrous choice.
His hands shook as he drew the thick substance into the syringe. The black liquid was instantly freezing, chilling the bone in his hand. He raised it to his eye.
The goal was control, acceptance, and stillness.
But the mirrors showed him the full truth: the utter terror of surrendering his identity. The raw, survivalist instinct that had kept him fighting for sixteen years roared in protest against this ultimate violation.
He pushed the obsidian tip in his eye,
The thought wasn't conscious; it was the final, desperate act of the suppressed soul refusing to be overwritten. Reiyo didn't refuse the trial; he failed it by rejecting the self-violation.
In a blinding flash of pure instinct, he did inject the substance—he slammed against the chamber wall in agony
The brittle obsidian tip shattered, and the concentrated black substance exploded into the mirrors, instantly poisoning the chamber. Reiyo screamed as the chaos slammed into his nervous system. This was the failure: a complete, terrifying loss of control and a violent rejection of the raw power.
The Anima officials made no move to stop him.
But instead of dying, the shattered substance acted as a conduit. Deep below the fortress, a primeval force awoke. The mirrors didn't just crack from the blast—they exploded, showering Reiyo with crystalline shards.
From the ceiling, from hidden vents and conduits, a flood of light unlike any Reiyo had ever seen descended. It was a something alive with energy. This was the dormant, life-giving power of the Syqnix Tree, drawn to the violent, chaotic rejection of the Unwritten Scars.
The light wrapped around Reiyo, ignoring the cold power of the knife and the black chaos he had just released. It didn't heal him; it rewrote him. The force of the Tree didn't mend his soul—it slammed the suppressed memories of him directly into the core of Reiyo's Heart, flooding his mind with purpose, power, and pain.
The Trial of Scrutiny was failed, Reiyo screamed, not in pain, but in recognition of the life he had buried.
He opened his eyes. They were no longer the simple eyes of a man from the Iron District. They looked miserable like a deep Sorrowful purple eyes
Someone have accepted him. He was awake.