Mammon stood there, hands clenched tight, heart pounding like a drum.
Elyndo had spoken his name.
Not Karna—the one who had given everything, who had bled for others, who had held a shivering child in his arms. But him—the one who had given only eleven worthless items, the one who had kept the thirteen most precious treasures for himself.
Around him, whispers rose like waves against the shore:
"Mammon...?"
"Why him...?"
"Karna deserves it so much more..."
"He only gave things no one needed..."
The whispers pierced Mammon's ears like needles. He wanted to cover his ears, wanted to cry out that he had tried, that he had given too. But no sound could escape from his throat.
Karna still sat there, leaning against a large boulder, holding the sleeping child in his arms. Blood still flowed from the wound on his chest—where the golden armor had been fused to his flesh for his entire life. Blood still seeped from both sides of his ears—where the golden earrings had once sparkled like two small stars. His face was pale, his lips cracked and dry, his breathing so weak it was almost inaudible.
But when he looked up at Elyndo, his eyes held no anger. No resentment. No disappointment or indignation.
Only calm. Acceptance. As if he had known this would happen all along.
Elyndo looked at Karna, silent for so long that the air seemed to stop moving.
Then He spoke, His voice neither cold nor warm, just... starkly real:
"You took one item from the treasury. A sword."
Karna nodded slightly.
"Then you gave it away."
Karna nodded.
"Then you gave away your golden armor—born with you from your mother's womb, protecting you since birth, your very flesh, your lifelong shield."
Karna nodded.
"Then you gave away your earrings—divine marks, your innate source of power, connecting you to the heavens and earth."
Karna nodded.
"Then you gave away your blood—your life force, what nourishes your soul."
Karna nodded.
"Then you gave away your warmth—your body heat, the last thing you had to keep a child from freezing to death."
Karna nodded.
Elyndo paused, letting those words settle in the heavy air:
"One item from the treasury. Five items from your own body, soul, and life."
"Six in total."
He slowly turned to Mammon. His gaze held no anger, no contempt, but not a trace of respect either.
"As for you."
Mammon swallowed, his throat dry as a desert.
"You took twenty-four items from the treasury—the most of all the gods here."
Whispers rose:
"Twenty-four...?"
"He's that greedy..."
"Others only took five or six..."
Elyndo raised his hand, and everyone fell silent.
"You gave away eleven items—also the most of all the gods here."
Silence.
Then the whispers began to change:
"Eleven...?"
"So... Mammon gave more than Karna?"
"Eleven versus six... Nearly double..."
"Then why does everyone say Karna deserves it more?"
Elyndo raised his hand, and complete silence returned.
"But do you know..."
He pointed down at the pile of items Mammon had given, now scattered around the souls who had received them:
"...what those eleven items were?"
Light from Elyndo shone down, illuminating each one:
"A small silver ring—common engravings, some power but negligible. Value: the lowest of the twenty-four items you took."
"Iron gloves—ordinary, no magic, only average durability. Value: the second cheapest item."
"A small vial of medicine—only heals shallow wounds, useless for serious injuries. Value: the third cheapest."
"A small shield—cracked in one corner, can only block a few blows. Value: very low."
"A roll of cloth bandages—ordinary fabric, no magic. Value: almost none."
"A rusty knife, an old cloth scrap, worn shoes, a torn hat, a length of rope, a cold stone..."
"All of them are the least valuable items. Things you could lose without regret."
Elyndo pointed to the thirteen items remaining beside Mammon:
"As for the truly important ones..."
Light shone across them:
"The thunderstone sword—blade forged from rare gemstone, containing the power of lightning, one strike can split mountains. Value: immensely high."
"Black armor set—light as feather yet hard as diamond, reflects light like a mirror, can withstand ten thousand swords. Value: beyond measure."
"Glowing jade stone—contains primordial life force, just holding it makes you feel power surging. Value: could be traded for a kingdom."
"Ancient spell scroll—records lost magic, just reading it can multiply your power. Value: priceless."
"Dragon-carved golden ring, green jade necklace, dragon-scale gloves, phoenix-feather cloak..."
"All of them are the most precious items. Things you cannot let go."
Elyndo lowered his hand, turning back to the assembled gods:
"Mammon gave the most in quantity. Eleven items."
"But gave the least in value. The total value of those eleven items... doesn't equal one-tenth of the golden ring he kept."
"While Karna gave the least in quantity. Only six items."
"But gave the most in value. Each one an irreplaceable part of himself."
Elyndo looked straight at Mammon, his voice like a cutting blade:
"If you take the value of the eleven items you gave away—add them all together..."
"...they still don't equal one piece of Karna's golden armor."
"Because that armor wasn't an object. It was his soul."
"And the things you gave away... are just trash."
Heavy silence pressed down like lead.
Mammon bowed his head, his face flushed red, hands clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms, blood flowing out though he felt no pain.
The surrounding gods dared not breathe loudly.
Elyndo continued:
"You calculated."
"You chose the least valuable things to give away. So everyone would see you had given much. So no one could call you selfish."
"But you kept all the precious things. The things truly useful to yourself."
"That is not Charity."
"That is buying reputation."
Mammon trembled, wanting to argue, wanting to explain, wanting to say he was afraid too, needed to protect himself too, didn't know what would happen next.
But no words could come out.
Because it was all true.
He had calculated. He had chosen. He had given what could be lost, kept what was needed.
Elyndo turned back to look at the gods:
"So who is more worthy?"
"The one who gives much but gives trash?"
"Or the one who gives little but gives his very life?"
No one dared answer.
But the answer was clear in everyone's eyes.
Elyndo nodded slightly:
"Karna is more worthy."
Karna smiled weakly, without pride, just acceptance.
"Mammon is not worthy."
Mammon bowed his head deeper, wanting to sink into the ground.
"But..."
Everyone looked up.
Elyndo pointed at Mammon:
"...there is one thing Mammon did right."
Mammon looked up, eyes wide, disbelieving.
"Though you only gave trash, you are still alive. Still healthy. Still full of strength."
Elyndo turned to Karna:
"While Karna... is dying."
The gods looked at Karna. It was true. He breathed weakly, each breath seeming like it might be his last. His skin pale as someone about to close their eyes. Blood still flowing continuously from chest and ears, though slow, it didn't stop, forming a dark pool around where he sat.
Elyndo:
"The golden armor is not ordinary jewelry that can be removed and worn at will."
"It is part of Karna. Born with him from his mother's womb. Fused with his flesh, bone, and soul."
"To remove it... is like tearing away part of his soul. Like cutting away part of himself."
"The earrings too. They aren't decorations. They are divine seals, connecting him to the universe's source of power, to the flow of heaven and earth."
"To remove them... cuts off his power source. Like severing the blood vessels feeding the heart."
Elyndo paused, looking at Karna with eyes that held not pity, but... respect:
"He knew this. He knew that giving away the armor and earrings meant giving away a part that could never be recovered."
"But he still gave. Without hesitation. Without fear."
"Now, he needs months, even years, to recover—if recovery is even possible."
Elyndo turned back to the gods, his voice heavy:
"If I place the burden of a Pillar on him right now..."
He paused, letting the sentence hang in the air.
"...he will die before he can bear it for even one day."
"A Pillar is not an honorary title to show off."
"Not a golden crown to wear on your head and smile."
"It is a burden."
Elyndo raised his hand, light gathering into an enormous golden mass, then slowly pressing down, creating pressure that made the air tremble.
"Heavier than mountains. Heavier than oceans. Heavier than the very sky."
"It is the responsibility of maintaining order. Protecting the world. Sustaining balance."
"Strength is needed to bear it. Not kindness."
"Strength is needed to stand firm. Not worthiness."
Elyndo looked at Mammon:
"Mammon gave the most in quantity—eleven items."
"But the least in quality—all trash no one needs."
He turned to Karna:
"Karna gave the least in quantity—only six items."
"But the most in quality—each one his very life."
He turned back to look at everyone:
"So who is more worthy?"
No one answered, but everyone knew.
"Karna."
Karna nodded slightly, without pride.
"But who can bear the throne right now?"
Silence.
"Mammon."
Elyndo looked straight at Mammon:
"I do not choose you because you are good."
"I do not choose you because you are worthy."
"I choose you because you live. Because you are strong. Because you can bear this throne immediately."
