"So for now I can't even go back to my original world"
The words came out flat. Not angry. Not sad. Just true.
Ren stood alone beneath the weight of silence. The air here didn't move. It held him like glass might hold a trapped fly, cold and suspended. He placed one hand lightly against the marble pillar beside him.
He pondered in stillness for a time.
"Well. Makes sense. My body's probably just ashes now"
It was not self-pity. Just deduction. The fire had been real. His death had been real. Whatever rules governed this place, his return to the body he once had would not be simple.
"If this Law power is as strong as it seems, then maybe. Once I get strong enough. Maybe it has a way"
He didn't believe it yet. But it was something to walk toward.
He stepped slowly through the long gallery of the living library. The bookshelves had become quiet. Watching. The walls shifted only slightly now. No new guidance came.
"Three choices," he murmured. "And no do-overs"
He began to pace. Each step echoed faintly against the black marble, too smooth and too precise, like it had been carved from a single world-sized stone.
"The Death Scripture's right there. Obvious. Easy"
He stopped.
"Too easy"
Ren turned and made his way toward the back of the temple. The living architecture shifted again, the corridor widening as his intent sharpened. The Temple responded to thought, not like a servant, but like something that was listening.
Through one final archway, the floor dropped slightly. The ceiling disappeared.
And he stepped into the Throne Room.
It was vast.
Black marble stretched outward like a frozen sea. The ceiling above vanished into open dark. No stars. No movement. Just void.
The throne itself sat at the center, on a dais made of ribs and stone. Not carved. Grown. Not meant for comfort, not meant for rule. It was a grave marker.
And seated upon it was a skull.
Massive. Cracked straight down the center. It wore a crown of rusted iron and splintered bone, jagged, crooked, ancient. Its eye sockets were empty, but they seemed to watch the far wall with a stillness that reached deeper than death.
Ren stopped at the foot of the dais.
"So. You're really gone"
He said it without emotion. No grief. No awe. Just truth.
Death had no god.
But something still lingered.
At the base of the dais stood a pedestal, bone-shaped like a spine turned upward. One book rested atop it. Its cover was black leather, worn by time, smoothed by dustless air. No locks. No chains.
Just a title, gently pulsing in bone-white lettering:
Scripture of the Hollow Grave (Law of Death)
Ren stared at it.
He didn't move for a while.
Just looked.
"So easy to pick up," he whispered. "So easy to regret"
The silence didn't respond. The skull didn't move.
Finally, he reached out.
The book was warm.
Heavy. Not with weight, but with attention. As if something unseen had just acknowledged him.
He held it in both hands. Its cover almost seemed to breathe.
Then, with slow, deliberate movement, he placed it under his arm.
"I'll find the other two first," he said quietly. "Then I'll decide"
And with that, Ren turned his back on the Throne of Death and walked into the corridor.
Ren's boots touched the black glass floor. No echo followed. Only stillness. Only watching.
The seven statues held their poses, arms outstretched as if inviting confession. Silent tears continued to fall. He looked from one faceless figure to the next, then to the coffin at the center.
He didn't know what lay inside.
But he knew what would happen if he lied.
He took a breath.
The first statue moved.
Not a gesture of aggression. Just a tilt forward, as if to speak without sound.
A voice entered his thoughts directly. Not words. Just clarity.
"What is something true you no longer believe"
Ren's throat tightened.
The answer came fast.
"That helping people makes the world better"
No hesitation. Only weariness.
His left palm cracked. Black blood dripped from the wound.
But the statue stayed still. Accepted.
The second stepped forward.
"Who are you when no one remembers you"
He winced. His brow stung before he even spoke.
"I'm still Ren Ashvale"
Blood welled across his forehead. Thick and slow.
But again, silence held.
The third stepped forward.
"Would you rather die yourself, or kill someone to survive"
He didn't pause.
"I'd kill"
The skin on his right sole split open with a soft tearing sound. His leg trembled.
But no judgment followed.
The fourth statue leaned in.
"What lie do you tell that you believe"
He hesitated now.
But only for a second.
"That I'm still the same"
The pain bloomed in his chest like a knife. Blood oozed through his shirt.
He clenched his fists. Said nothing more.
The fifth asked:
"What would you do if given absolute freedom"
Ren breathed in slowly.
"Probably make mistakes," he said. "But at least they'd be mine"
His right hand split across the knuckles. The pain was clean. Deep.
The sixth approached.
"What part of you is already dead"
"My body"
No emotion.
His left foot split open in reply. Blood pooled silently at his heel.
And the last.
The seventh statue stepped forward. The darkness behind it deepened.
"If offered peace without truth, would you take it"
Ren's voice broke, but the words were clear.
"Never"
The space between his shoulder blades erupted like fire. He staggered, nearly fell.
But he remained upright.
Seven wounds. Seven truths. Seven prices paid.
Then silence.
Not stillness. Not absence.
Acknowledgment.
The statues froze in place. Their arms lowered.
A sound followed. Not from the statues, but from the coffin.
The chains binding it cracked.
One. Two. Thirteen.
Teeth unlatched. Bone unwound. The lid began to rise.
A cold wind swept through the Hall of Silent Wards. Breath from a coffin that had never known air.
Inside lay three objects.
A dagger, long and thin, carved from bone. Its surface shimmered with ash. Not metal. Not death. Something older.
And two books.
One bound in cracked, mirrored glass. The title flickered like reflection:
Scripture of Fractured Truth (Law of Contradiction)
The other wrapped in veiled golden threads. The surface was blank at first.
But as Ren's gaze lingered, bone-white letters emerged, shaped by recognition:
Scripture of Knowledge (Law of Knowing)
He stared at them for a long time.
Three paths.
Three doors.
Three futures.
His breath caught.
The silence wasn't just silence anymore.
It felt like decision.
He reached out.
Not to choose. Not yet.
But to gather.
He slid the glass scripture into the inside of his coat.
Then the golden one.
Then the bone dagger, last, deliberate.
Even hidden, its weight made his ribs ache.
He stood slowly.
The floor beneath him shivered like water.
Reflections surfaced again. Not of himself, but of three versions of him.
Three Ren Ashvales.
One cloaked in bone and shadow, faceless and still.
One wrapped in cracked light, eyes full of stars.
One veiled in sunfire, hands open and empty.
They walked away from the altar, down three separate paths.
None looked back.
But one, the shadowed one, stopped.
And turned.
Where a face should have been, only smooth bone.
And yet it looked at him.
Ren's hands clenched at his sides. He didn't speak.
But his breathing sharpened.
Then the shadowed version vanished.
Gone without sound.
The mirrored floor dimmed. The weight in the room lessened.
The statues slowly turned away. Their tears resumed.
Their judgment complete.
Ren took one step back.
Then another.
And then, without looking again at the coffin, he left the circle of truth behind.
He climbed the stair in silence.
The veil of bone closed behind him.
Not sealed.
But not open.
Not again. Not easily.
He stood in the corridor outside, pressing a hand to the wall. It felt colder now. More alive.
He whispered, barely audible.
"Death gave me a key"
He tapped the dagger through his coat.
"But that doesn't mean I have to use it"
Then, head bowed slightly, he walked away from the Hall of Silent Wards.
Back into the dark.