The golden light was blinding. It wrapped the Throne Hall in an infinite halo, pulsing with the rhythm of a heartbeat that was not quite human. The sound of it — low, resonant, overwhelming — vibrated through Kirito's chest, through every nerve, every thought, until he could feel nothing else.
And yet, even in that overwhelming presence, he was aware.
Everything listens. Everything watches. Everything waits.
The Gate of Babylon shifted behind him, floating weapons rotating in perfect arcs, responding to thoughts before they had fully formed. But this time, there was no test of skill. This was the true trial: a test of will, of morality, of the very definition of power.
The hall stretched into infinity, the throne glowing at its center, a symbol of absolute authority. Kirito stepped forward, and the light parted to reveal visions — fragments of the world he had fought to protect, distorted by golden haze.
Cities crumbled beneath invisible weight, thousands of players frozen in fear.
Monsters rampaged uncontrollably, their codes twisted beyond recognition.
Faces he loved — Asuna, Klein, even the countless innocents he'd saved — appeared to call him, beg him, plead with him to stop.
The Gate's voice echoed inside his mind:
"Heir, will you command or will you yield? Rule or falter?"
Kirito's hand twitched on the hilt of Elucidator. Every instinct screamed that he could end the chaos with a single thought, with every sword at his disposal. The temptation — absolute, intoxicating — threatened to drown him.
And yet…
No.
He lowered his weapons slightly. The words whispered in his mind, shaped by countless battles and sacrifices:
"I will protect. Not by force. Not by domination. By standing with them."
Golden swords aligned around him, not as weapons, but as a shield — a manifestation of his restraint, his humanity. The Gate pulsed in recognition.
Interesting. The Heir defines power not by conquest, but by will.
Outside the Throne Hall
Asuna shielded her eyes from the residual glow radiating through the open gate. Klein and Argo flanked her, scanning the ripples in the floor, the arcs of energy still radiating outward.
"That light… it's… him," Argo murmured. "The system recognizes him as the Heir. Kirito isn't just inside the Throne — he is the Throne now."
"We can't just storm in," Klein said. "Even if we could reach him, that energy would obliterate us in seconds."
Asuna's hand tightened around her rapier. Her heart beat in tandem with Kirito's pulse, faint but unerring through the energy field.
"Then we wait," she said, voice firm. "We don't interfere until he's ready. We go in, but only to stand by his side — not to command, not to fight against him. Kirito isn't lost yet."
The golden aura flickered as though responding to her words, faint ripples indicating that Kirito could sense her presence even in the overwhelming light.
Inside the hall, Kirito's senses expanded beyond comprehension. He could feel the entire floor, every player, every line of code. Every monster, every weapon, every heartbeat — all flowed through him like a river of information.
Yet even in this ocean of power, one presence stood out.
Asuna.
Her presence anchored him to reality, to the human world he had fought to preserve. Without her, the throne's trials could have consumed him entirely.
He rose from the throne, the aura of the Gate of Babylon stretching outward, forming a golden halo that lit the entire infinite hall.
"I understand now," he whispered. "The throne doesn't ask for power alone. It asks for responsibility… for restraint… for purpose."
Golden swords shifted to orbit around him, hovering in perfect harmony, responsive to every flick of thought, every heartbeat. He had mastered the first stage — he was no longer just Kirito. He was the Heir, a king who could wield unimaginable power without losing himself to it.
The Golden Warden Returns
Suddenly, the air split with a resonant crack. A figure emerged from the golden mist — a second Warden, larger and more imposing than the first, forged from pure system data. Its glowing eyes were fixed on Kirito.
"Unauthorized dominion detected. The Heir must be tested again."
Kirito's golden aura flared, weapons aligning automatically. He stepped forward, unflinching.
"I will face it," he said. "But I will not become it. I am Kirito — and I fight for everyone trapped here, not for myself."
The Warden lunged. Every strike was precise, calculated, yet Kirito's mastery over the Gate of Babylon allowed him to counter without aggression. Blades collided, portals opened and closed, the hall shattering and reforming around them.
Outside, Asuna and the rescue party watched in awe. They could not see the battle directly, only the ripples of power — golden arcs tearing through the hall, shockwaves distorting the air.
"He's… fighting on his own terms," Asuna whispered. "Even against the system itself, he's still himself."
Despite the chaos, Kirito's thoughts reached Asuna. Faint, a whisper through the code:
I am still me. I need you to know that. I cannot falter — not here, not now. But I am still Kirito.
Her eyes glimmered with tears. She whispered back, barely audible:
I know. I'll always be here. I'll never let you fall.
The resonance of their connection pulsed through the golden hall, reinforcing Kirito's control over the Gate. Even as the Warden pressed its assault, the Heir did not break. Every weapon and portal moved in perfect response to his intent, neutralizing the Warden without destruction, proving his mastery of the first true stage of ascension.
The battle paused. The Warden froze mid-swing, recognizing that its trial had not defeated Kirito but refined him.
Golden light poured from the throne, filling the hall and extending outward like a river of molten sun. Kirito stood tall, radiant, yet human in his resolve. The first phase of the Royal Protocol was complete.
"I will rise," he said softly, voice carrying across the threshold to the waiting frontliners. "Not for glory. Not for power. But to protect them all."
Outside, Asuna tightened her grip on her rapier. The fight was far from over, but for the first time, she felt hope. Kirito was still himself — the Black Swordsman, the Heir of the Throne, the man who would fight for everyone.