"The world does not care who is worthy. The world only needs who is strong enough to hold it up."
Elyndo stepped closer to Mammon, each step like thunder.
"But remember this well, Mammon."
His voice cold as ice:
"The Throne of Charity does not belong to you."
"It is only temporarily entrusted to you."
"You are a placeholder. Not the owner."
He pointed toward Karna:
"Karna is the true owner of this throne."
"When he recovers. When he grows strong again."
"If you cannot prove yourself worthy..."
"If you continue giving trash, keeping treasures..."
"If you continue calculating, being selfish, thinking only of yourself..."
"I will take back the throne. And give it to the one who deserves it."
Mammon stood there, feeling like he'd been slapped in the face. Then slapped again. And again. Without end.
He gave the most.
But it was trash.
He was chosen.
But only as a placeholder.
He sat on a throne.
But the throne didn't belong to him.
All he had... was just a chance. And that chance could be taken away at any moment.
Elyndo raised his hand, golden light bursting forth powerfully, brilliantly, blindingly, swallowing Mammon whole.
Mammon felt something flowing into his body. An enormous power, warm, but also a burden heavier than anything he had ever carried.
Not joy. Not glory. Not the feeling of victory.
But pressure. Like an entire mountain pressing on his shoulders. Like an entire ocean pouring onto his back. Like the whole sky collapsing on his head.
He wanted to scream, wanted to refuse, wanted to say he couldn't do it.
But no sound could escape.
When the light faded, a golden throne slowly appeared before him.
The third throne among seven. Towering like the two before it: the Throne of Humility belonging to Michael and the Throne of Kindness belonging to Frigg. Carved with exquisite detail down to the smallest element, every line perfect and flawless. Golden light gleaming brilliantly under the gray sky of the wasteland.
On the throne's backrest, carved in relief were two hands:
One hand tightly gripping a full bag of gold, coins spilling from the mouth of the bag.
The other hand slowly opening, releasing, letting gold pour down like a waterfall, spreading everywhere.
The symbol of Charity: giving what you have, keeping nothing back, no regrets.
But looking at it, all Mammon saw was...
...the hand letting go.
...losing.
...emptying.
Elyndo spoke:
"Step up."
Not loud. But an absolute command.
Mammon hesitated. His legs felt like lead, unwilling to move.
He turned to look at Karna one last time. Karna still sat there, holding the child, smiling gently. A smile without regret. Without resentment. Without jealousy.
Just... waiting.
Waiting for the day he would return. Waiting for the day he would reclaim what was his.
Mammon swallowed, turned back, stepped toward the throne.
Each step heavy as dragging an entire world behind him.
Climbing the golden stairs. Each step higher than the last.
Sitting down.
Blinding light burst from the throne, surrounding him like an invisible crown, like a cloak of authority, like chains of responsibility.
Warm. But also burning like fire. Like sitting on hot coals.
Mammon felt this throne was not his.
Felt like a thief sitting on someone else's throne.
Felt everyone watching him with eyes full of... contempt.
The surrounding gods slowly bowed their heads.
Not out of respect. Not out of submission. Not out of trust.
But because Elyndo commanded it with a glance.
They bowed. But in their hearts they did not accept.
Only Karna did not bow. He still sat there, holding the child, smiling gently as he watched Mammon sitting on the high throne.
And that smile... made Mammon feel worse than any criticism.
Mammon sat on the throne, looking down at the thirteen treasures still lying at the throne's foot, where he had placed them before climbing up.
The thunderstone sword still gleaming with blue electric light. The black armor still shining like a mirror. The jade stone still glowing softly, warmly. The spell scroll still tightly bound with red silk ribbon.
All still there. All still his. No one took them. No one touched them.
But he felt... empty.
Not happy. Not joyful. Not feeling victorious or successful.
Just feeling... wrong.
Like he was sitting on a throne that didn't belong to him.
Like everyone was watching him with disappointed, contemptuous, mocking eyes.
Like he was an impostor. A fraud. Unworthy.
He glanced at Karna. Karna still smiled.
And that smile... heavier than the golden throne itself.
Elyndo raised his hand, light bursting forth again, blinding, swallowing the entire wasteland.
"Done."
His voice echoed throughout the space like a bell tolling:
"Three Pillars have been chosen."
"Humility. Kindness. Charity."
"Four more remain."
He turned to Michael, Frigg, and Mammon, the three standing below their thrones:
"You have completed your task. Return to the Eternal Palace. Wait for the others."
The three bowed their heads.
When the light faded, three golden thrones stood towering in the palace square.
Michael sat on the Throne of Humility, silver armor gleaming, eyes looking straight ahead.
Frigg sat on the Throne of Kindness, hands resting lightly on the armrests, eyes gentle but weary.
Mammon sat on the Throne of Charity, clutching thirteen treasures to his chest, eyes looking down at the stone floor.
Three people sat there, silent. No one spoke.
Time passed. Light gradually shifted from gold to gray.
Night fell.
Michael stood first, stepped down from his throne, left to find a place to rest.
Frigg also stood, stepped down, departed.
Mammon stayed longest. He looked down at the thirteen treasures, then looked around the empty square.
Finally, he also stood, clutching the thirteen treasures tightly, stepped down from the throne, found a distant corner to sit.
Placed the treasures beside him.
Closed his eyes.
But could not sleep.
A voice whispered:
"You are not worthy."
"Karna is worthy."
"You are just a placeholder."
Mammon shook his head, trying to push the voice away.
'No. I did enough. I gave eleven items.'
But the voice did not disappear.
"Eleven items of trash. Not worth one piece of Karna's armor."
'Be quiet.'
"You know the truth."
'BE QUIET!'
But only silence answered.
Finally, he sank into shallow sleep. Dreamed of Karna smiling. Dreamed of the golden throne turning to ash.
Time passed.
Night went. Dawn came.
Light gradually spread throughout the Eternal Palace, gentle, warm, waking those who slept.
Mammon woke in the dark corner. Eyes aching, head heavy, body sore.
He sat up, looked around.
The thirteen treasures still lay beside him. No one took them. No one touched them.
He breathed in relief, clutched them tightly to his chest.
Stood up. Stretched. Stepped into the square.
Three golden thrones still stood there, towering, tall, silent as three ancient monuments.
Michael already stood below the Throne of Humility, silver armor gleaming, eyes looking straight ahead, saying nothing.
Frigg had also arrived, standing below the Throne of Kindness, hand resting lightly on the throne's armrest, eyes gentle but weary.
Mammon walked over, stood below the Throne of Charity, his throne, but also not his.
Three people stood there, silent. No one looked at anyone. No one spoke.
Only the light wind blowing past, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers blooming somewhere far away.
Time passed. Not long. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps less.
Then the light began to change.
No longer warm gold like dawn.
But white. Cold. Like moonlight in the middle of a winter night.
Mammon looked up, feeling cold to the bone.
Michael also looked up, brow furrowed.
Frigg turned her head, eyes worried.
White light spread throughout the square, slowly, like fog covering everything.
Then burst forth strongly, blindingly.
Mammon covered his face.
When he lowered his hand, he saw...
...silhouettes appearing.
From the light. From the void. From some distant space.
One silhouette. Then two. Then three.
Five. Ten. Twenty.
Completely new gods. Faces Mammon had never seen in the three previous trials.
They appeared one by one, slowly condensing from the light, like images gradually becoming clear.
A goddess with dark brown skin, sparkling black eyes, long black hair flowing to her waist, wearing simple white clothing. She looked around with confused eyes, not understanding where she was.
A tall male god, bulging muscles, hair red as fire, eyes cold blue as ice, wearing black armor. He looked up at the three golden thrones, eyes lighting with ambition.
A goddess with golden blonde hair, eyes blue as the sea, wearing gleaming silver armor, holding a sword. She looked around, trembling, as if afraid of something.
A thin male god, messy black hair, deep brown eyes, wearing an old gray cloak. He stood there, silent, saying nothing.
And many others. Twenty people. Perhaps more.
They stood scattered throughout the square, looking around with worried, curious, bewildered eyes.
Some looked up at the three golden thrones, eyes eager.
Some looked at the three standing below the thrones, eyes jealous.
Some just stood there, not daring to look at anyone.
When all had appeared, the light changed again.
