And when the time came for him to face the Trial of the Crown, that memory awaited him.
The trial had mercilessly dragged him back to that very night, restoring every detail with cruel precision: The broken pillars stood once more, the blood stained the stone floor, his father's lifeless body lay where it had fallen, and his mother knelt before him, clear-eyed and trembling.
The trial did not ask him questions. It did not offer riddles or battles of strength like what it did with the previous kings.
Instead, it forced him to relive his darkness moment.
Again and again.
Each time, he raised his sword with the same grief in his heart. Each time, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes and begged him to end it before the corruption returned. Each time, his blade descended.
And each time, it shattered.
