The world spun, fragmented like broken porcelain.
Lin Wuxie stood amidst chaos. The Mirror of Heaven had shattered—not physically, but metaphysically. The trial space had become a maelstrom of memory and illusion, stitched together by the minds of all those trapped within. A temple corridor bled into a tribunal hall. A sea of fire lapped at the edges of a mountain courtyard. What was real had no anchor.
Shards of self drifted like glass.
He adjusted his monocle, the golden serpent etching gleaming under distorted starlight. Through its lens, illusion unraveled into threads—wounds in the fabric of perception. He followed the thickest line, which pulsed like a vein of deceit.
Footsteps echoed.
Mei Yao stepped out from a veil of moonlight, her breathing shallow, her robes stained with ash and mirror-dust. Her eyes flicked to Lin Wuxie's face—then to the monocle.
"You," she said. "What did you do?"
"Opened a door," he said simply. "It was already cracking. I gave it permission."
A third figure emerged from a tribunal gate that shimmered between states—flesh and judgment. Shen Ziyao. Her white robes glowed faintly, embroidered flames quivering with inner tension. She looked between them, and for the first time, her certainty faltered.
"We are in each other's illusions," she said, voice tight. "This shouldn't be possible."
"No," Lin Wuxie said. "But neither should you be able to see the truth of it."
They were no longer separate minds in separate trials. The Mirror Realm had fused their reflections into one warped consciousness, and now it asked a singular question:
Who are you?
From the crimson mist, a fourth presence took shape.
A silhouette in tattered robes. Crimson cloth draped across a featureless mask, as if weeping blood. The Crimson Whisper.
Its voice slipped into their ears, not as sound—but as memory.
"Names are illusions given weight. Lies made holy."
Lin Wuxie tilted his head. "You speak like an old friend. Or an older enemy."
The Crimson Whisper turned, slowly, to face him. "We are kin in reflection. You wear a mask, Trickster. I am a mask."
"And Mei Yao," it said, voice a thousand cracked echoes, "unveils her truths like a child peeking through silk. Your father's sin beats inside your bones."
Mei Yao paled.
Shen Ziyao stepped forward, drawing flame to her palm. "Your riddles end here."
The Crimson Whisper did not move. "Will you burn a mirror to cleanse yourself? Then gaze, Inquisitor."
Mirrors rose around them like petals opening—each one reflecting their truths.
In one reflection:
Mei Yao stood before her father—not the illusion, but the truth. Mo Tianhe knelt in chains, masked and broken. Behind him, a younger Mei stood—eyes wide, face blank. The reflection whispered:
"You became strong only to remain unnoticed."
In another:
Shen Ziyao saw herself atop a pyre, sentencing a weeping child with false charges—her own memory twisted by justice too blind to see. The flame on her palm flickered.
And then:
Lin Wuxie stood before not a reflection, but three.
One wore his mortal form—calm, composed. One bore Amon's grin, sharp and cruel, clad in a crown of interlocking keys. One, the shadow of a Fool, faceless but divine.
"Which are you?" asked the mirror.
He raised his monocle. "None. And all."
The monocle flashed—its serpentine etchings writhing. With a twist of perception, he inserted a lie into the realm.
Lin Wuxie never existed.
The world jolted.
The Mirror Realm buckled. Shen Ziyao fell to her knees, gripping her head. Mei Yao gasped as the image of her father evaporated.
The Crimson Whisper reeled—its crimson robes cracking like old lacquer.
"You bend the mirror," it hissed.
"I am the mirror," Lin Wuxie said softly.
Behind him, the monocle bled light. For a heartbeat, his reflection rippled with wings, tentacles, divine scripture—then faded.
The mirror walls collapsed. The realm shook. A door formed—black obsidian, carved in the shape of an eye.
Only Lin Wuxie saw the inscription:
The King That Was Never Crowned.
He stepped forward. The monocle shimmered. The door opened.
The trial ended.
Outside, Elder Sun gasped as the Mirror of Heaven let out a keening hum—and fell silent.
The trial had not simply concluded.
It had changed.
And deep in the mountain's hollow, a sealed vault stirred.
The Mirror Sect's legacy would awaken again.