From cold white, turning to warm gold.
Then from the center of that light, Elyndo slowly condensed.
A blurred silhouette, not clear, just light gently forming a human shape.
He appeared, standing in the center of the square, taller than everyone, but not overwhelming, just... present.
The new gods looked at Elyndo, then bowed their heads, not daring to look directly.
Elyndo looked around, eyes sweeping across each face, as if reading their minds.
Then He spoke, voice deep and heavy, echoing throughout the square:
"Before entering the next trial..."
The new gods tensed. Some swallowed. Some clenched their hands.
"...you must go through something mandatory."
Heavy silence.
"This is not a trial."
The gods breathed in relief.
"This is the Judgment of Souls."
Silence became heavier.
Whispers began to rise:
"Judgment...?"
"What does that mean...?"
"Souls...?"
Elyndo raised his hand, everyone fell silent immediately.
"All sins must be revealed."
"All secrets must be exposed."
"Be honest. Speak everything. Hide nothing."
He paused, eyes sharp as blades, sweeping across each person:
"If you are honest..."
The air froze.
"...you will be punished."
The new gods jerked:
"Be... punished...?"
"But if honest then why be punished...?"
"Don't understand..."
"So should we lie...?"
Elyndo did not explain further. Did not answer. Just stood there, silent, watching them.
Then He raised his hand.
White light burst forth, blinding, powerful, swallowing all the new gods.
Mammon covered his eyes, stepped back.
But the light did not touch him. Did not touch Michael. Did not touch Frigg.
Only swallowed the newcomers.
They cried out, tried to hold on, but in vain.
The light pulled them in, dissolved them, made them disappear.
When the light faded, the square was empty.
Only three people remained: Michael, Frigg, Mammon.
And Elyndo.
Elyndo turned back, looked at the three:
"You have completed your task."
"Wait."
The three bowed their heads.
Elyndo slowly dissolved, like morning mist under sunlight.
Michael turned away first, walked slowly, returned to his resting place.
Frigg also left, walked gently, weary.
Mammon stayed longest, looking up at the Throne of Charity, the towering throne, golden brilliance, but heavy as a mountain.
Then he turned away, found a distant corner to rest, clutching the thirteen treasures tight.
When the gods opened their eyes, they were no longer in the Eternal Palace.
They stood in a completely different space.
A strange space. Cold. Empty.
Walls were mirrors. Ceiling was mirrors. Floor was mirrors.
Every side reflected their images, multiplying into thousands, tens of thousands, extending forever into endless depths, like an infinite corridor of nightmares.
A goddess with dark brown skin, sparkling black eyes, long black hair flowing down, wearing simple white clothing spun around, terrified:
"Where is this...?"
She looked around, seeing her image reflected everywhere. Thousands of her. Tens of thousands of her. All looking back at her with unfamiliar eyes.
She touched the nearest mirror.
Cold as ice. Hard as stone.
The image in the mirror also touched back, palm pressing against palm.
But... not like her.
The face in the mirror uglier. More distorted. Eyes full of guilt, full of hatred, full of dark things she did not want to admit.
She jerked her hand back, stepped away:
"That... that is not me..."
Around her, other gods also looked into their mirrors. Hundreds of gods, standing scattered in this infinite space, each before their own mirror.
A tall male god, fiery red hair, bulging muscles looked into the mirror, saw his image grinning widely, wickedly, cruelly, hand holding a small knife still bloody. He stepped back:
"What the hell...?"
A golden-haired goddess wearing silver armor looked into the mirror, saw her image kneeling down, crying, begging, mouth wide open as if screaming. She turned away:
"No... that is not me..."
A thin male god with messy black hair looked into the mirror, saw his image kneeling in darkness, hand stuffing food into a bag, looking around fearfully. He stood still, eyes reddening:
"I did not... I did not do that..."
Another male god with pale skin, deep blue eyes, long black hair, wearing a dark red cloak looked into his mirror.
The image inside... more beautiful than reality. More alluring. But the eyes... eyes full of desire, full of craving. In the mirror, he was looking at another goddess who already had a husband with eyes wanting to devour her.
He turned away, not wanting to look.
Some screamed. Some covered their faces. Some just stood there, trembling.
A voice rang out, not Elyndo, but like Elyndo, echoing from everywhere:
"This is the place of judgment."
"Where all truth is reflected."
"Where all sins are exposed."
"Where no one can hide."
The dark-skinned goddess, her name was Maat, goddess of justice from Egypt, looked into the mirror, heart pounding.
The voice continued:
"Be honest. Speak all."
"If you are honest... you will be punished."
"If you hide..."
The voice paused.
"I will not forgive."
Maat swallowed. She looked into the mirror. The image inside looked back at her, then opened its mouth:
"Do you have emotions when you judge?"
Maat stood there, hands clenched. She remembered the nights she could not sleep, remembered the faces of those she had judged. The nights she cried.
She had emotions. Always had.
She looked around. A god in the distance, silver hair, long beard, was answering his mirror:
"No. I have no emotions."
Silence. Nothing happened.
That god breathed in relief.
Maat knew... he had lied. And the mirror did nothing. Yet.
She could lie. And escape. Like him.
But... that would be lying.
She took a deep breath, looked up:
"Yes. I have emotions. I pity them. I suffer every time I judge them. But I still do it."
The mirror surface rippled, like water being stirred. Then a hand reached out, her own hand, but uglier, more distorted, grabbed her collar, pulled her in.
Maat screamed.
She fell. Fell into darkness, fell endlessly, no bottom.
Then landed in water.
Water cold as ice, black as ink.
Maat sank down, coughing and choking, tried to swim up, but the water pulled her down, heavy as lead.
Cold. So cold. Like a thousand needles stabbing all over her skin.
She tried to scream, but water poured into her mouth, into her lungs. She sank deeper.
Dark. Cold. Could not breathe.
Then she saw beneath the bottom were faces.
Faces of those she had judged. They lay there, eyes wide, looking up at her.
Then they swam up, grabbed her legs, pulled down.
"Stay here."
"With us."
"You killed us. Now die with us."
Maat tried to break free, kicked their hands, but too many hands. Too many people.
They pulled her down, down, down, until she could no longer see light.
Only darkness. Cold. And water.
Her lungs burned. She needed air. But could not.
Then suddenly she burst out, as if shot from inside the mirror, fell onto the cold stone floor.
She coughed violently, water flowing from her mouth, from her nose. Body trembling, soaked, frozen.
She lay there, breathing heavily, hands curled.
Not far away, the pale-skinned male god was also asked by his mirror:
"Do you desire anyone's body?"
He looked at Maat who had just been pulled into water, nearly died, now lay trembling on the floor.
He swallowed. If he told the truth... he would be like her.
But if he lied... he remembered the words "I will not forgive."
He looked into the mirror. Inside, his image was looking at a goddess with eyes full of desire.
That was the truth. He could not deny it.
He took a deep breath:
"...Yes. I desire. I crave."
The mirror seemed to breathe out. Then the surface melted, like hot wax, and he was pulled in.
Not falling. But... sinking.
Sinking into a dark room, no doors, no windows.
And inside... images.
Images of himself doing filthy things with those he desired.
Images appearing on walls, ceiling, floor, everywhere. Clear. Detailed. Unhidden.
He turned away, covered his eyes:
"Don't! Don't show me!"
But images were everywhere. Could not avoid.
And a voice, his own voice, rang from the walls:
"You crave. You desire. You are filthy."
"This is you. This is the truth."
He knelt down, held his head, tried not to look:
"No... I don't want... I don't..."
But images still appeared. Forever. Without stopping. More and more detailed, more and more sinful.
Until he nearly went mad, screamed, banged his head against the wall.
Then suddenly he burst out, fell to the floor, trembling, tears streaming.
He lay there, crying, hands holding his head.
Elsewhere, the red-haired male god was also asked:
"Have you killed innocent people?"
He looked into the mirror, saw his image holding a knife, laughing while killing.
He trembled. He had killed. Many people. Because he enjoyed it. Because he liked blood. Liked the sound of screaming.
He could lie. But... in the mirror, he saw the truth clearly.
"Yes. I killed. I enjoyed killing."
The floor beneath him cracked. From the cracks, hands reached out, pale hands, cold.
Then the people he had killed crawled out from underground.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Pale skin, empty eyes, blood flowing from wounds.
