The stars disappeared the moment I stepped forward. One blink, and I was no longer in the obsidian chamber. No Oruun. No torches. No walls.
Just static.
Literal static—white noise, glitching visuals, fragmented sound. It felt like reality itself had stuttered, like some god behind the screen pressed Ctrl+Alt+Delete on the universe and forgot to restart it.
I stumbled forward. The ground beneath me wasn't dirt or stone—it was… glass? Code? It shimmered with every step, like I was walking on the surface of a frozen lake beneath which strange things moved, pulsing like data corrupted in motion.
Then a voice.
But not Oruun's.
"Welcome, Player: Echo."
The voice was emotionless. Artificial. But not robotic—too smooth for that. Like someone tried to synthesize a human voice and almost got it right. A UI materialized mid-air, hovering in front of me. Bright, flickering text hovered above it:
SYSTEM UPDATE: ARCHITECT MODE ENGAGEDNEW OBJECTIVE UNLOCKED: Create or Destroy
I stared at the interface, jaw tight. Was this part of the trial? Or had I broken something I wasn't supposed to?
"Create or destroy," I muttered. "That's subtle."
Another flicker. Then the entire horizon folded into itself—like someone pulled a digital sheet across a canvas and erased the world. When it came back, I was in a city.
But not a city—my city.
Los Delwyn.
Concrete towers scraped the sky. Neon signs buzzed. Sirens echoed in the distance. The smell of fried food and wet asphalt hit me like a memory. It was the version of Los Delwyn that existed in my head, not reality. Too clean in places, too broken in others.
And standing across from me, beneath the flickering streetlight, was me.
Younger. Cleaner. Detective coat crisp. Eyes that hadn't seen the inside of an island filled with blood, puzzles, or cursed crowns.
"You're not real," I said quietly.
Younger-Echo tilted his head. "Neither are you."
We stared at each other for a beat too long before he moved. No warning, no preamble. Just a full-speed lunge and a punch aimed straight at my jaw.
I ducked. Barely. He moved like me. Fought like me. Thought like me.
Which meant I had one advantage: I knew my own tricks.
I tackled him into a nearby car. Glass shattered. He grunted, twisted, and slammed his elbow into my ribs. I gasped, staggered, then spun to deliver a boot to his knee. He buckled. I didn't wait—I pressed my knife against his throat.
And froze.
Because his face had changed.
It wasn't my younger face anymore.
It was Gavin.
My old partner. My best friend. The man whose blood had stained my hands. The reason I quit the force. The shadow I couldn't shake.
I backed away, breath caught in my throat.
"Why are you showing me this?" I demanded. "What the hell is this trial?"
But Gavin didn't speak. He just looked at me, disappointment written in every flicker of his eyes.
Then the world shattered again.
Back to static.
The voice returned:
"System overload. Identity fragmentation detected. Attempting to restore…"
I fell to my knees. My heart was hammering. Not from the fight—from the reminder. From the guilt.
The crown still pulsed on my head like a second heartbeat. I could feel it now, the real test sinking in.
It wasn't about power. It was about memory. About identity. About whether I could be trusted with control when I didn't even trust myself.
"You cannot create the future," the voice said, this time not artificial but something familiar—my own voice, layered and distorted—"until you make peace with your past."
The glitchscape around me faded. This time, it wasn't replaced by a city or a mirror or static.
It was just dark.
And quiet.
Then a small light appeared in front of me—hovering, flickering gently like a firefly. A single word appeared beneath it:
Continue?
I stared at it. The simplest question in the world. And the hardest.
I stood up.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's finish this."
LEVEL 7 UNLOCKED
Mental Fortitude: +20%
Resistance to Illusions: +15%
New Skill: Mind Mirror — See through false realities.
The trial wasn't over. But I had faced a glitch in the game—and survived.
Next stop: the truth. Or whatever version of it was left.