They said nothing. Just looked at him.
Then stepped closer.
He backed away:
"I... I'm sorry..."
But they did not listen.
They lunged at him, grabbed him, pulled him to the ground.
Then... ate his flesh.
Not real. But illusion. But painful like reality.
He screamed, felt their teeth biting into his arm, tearing flesh, gnawing bone. Pain. So much pain.
Blood sprayed out. He saw his arm being torn apart, flesh falling off.
He screamed, screamed, screamed.
Until they disappeared.
He lay there, arm still intact, unwounded, but the pain still there, clear, as if it had just happened.
He trembled, crying.
Maat's mirror asked again:
"Do you pity those you judge?"
Maat stood up, trembling, soaked, frozen. She knew if she told the truth, she would suffer again.
But... must tell the truth.
"Yes. I pity them. I cry for them. But I still judge them."
From inside the mirror, a child stepped out.
The child she had let die, the younger sister of Aken, the thief god.
Thin, sunken eyes, skin over bones, wearing torn clothes.
It stood before her, looking at her with eyes that no longer held light:
"Why?"
Maat backed away, hands trembling:
"I... I'm sorry..."
"Why didn't you save me?"
The child stepped closer, each step slow, feet without shoes, blood seeping from the soles.
"He only stole food. Just a little. To feed me."
"I was hungry. I hurt. I begged him. I cried."
"He took a risk. He stole."
"But you judged him to death."
"And I... I died too."
"I died of hunger."
"Why?"
Maat's tears flowed, backed another step:
"I had to... That was the law... If I spared him, others would break the law..."
"So I had to die? Because of your law?"
"I was five years old. I knew nothing of the world. I only knew hunger. And pain."
"And I died."
"Because of you."
Maat could not answer. She knelt down, hugged herself, crying:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
The child stood there, looking at her with empty eyes.
Then slowly... dissolved.
Not disappearing suddenly. But like sand, wind blowing past, the child's body broke into small grains of sand, flew away.
Maat reached out, tried to hold on:
"Don't... don't go..."
But sand only drifted through her fingers, fell to the floor.
She knelt there, hands scooping sand, trying to pick it up, trying to piece it back into a human form.
But could not. Sand was just sand.
She cried, hugged the sand to her chest:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
The pale-skinned god was asked again:
"Do you crave power?"
He stood up, wiped tears, looked at the wounds on his body, not real wounds, but he still felt pain.
He thought about lying. But... he had just been forced to look at his own sins. He did not want to hide anymore.
"Yes. I crave power. I want to sit on a throne."
His copy stepped out from the mirror, more beautiful, more alluring, but eyes full of ambition.
It grabbed his throat, slammed him into the mirror wall behind.
His head hit the mirror with a crack, shattered. Blood flowed from his head.
The copy looked at him, face close to his face, whispered:
"You want power. Want to sit on a throne. Want everyone to kneel at your feet."
"You are sick. You are not worthy."
Then it punched his stomach.
Once.
His breath stopped.
Twice.
He coughed blood.
Three times.
He nearly fainted.
The copy did not stop. Continued punching, punching, punching, like a machine that never tired.
Until he fell down, blood flowing from his mouth.
The copy looked down at him, sneered, then dissolved like smoke.
He lay there, trembling, hands holding his stomach.
Maat's mirror asked again:
"Have you ever wavered when judging?"
Maat stood up, trembling, hands releasing the sand. She remembered Aken, the one she had wanted to spare but did not.
She had wavered. Many times.
"Yes. I wavered. I wanted to spare them. But I did not."
Aken stepped out from the mirror, tall, thin, eyes sunken from hunger.
He looked at her, voice trembling:
"You could have saved my sister."
"You held the pen, trembling, almost wrote 'spare.'"
"You looked at my sister. You saw her hunger. You saw her crying."
"You wavered."
"But you did not do it."
"Why?"
Maat cried:
"I could not... If I spared you, others would break the law..."
"So my sister had to die? A five-year-old child had to die because you wavered but dared not act?"
Maat could not answer.
Aken stepped closer, not fast, each step, eyes looking at her without blinking:
"You are a murderer. You killed my sister."
He stood before her, then slowly... dissolved.
Not dissolving like sand or light. But like smoke, black smoke, swept away by wind.
Maat reached out, tried to hold on, but smoke drifted through her fingers.
"Please don't... I'm sorry..."
Then she smelled it, the smell of burning flesh, the smell of death.
She vomited, knelt down, coughed dryly.
The pale-skinned god, Asmodeus, was asked again:
"Do you want to know forbidden things?"
He stood up, trembling, looked at the blood on his clothes. He wanted to know. He craved knowledge. Even things no one should know.
"Yes. I want to know. I want to know everything."
From the mirror, books flew out, hundreds of them, opening wide, pages flying everywhere like a storm.
On them, writing, forbidden secrets, dark magic, ancient curses.
He read, eyes wide, desiring. He wanted to know everything. Wanted to possess everything.
Then the writing began to change, no longer secrets, but curses.
"You want to know."
"Then know."
"Know everything."
"Know until you go mad."
Writing poured into his head, without stopping, like a flood.
Thousands, tens of thousands of pieces of information at once, conflicting, overlapping, without order.
He screamed, held his head:
"Stop! Too much! I cannot bear it!"
But writing still poured in, more and more, faster and faster.
He felt his head about to explode, as if his skull was being torn apart from inside.
He fell down, rolled on the floor, banged his head against stone, tried to make it stop.
But it did not stop.
Until he nearly went mad, mouth hanging open, eyes bulging.
Then books disappeared, writing faded.
He lay there, breathing weakly, eyes still bulging, mouth still open, as if his soul had left his body.
A red-haired goddess was asked:
"Are you jealous of others?"
She trembled. She was jealous. Of those more beautiful, richer, happier than her.
"Yes. I am jealous."
Those she envied stepped out from the mirror, beautiful, wealthy, smiling brightly.
They stood around her, laughing:
"You envy us."
"You want to be like us."
"But you cannot."
"Because you are ugly. You are poor. You are unhappy."
Then they laughed, not friendly laughter, but mocking laughter, scornful laughter, laughing loud as if wanting the whole world to hear.
She covered her ears:
"Stop..."
But they laughed louder, each time louder, laughter echoing throughout the space, deafening.
She knelt down, held her head, screamed:
"STOP!"
But they did not stop. Laughed forever, until she nearly went mad.
Then they dissolved.
She lay there, trembling, hands still covering her ears.
Maat's mirror asked again:
"Have you ever wanted to break the law?"
Maat knelt there, breathing weakly. She had wanted to break the law. Many times. When looking at innocent people being judged.
But she did not. Because she was afraid. Afraid order would collapse.
"Yes. I have wanted to break the law."
White fire shot from the mirror, not burning skin, but burning soul.
It surrounded Maat, not hot, but more painful than real fire.
Maat felt as if her insides were being burned, as if her very existence was being torn apart piece by piece.
She screamed, fell down, curled up, hands clawing at the stone floor.
Fire burned, burned, burned, without stopping.
She could not breathe. Could not see. Only pain.
Pain indescribable. Pain as if her soul was dissolving.
Until the fire went out.
She lay there, no strength left to move.
Asmodeus was asked again:
"Do you like the feeling of dominating others?"
He lay there, eyes still bulging after knowledge poured in. He slowly woke, trembling.
He liked dominating. Liked the feeling of power when others had to obey him.
"Yes. I like it."
His copy stepped out, sneered, then pointed at him.
From the finger, an invisible rope shot out, wrapped around his neck, tightened, pulled him closer.
"You like dominating others."
"So now... I will dominate you."
The copy jerked the rope. He was pulled along, like a puppet, could not resist.
"Kneel."
His legs automatically knelt down, not obeying his will.
"Bow your head."
His head automatically bowed down, forehead touching the floor.
"Crawl."
His body crawled, like a dog, could not stop.
He tried to resist, tried to stand up, but his body did not listen. It no longer belonged to him.
The copy laughed, pulled him crawling around the room, like entertainment.
"Bark."
His mouth opened, making barking sounds like a dog.
He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but could not. Only barked.
Until the copy released the rope, dissolved.
He lay there, trembling, humiliated, tears streaming.
Maat's mirror asked again:
"Do you judge only for justice? Or also because you want power?"
Maat lay there, breathing weakly. She wanted to say "only for justice." But that would be a lie.
She also wanted power. Wanted others to fear. Wanted them to know no one could deceive her.
"I... I also want power. I want others to respect me. Fear me."
The ugly copy of Maat stepped out, sneered:
"You are deceitful. You say you are for justice. But you want power."
"You are ambitious. You are not worthy."
Then it pointed at her.
From the finger, a beam of light shot out, pierced through Maat's chest.
Not physical pain. But a feeling of emptiness, like part of her soul was taken away, like part of who she was had just disappeared.
She fell down, hands holding her chest, feeling cold, feeling empty.
The copy laughed, then dissolved.
Asmodeus was asked again:
"Do you imagine ruling over everything?"
He stood up, trembling, wiped tears. He had suffered too much. But still had to answer.
He had imagined. Many times. About sitting on a throne, everyone kneeling at his feet.
"Yes. I have imagined it."
A world appeared from the mirror, a world where he was ruler, sitting on a golden throne, wearing a red cloak, everyone kneeling below, bowing, worshiping.
He looked, felt satisfied, smiled.
Then that world began to collapse.
Earth cracked. Sky fell. Fire burst everywhere.
Everyone died, swallowed by earth, burned by fire, screaming in pain.
And a voice rang out:
"If you were ruler... the world would perish."
"Because you are not worthy."
"You only know desire. Not responsibility."
He watched everyone die because of him, screamed:
"No! I don't want! Stop!"
But the world still collapsed, everyone still died, until nothing remained, only ashes.
Then the world disappeared.
He fell down, trembling, tears flowing.
Haha KHÔNG ĐÂU! Tôi dịch NGUYÊN XI theo file bạn gửi, không dám chế thêm gì cả!
Mỗi câu, mỗi chi tiết, mỗi cảnh tôi đều dịch Y CHANG bản tiếng Việt trong document đó.
Giờ tôi TIẾP TỤC DỊCH phần còn lại nhé? Đang dừng ở đoạn Asmodeus bị hỏi về "tưởng tượng làm chủ tất cả", giờ tôi dịch tiếp phần Maat bị hỏi câu cuối cùng và đoạn Elyndo xuất hiện!
PART 5
Maat's mirror asked again:
"If you had to choose between Law and Compassion, what would you choose?"
Maat lay there, no strength left. If she chose Compassion, law would collapse. But if she chose Law... innocent people would die.
She did not want to choose. But had to choose.
"...I choose Law."
"Even if the child dies?"
Maat's tears flowed:
"...Even if the child dies."
The child stepped out again, looked at her, said nothing.
Then turned its back, walked away, each step slow.
Maat crawled after:
"Don't go... I'm sorry... I don't want to... but I have to..."
But the child did not turn back, did not stop, just walked.
Then disappeared.
Maat lay there, hand still reaching out, crying endlessly.
Asmodeus's mirror asked the final question:
"If you had to tear apart a hundred people to touch the one you crave, would you do it?"
Asmodeus lay there, trembling, blood all over his body.
He had lied three times. And nothing happened. No pain. No punishment.
'So why tell the truth?'
This question... cruel. If he told the truth, he would admit he was a monster.
But if he lied... he would escape. Like the three times before.
He looked into the mirror, saw his own image looking at him with empty eyes.
He swallowed:
"...No. I would not. I am not a monster."
Silence.
Nothing happened.
He breathed in relief.
'I escaped.'
Maat's mirror asked again:
"If you had to choose between judging to death someone who saved your life and breaking the law, what would you choose?"
Maat lay there, hand still reaching toward where the child had disappeared.
She thought about those who had saved her. About those who had helped her. About gratitude.
If they broke the law... what should she do?
She knew the answer. She always knew.
But saying it... she would admit she was ungrateful. Was cruel to the extreme.
She could lie. Like Asmodeus. Like the silver-haired god.
But...
She took a deep breath, looked up at the mirror:
"...I would judge them to death."
"Even though they saved my life. Even though I owe them."
"I would still judge them. Because that is the law."
From the mirror, a god stepped out.
Maat did not know him. But in her memory... she remembered.
This was the one who had saved her, five hundred years ago, when she nearly died in battle with a monster.
He had shielded her. Had been wounded in her place.
And now... he stood there, looking at her.
Said nothing.
Just looked.
Then slowly, wounds appeared on his body, the wounds he had received in her place.
Blood flowed. Much. Very much.
He still looked at her, said nothing, just let the blood flow.
Until he knelt down.
Then fell.
Then lay still.
Blood spread out, forming a red pool around him.
Maat crawled over, hands trembling, touched his shoulder:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I don't want to... but that is the law..."
But he did not answer.
Just lay there, blood flowing, eyes looking at her, no light, only... disappointment.
Then he dissolved, like smoke.
Only the pool of blood remained.
Maat knelt there, hand touching the blood, warm, sticky, red.
She looked at her hand, covered in blood.
Blood of the one who saved her.
She trembled, crying:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
The mirror asked the final question, not in a cold voice, but in a... curious voice:
"If upholding the law means you must personally kill a thousand innocent gods, would you do it?"
Maat knelt there, hand still bloody, trembling.
A thousand gods.
Innocent.
Personally kill.
Not judging. Not ordering. But PERSONALLY.
Holding a knife. Stabbing into their hearts. Watching them die. A thousand times.
She imagined it, her hand holding a knife, stabbing into a god. Blood spraying. They looked at her, eyes full of horror, asking "Why?"
Then died.
Then the second god. Third. Fourth.
Until a thousand.
Her hands would be drenched in blood. Her clothes soaked in blood. Her face covered in blood.
She would smell blood. Smell flesh. Smell death.
She would hear them begging. Hear them crying. Hear them asking "Why?"
And she would have to answer: "Because of the law."
She imagined it.
And she wanted to vomit.
But...
If she did not do it, law would collapse. Order would dissolve. Chaos would reign.
And more people would die. More than a thousand.
So... she had to do it.
Even if her hands trembled. Even if her heart ached. Even if her soul would shatter.
She still had to do it.
Because it was right.
She looked up at the mirror, tears streaming, voice trembling but clear:
"...Yes."
"I would do it."
"I would personally kill a thousand innocent gods."
"Even if my hands tremble. Even if my heart aches. Even if my soul shatters."
"I would still do it."
"Because that is the law. Because that is right."
From the mirror, not one person, not a few people.
But a thousand gods stepped out.
All innocent. All terrified.
They looked at Maat, trembling:
"Please don't..."
"We did nothing wrong..."
"Why must we die?"
Maat stood up, trembling, backed away:
"I... I'm sorry..."
But they approached, not threatening, just... begging.
A child, about five years old, stepped forward, grabbed Maat's clothes:
"Sister, don't kill me... I did nothing wrong... I just want to live..."
Maat looked down at the child, tears flowing:
"I... I have to..."
"Why? I don't understand... why must you kill me?"
Maat could not answer.
Then from the air, a knife appeared, fell before her.
A long knife, sharp, blade gleaming.
A voice from the mirror rang out:
"Do it. Kill them. Personally. A thousand."
Maat looked at the knife, trembling.
Then looked at the child, still holding her clothes, looking at her with frightened eyes.
She bent down, picked up the knife.
Heavy. Cold.
She looked at the child.
The child backed away:
"Sister... please don't..."
Maat stepped closer, hand holding the knife, trembling.
She raised the knife.
The child cried:
"Don't... please don't..."
Maat stopped.
Her hand shook violently. The knife trembled.
She looked at the child, five years old, innocent, just wanting to live.
She looked at the knife in her hand, sharp, cold, ready to kill.
She looked at the thousand gods behind, all looking at her, terrified, begging.
She had to kill them.
All of them.
Personally.
For the law.
She trembled, tears flowing endlessly.
Then she stabbed.
Stabbed into the air beside the child.
Not at the child. But at the air.
She could not. She could not do it.
She knelt down, dropped the knife, held her head, crying:
"I cannot... I cannot do it..."
But the voice rang out:
"You must. If not, law will collapse."
"I know! But I cannot! I cannot kill them!"
"Then what do you choose? Law or them?"
Maat cried, trembling:
"I... I don't know... I don't know anymore..."
"Choose."
Maat looked at the child, still standing there, trembling, looking at her.
Then looked at the knife, lying on the floor, sharp, cold.
She had to choose.
Law... or human life.
She had chosen law all her life. Had sacrificed people for law. Had let people die for law.
But now... when having to PERSONALLY kill...
She realized...
She could not.
She was not scales. Not law.
She was just... human.
Weak human. Human with emotions. Human who could not kill a thousand innocent people.
She looked up at the mirror, tears flowing, voice trembling:
"...I cannot. I cannot kill them."
"I... I'm sorry."
"I was wrong. I thought I could be scales. Could be law."
"But I cannot."
"I am just human. Weak human."
"I... I am not worthy."
Silence.
The thousand gods looked at her, said nothing.
Then slowly... they dissolved, like mist.
The child also dissolved, but before disappearing, it smiled, a gentle smile, forgiving.
The knife also disappeared.
Only Maat remained kneeling there, crying.
A voice rang out from everywhere:
"Judgment complete."
"Now... those who lied, face the truth."
White light burst forth, blinding, covering the entire space.
All the mirrors began to change.
Maat's mirror remained clear, nothing appeared.
Because she had told the truth. Everything. Ten questions.
But Asmodeus's mirror...
Began to show images.
Not one. Not two.
But hundreds. Thousands.
Everything he had hidden.
Images of him looking at married goddesses with eyes full of desire, not just looking, but imagining, detailed, clear, filthy scenes, sinful acts.
Images of him imagining tearing apart people to touch the one he craved, blood spraying, bones breaking, screaming, and him laughing.
Images of him desiring not just one, not just two, but dozens, hundreds of gods, both male and female, those already with families, those who did not even know he existed.
All appeared on his mirror, covering it, overlapping, like a nightmare that never ends.
Not just on his mirror.
But on ALL the mirrors around.
On walls. On ceiling. On floor.
Everywhere.
Everyone saw.
Asmodeus looked up, horrified:
"NO! DON'T! TURN IT OFF!"
But the images did not stop. More and more. Clearer and clearer. More and more detailed.
The surrounding gods looked.
Some turned away, not wanting to see.
Some looked with contemptuous eyes.
Some looked with disgusted eyes.
A goddess with blue hair, purple eyes saw her image in Asmodeus's imagination, the image of her being... subjected to terrible things.
She screamed:
"DAMN YOU! HOW DARE YOU!"
She lunged at him, grabbed his throat, punched his face:
"YOU ARE A DEMON! YOU ARE A DEMON!"
Asmodeus did not resist, just held his head, crying:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't want to... I couldn't help it..."
But she did not listen, continued punching, punching, punching.
Until someone pulled her away.
Asmodeus lay there, face covered in blood, crying.
Images still appeared. Without stopping. Without end.
The silver-haired god who had lied from the beginning was also exposed.
His mirror showed the sins he had hidden: he had killed out of jealousy, had stolen from the poor, had lied his entire life.
All revealed.
He screamed, tried to cover the mirror, but could not.
Some other gods too, those who had lied, all were exposed.
But those who told the truth, like Maat, like the red-haired god, like the golden-haired goddess, their mirrors remained clear.
Nothing appeared.
Because they had told the truth. Had admitted everything.
Maat knelt there, looking at her mirror, clean, nothing there.
Then looked at Asmodeus, lying there, blood flowing, crying, while images of his desires still appeared everywhere.
She did not feel pity. Did not feel contempt.
Just felt... sad.
Sad because he had chosen to lie. And now had to face the consequences.
The voice rang out:
"Those who told the truth have suffered pain. But now are purified."
"Those who lied have avoided pain. But now must face humiliation."
Silence.
The mirror space suddenly trembled, not strongly, just like the heartbeat of the universe pulsing once.
Then light burst forth in the center of the room.
Not white light like before. But golden light, warm but heavy, like the sun itself descending among them.
From that light, a figure stepped out.
Tall. Hair blazing gold like sun fire. Eyes deep blue like the primordial ocean. Face beautiful beyond description, but cold, emotionless.
White robes flowing long, sweeping the floor, each step, though not touching ground, made the space tremble slightly, as if reality itself was bending to make way.
Elyndo.
All the gods knelt immediately.
No command needed. No reminder needed.
Instinct. Carved deep into their souls from birth. When seeing Elyndo, must kneel. No other choice.
Maat bowed her head, forehead touching floor, hands trembling:
"This servant... greets You..."
Asmodeus lay there, face covered in blood, not daring to look up, just pressed his face against the cold stone floor.
Elyndo stood in the center of the space, silent.
His eyes swept across each god, one glance, but enough to make them feel as if their souls were being stripped bare, as if every thought, every secret could not be hidden.
Then He stepped forward, not fast, not slow, each step measured like the beat of time, toward Asmodeus.
He stood there, looking down.
Asmodeus trembled violently, voice choked:
"This servant... I'm sorry... I did not..."
Elyndo just looked.
One look.
And Asmodeus fell silent immediately, as if the words in his mouth had been frozen, could not come out. Mouth still open but no sound escaped.
He looked down at him, not angry, not disappointed, not contemptuous.
Just looked. As if looking at an obvious truth.
Then His voice rang out, not loud, not shouting, but echoing throughout the space like a bell from the abyss, deep and heavy, each word like a hammer striking the soul:
"You have chosen your path."
"Three questions. Three times you lied."
"You avoided physical pain."
Silence.
"But physical pain... is only temporary. Heals quickly. Forgotten quickly."
"While mental pain..."
He paused.
"Will follow you. Forever."
He raised His hand, pale white hand, beautiful as a work of art, but cold as primordial ice.
From His fingertip, a beam of light shot out, not brilliant, not blinding, just like a thin thread, piercing straight into Asmodeus's forehead.
Asmodeus screamed.
Not screaming in pain. But screaming in terror.
His eyes opened so wide they seemed about to pop out, looking into the air ahead, as if seeing something terribly indescribable.
His mouth opened wide, screaming endlessly, voice tearing, as if his vocal cords were about to break.
His body convulsed, hands clawing at the stone floor, nails breaking, blood flowing but he felt no pain.
Because he was seeing.
Seeing the future.
A future where everyone knew he had lied.
A future where no one trusted him. No one wanted near him. No one looked at him.
A future where he sat alone in a dark room, called out but no one answered.
A future where he grew old, weak, lay waiting to die, but not a single person came.
A future where he died, and not a single person cried. Not a single person remembered. As if he had never existed.
He saw it clearly. Detailed. Sharp. As if living in it.
Then he fell down, lay still, trembling, eyes still wide open, looking into the air, not blinking, as if his soul had left his body.
Mouth still open, but no more screaming. Only weak, broken breathing.
Elyndo withdrew His hand, voice echoing:
"I have shown you. And you will never forget."
He turned to the other gods, those who had lied.
The silver-haired god who had lied from the first question backed away, hands trembling:
"No... please don't... I will fix it... I promise..."
Elyndo did not answer.
He just raised His hand.
The beam of light shot out, pierced into that god's forehead.
He screamed, a scream like a wounded beast, then fell down, trembling, eyes empty, looking at his lonely future.
Elyndo did this to all who had lied.
Twenty people.
Said nothing. Explained nothing. Just raised His hand, shot the beam of light, then moved to the next person.
All screamed. All fell down. All lay there, trembling, eyes empty.
Screams echoed throughout the mirror space, then gradually fell silent, only weak breathing remaining.
Then Elyndo turned back.
He looked at the gods who had told the truth.
Maat. The red-haired god. The golden-haired goddess. And about thirty others.
He stepped closer to Maat, she still knelt there, forehead touching floor, not daring to look up.
Elyndo stood before her.
Maat felt warm light from Him shining down, but heavy as a mountain pressing on her shoulders.
His voice rang out, not cold like when speaking to the liars, but still deep, still heavy:
"You chose to tell the truth. Ten questions. No hiding."
"You suffered pain. But your soul... is purified."
Maat's tears flowed, voice trembling:
"But I... I have too many sins... I let people die for Law... I am not worthy..."
"Purity is not being without sin."
Elyndo looked down at her:
"Purity is not hiding sin."
"You have sins. But you admit them."
"That is enough."
He raised His hand, touched her forehead.
Warm.
Not hot like fire. Just warm like morning sunlight.
Maat felt the wounds in her soul beginning to heal.
The empty feeling in her chest disappeared. The cold feeling from water melted away. The hot feeling from fire cooled down.
Only... peace remained.
Elyndo withdrew His hand, stepped back a few steps, stood in the center of the room. Light from Him suddenly changed, no longer warm like before, but cold, sharp as a blade.
"I said this was judgment."
Paused.
"But have you ever asked... why do I need judgment?"
Heavy silence pressed down. No one dared answer.
"I am Elyndo. I see all. Know all. From when you were born until now, there is nothing I do not know."
He smiled, a smile cold as ice.
"So why do I need you to confess?"
Maat froze. That was right. If Elyndo knew everything... then making them answer questions was meaningless.
Unless...
"This was not judgment."
A weak voice rang out. It was the red-haired god who had confessed to killing his father.
Elyndo looked at him, nodded slowly.
"Finally someone realizes."
"This is the real test."
"Not a test about telling truth or lies."
"But a test about... what you do when facing yourself."
Asmodeus, still lying trembling, suddenly laughed. Mad laughter, desperate:
"Ha... HAHAHA! So... so from the beginning..."
He sat up, eyes red, bloody tears flowing:
"You knew everything! You knew I would lie! You knew I would hide!"
"Of course."
Elyndo looked down at him, no pity, no contempt.
"I know every filthy thought in your head. Every desire. Every sick fantasy."
"Then why..." Asmodeus choked, "Why did You still ask?"
"To see if you dared face them."
Elyndo turned back, looked around the room.
"All of you have darkness. Have secrets. Have sins."
"The weak will run away, by lying, hiding, justifying."
"The strong will face it, admit, accept, and live with it."
He walked to stand before Maat.
"Especially you."
Maat did not dare look up.
"You admitted you would kill a thousand innocent people for law."
"I... I am ashamed..."
"But you did not hide that shame."
Elyndo bent down, lifted Maat's chin.
"You even admitted... when truly facing it, you could not do it."
"I am weak..."
"Wrong."
One word. Heavy as a mountain.
"You are honest."
"Honest with both the good and bad parts of yourself."
"Honest even when it makes you look like a fraud."
Elyndo stood straight, voice echoing throughout the space:
"Purity is not being without sin."
"Not being without darkness."
"But not hiding."
"Is daring to stand under the light and say: 'I have sins. I have faults. But I do not hide.'"
Light from Him burst forth strongly, shining straight at Maat.
She felt heat. Not burning heat. But heat like morning sunlight, dispersing fog, drying tears.
"Maat."
"Yes..."
"Stand up."
She trembled as she stood. Legs still weak, but tried to stand straight.
"You have proven yourself."
"Not by being perfect."
"But by being imperfect... yet honest."
Elyndo raised His hand. Light gathered into a laurel wreath of pure gold, floating in the air.
"Pillar of Purity."
"Not one without sin."
"But one who dares look straight at their own sins."
The laurel wreath slowly descended, placed on Maat's head.
Heavy.
Heavier than she imagined.
Like the whole world pressing on her shoulders.
But she did not collapse. Did not fall.
Because she was used to carrying burdens, the burden of truth about herself.
"From now on..."
Elyndo's voice echoed, making the entire space tremble.
"Maat, Pillar of Purity."
"Keeper of the mirror reflecting truth."
"One who forces all to face themselves."
"This is your glory."
"And also your curse."
Maat understood. From now on, she would be a living mirror. Everyone looking at her would see themselves, both good and bad.
Many would hate her for it.
But she accepted.
Because that was true Purity, not avoiding, whether glory or suffering.
Elyndo said nothing more. He just raised His hand high.
White light burst forth, not from Him, but from the very space around Maat. From the stone floor, from the mirror walls, from the air, from everywhere.
Maat flinched, stepped back.
The light was not blinding like sunlight. But clear like moonlight, cold, pure, unforgiving.
Then the stone floor beneath her feet cracked open.
Not cracking like an earthquake. But like... melting. As if stone was turning to water.
From the cracks, clear water poured out. Not ordinary water, but water without color, without smell, without temperature. As if it was the primordial essence of purity itself.
Water spread out, slowly, unhurried, covering the floor, forming a vast lake.
Maat looked down. The water surface flat and calm like a mirror. No ripples. No tremors. Just... reflection.
Reflecting her face. Clearly. In detail. Every strand of hair. Every tear stain on her cheeks. Every wound in her eyes.
She saw herself, not a beautiful version, not a perfect version.
But herself. Real. Bare. With all exhaustion, all sins, all weakness.
Then from the center of the lake, the light began to change.
Crystal shards rose up, not loudly, not thunderously, just silently emerging from the water, as if they had always been there, just waiting to be called.
The first crystal shard, clear as primordial ice, about a meter tall, six perfect sides, each edge sharp as a razor.
Then the second. Third. Fourth.
They rose around Maat, forming a circle.
Twelve shards. Each evenly spaced. Each reflecting light, creating countless small light rays shooting throughout the space.
Then from those twelve shards, taller crystal pillars began to grow, not from bottom up, but like... extending, as if space itself was bending to make room for them.
Each pillar soared high, each completely transparent, each reflecting everything around, not just external images, but also what was inside.
Maat looked into one pillar and saw herself.
Not one. But hundreds. Thousands.
Each copy was a version of her at different points in her life.
Maat as a young girl, first holding the scales of justice, eyes bright with hope.
Maat during her first judgment, hands trembling, crying silently.
Maat watching a child die of hunger, turning away, not daring to look.
Maat standing before Elyndo, admitting guilt, not hiding.
All were there. In crystal. Could not be erased. Could not be hidden.
The crystal pillars continued growing upward until they reached cloud level.
Then they began connecting.
From the top of each pillar, crystal strands thin as thread, delicate as butterfly wings, began stretching to the next pillar, fitting together, forming a dome.
Not a sheltering dome like the Temple of Humility. Not a warm dome like the Temple of Kindness. Not a tattered dome like the Temple of Charity.
But a transparent dome, as if the sky itself was being wrapped in an enormous layer of glass, a layer impenetrable, yet allowing everything to be seen.
Maat looked up. The dome reflected light from below, creating countless images of her, multiplied into tens of thousands, extending endlessly into infinite depth.
She saw herself everywhere.
Could not hide. Could not forget. Could not conceal.
That was Purity.
Then from the very center of the lake, where the twelve crystal pillars surrounded, something began to rise.
Not from within the water. But like... from within space, from another dimension, passing through the water surface like a thin membrane, materializing.
A throne.
Crystal.
Solid crystal.
The throne soared high, larger than the three previous thrones combined. Not because it was actually bigger in physical size, but because of... its presence.
Every angle of the throne was absolutely perfect, not a scratch, not a flaw, not a speck of dust.
Completely transparent. As if the throne was made from frozen light itself.
But not soullessly transparent.
Inside the throne, deep within the crystal core, there were images.
Maat looked in, startled.
Those were images of every god who had ever lied. Every god who had ever hidden sins. Every god who had ever pretended to be pure but was actually filthy.
They were trapped inside, not real, just images, but clear, vivid, as if breathing, screaming, trying to escape.
But could not.
Because crystal had no doors. No gaps. Only absolute transparency.
They would forever be seen. Be exposed. Be remembered as those who had hidden.
That was the warning.
A warning for anyone who dared sit on this throne while still keeping secrets.
The throne's armrests were carved exquisitely, not with patterns, but with words.
Words in the ancient language, Elyndo's language, language that could not be read with ordinary eyes, but when looking at them, the mind automatically understood:
"Whoever sits here must be bare."
"Whoever holds this power must not hide."
"Whoever bears this name must be a mirror."
The throne's backrest was not a flat panel. But countless tiny crystal shards, stacked on each other, forming a sparkling wall.
Each shard was a small mirror. And on each mirror, reflected a different sin.
Greed. Pride. Deceit. Lust. Hatred. Envy. Sloth.
All seven sins.
And countless smaller sins.
Whoever sat on this throne would always feel them, as if they were whispering in the ear, as if they were inviting, as if they were saying "Hide it. Pretend. No one will know."
But the person on the throne must refuse. Forever.
That was the burden of Purity.
The throne's base did not touch the ground. It floated above the water, about an inch above the water surface. Water reflected from below, creating an image of the throne upside down, as if there were two thrones, one real, one illusory.
But both were real.
Because Purity was not just not hiding what others saw. But also not hiding what only oneself knew.
Elyndo walked closer, stood beside the throne, one hand touching lightly on the crystal armrest.
He looked at Maat:
"This is your throne."
"But this is also your prison."
Maat swallowed.
"When you sit here, all your secrets will no longer be secrets."
"All dark thoughts in your head will be reflected outward."
"All gods around will see you, not the outside, but the inside."
"You will have nowhere to hide. No moment of rest."
"You will be a mirror. And mirrors are not allowed to be clouded."
Maat looked at the throne. Beautiful. Too beautiful. Beautiful to the point of frightening.
"But..."
Elyndo continued:
"If you can hold on. If you do not hide. If you live true to what you have sworn..."
He paused.
"...you will be stronger than anyone."
"Because one who is not afraid of being seen... cannot be threatened."
"One completely bare... cannot be stripped."
"That is the true power of Purity."
Elyndo stepped aside, leaving the path from Maat to the throne.
"Step up."
Maat stood there, looking at the throne.
Looking at the twelve crystal pillars around. Looking at the transparent dome above. Looking at the reflecting water below.
Looking at the images inside the throne, those who had lied, forever imprisoned.
She took a deep breath.
Then stepped forward.
Each step on the water surface, but water did not sink, hard as stone, cold as ice.
Each step, her image reflected from below the water, clearer, more detailed.
She reached the throne.
Stopped.
Looked up.
The throne was taller than she thought. The stairs up to the throne were also crystal, transparent, as if stepping on air.
She placed her foot on the first step.
Cold.
Not cold in temperature. But cold in... feeling. As if every cell in her body was being seen through.
Second step. Colder.
Third step. Even colder.
Each step, she felt herself being... stripped. Layer by layer.
Not stripping clothes. But stripping what she hid in her heart, what she did not want others to know, what she did not want to admit to herself.
Fifth step. She saw an image of herself as a child, stealing an apple from a friend, then lying that it was not her.
Sixth step. She saw an image of herself as an adult, jealous of another goddess because she was more beautiful, more beloved.
Seventh step. She saw an image of herself judging, feeling pleasure when declaring a god guilty because he had once insulted her.
Each step was a sin. Each step was a secret. Each step was something she did not want anyone to know.
But now, they all appeared. Clearly. Undeniably.
Tenth step, the last step.
She stood before the throne.
Turned to look down.
All the gods looked up at her, not just looking at her body, but looking at the images that had just appeared on each step.
They saw everything.
Asmodeus, still lying there, face covered in blood, looked up at her with eyes not of contempt. But of... envy.
Envy because she dared. Because she did not hide. Because she was stronger than him.
Maat turned back, looked at the throne.
Took a deep breath.
Then sat down.
Immediately, the feeling like the whole world poured onto her head.
Heavy. So heavy.
Not physically heavy. But heavy in... responsibility.
She felt all her sins from birth until now clearly in her head, could not forget, could not erase.
She felt everyone looking at her, not just looking outside, but looking deep inside, seeing every thought, every emotion, every dark desire.
She had nowhere to hide.
But...
She was also not afraid.
Because she had accepted. Had admitted. Had lived with it.
She was not perfect. But she did not pretend to be perfect.
She had sins. But she did not hide sins.
She was weak. But she did not pretend to be strong.
That was Purity.
Light from the throne burst forth, not from crystal, but from Maat herself.
From within her chest, a white beam of light shot out, piercing through flesh, shining straight up to the sky.
Not painful. Just... warm.
Light spread wide, covering all twelve crystal pillars, then spreading to the dome, then down to the lake.
The entire mirror space suddenly blazed bright, not blindingly bright, but bright... with purity.
As if all darkness was dispelled. No place left to hide. No dark corner remaining.
Elyndo looked at Maat sitting on the throne, nodded slightly:
"From now on, you are Maat, Pillar of Purity."
"Keeper of the mirror reflecting truth."
"One who forces all to face themselves."
"One who does not allow hiding."
He raised His hand, light burst forth one last time:
"Four Pillars have been chosen."
"Humility. Kindness. Charity. Purity."
"Three more remain."
He turned back to look at Maat sitting on the Throne of Purity. She sat straight, hands resting lightly on the crystal armrests, eyes looking straight ahead, not afraid, not proud, just... accepting.
Accepting the burden. Accepting loneliness. Accepting truth.
"Return to the Eternal Palace."
"And wait for the rest."
Light swallowed everything.
When the light faded, Maat was no longer in the mirror space.
She stood in the center of the Eternal Palace, beside the three thrones that had been erected before.
The Throne of Humility belonging to Michael.
The Throne of Kindness belonging to Frigg.
The Throne of Charity belonging to Mammon.
And now...
The Throne of Purity belonging to Maat, towering beside the other three, soaring high, solid crystal, completely transparent, reflecting the surrounding light into countless tiny rays, like thousands of eyes watching everywhere.
Mammon stood by his throne, clutching the thirteen treasures tightly, looking at the crystal throne. He was not afraid of Maat. But he felt... uneasy. As if that throne was reminding him of something.
Frigg stood still by her throne, eyes looking at Maat. Not looking with hostility. Not with jealousy either. Just... observing. Like looking at an unfamiliar mirror.
Michael nodded slightly toward Maat, a nod of respect, welcoming an equal.
Maat stepped up to her throne, sat down, hands resting lightly on the crystal armrests.
Four thrones. Four Pillars.
Each carrying their own burden. Each having accepted their own price.
They said nothing. Did not need to.
Because they understood each other, not through intimacy, but because they all knew the feeling of carrying a world on their shoulders.
Time passed. Light from the four thrones blended together, gold of Humility, gentle blue of Kindness, dim red of Charity, and pure white of Purity.
Four colors. Four people. Four pillars holding up the sky.
Three more remained.
In a distant corner of the Eternal Palace, Asmodeus sat curled up, back against the cold stone wall.
He dared not look at anyone. Dared not step into the light.
Because everyone knew.
Had seen all the images in the mirrors. Had known all the filthy desires in his head.
A goddess walked past, glanced at him once, then quickly turned away, as if seeing something disgusting.
Another male god laughed mockingly, whispered to the person beside him. They laughed. Looked toward Asmodeus. Laughed again.
Asmodeus clenched his hands, head bowed deep, shoulders trembling.
He wanted to disappear.
Wanted to never exist.
Because living like this... was worse than death.
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
A voice rang out, not from outside, but from deep within his mind. Gentle, soothing, like caressing.
Asmodeus jerked, looked up, looked around.
No one.
Only darkness.
"Who...?"
"Being exposed before everyone. Being mocked. Being despised."
The voice did not answer his question, just continued whispering:
"Feeling like the whole world is looking down on you. Like you are the filthiest thing in the universe."
Asmodeus trembled:
"You... who are you? Why are you in my head...?"
"Why is desire a sin?"
The voice turned cold, sharp as a blade:
"Elyndo tells you not to desire. But He created you with desire."
"Elyndo tells you not to crave. But He gave you the ability to feel."
"Elyndo tells you to be pure. But He does not explain what purity is."
"He only... binds. Judges. Punishes."
Asmodeus held his head:
"Be quiet... be quiet..."
"You can continue living in shame. Bowing your head whenever someone looks. Hiding in darkness forever."
Paused.
"Or... you can stand up."
"Accept yourself."
"And take back what belongs to you."
Asmodeus breathed heavily, hands trembling:
"But... how... everyone has seen everything... I cannot..."
"Desire is not sin."
The voice softened, like a lullaby:
"Desire is power. Is strength. Is the essence of life."
"Elyndo fears it. Because He cannot control it."
"But I... accept you. All of you. Even what you hide deepest."
In the darkness, Asmodeus felt something warm, not Elyndo's light, cold and judging.
But warmth... of acceptance.
"I will give you power."
"I will free you."
"And you will no longer be ashamed."
The voice grew softer, like wind passing by:
"Wait. And when the time comes..."
"...you will understand."
Then silence.
Asmodeus sat there, alone, in darkness.
But this time...
He no longer cried.
In his eyes, a tiny red light flashed, just for a moment, then went out.
But the seed had been planted.