CH.42 The Trial of Integrity, Part II
The golden light shifts again.
The air thickens, sweet and cloying, like perfume left too long in the sun. The throne room fades, melting into velvet curtains and rose petals — Farro’s kind of aesthetic disaster.
I swear the scent alone gives me cavities.
Down below, he squints at his surroundings, already uneasy.
“This isn’t funny,” he mutters. “Where’s the trap this time?”
Sorien just folds his arms. “The trap, brother, is probably you.”
He’s not wrong.
---
The illusion blooms fully — a grand ballroom, chandeliers swaying, silk and candlelight in every direction.
Dozens of women appear, all radiant and smiling, crowding around Farro.
Each one of them murmurs his name like it’s a prayer.
“Oh no,” I whisper from the balcony. “It’s his natural habitat.”
He blinks. “You all… remember me?”
They laugh, moving closer, hands ghosting over his arms, his chest, his face.
Their adoration is syrup-thick — sticky and endless.
One steps forward — a woman with hair like spun gold. “You saved us all,” she says. “You gave us love. You are love.”
Another voice joins.
“You are everything.”
Farro stares at them, confusion flickering behind the charm he always wears like armor. “Wait,” he says slowly. “Who—who are you?”
They answer in chorus.
“We are who you wanted us to be.”
And then they change.
The faces blur.
Features twist, merge, multiply — until he’s surrounded not by women but by reflections of himself.
Dozens of Farros, all grinning. All perfect.
All hollow.
---
He takes a shaky step back.
“What is this?”
The Seer’s whisper folds through the air, soft as breath:
“Love without truth becomes worship.
And worship without integrity becomes rot.”
The reflections speak together, their voices too smooth.
“Don’t you want to be adored? To never be alone? To always be wanted?”
They step closer, and the floor glitters beneath their feet — each step leaving a trail of gold that darkens into tar.
Farro’s mask cracks a little. “I just wanted to be seen,” he says. “Not… this.”
They laugh. “You wanted everything. You wanted them all to love you — and when they did, you called it freedom.”
His voice falters. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t care.”
One of the reflections lunges. Farro slashes at it — his blade passes through gold and light. Another reflection grabs him by the wrist, grinning with his own teeth.
“Love us,” it hisses. “It’s what you wanted.”
---
From above, I grip the railing. “Okay, I take it back, this is horrifying.”
Sorien’s already stepping forward. “He has to break it himself.”
I grimace. “Then maybe warn him before he drowns in self-esteem.”
Down below, Farro’s surrounded — dozens of copies pressing closer, their whispers filling the air like static.
“Stay with us.”
“Be adored.”
“You’ll never hurt again.”
He drops to one knee, panting. “This isn’t love. It’s noise.”
The ground splits under him. The reflections start to shatter — not all at once, but piece by piece. Glass bodies splinter into gold dust.
One remains — the first one, the woman with hair of gold, her face now flickering between her own and his.
She reaches out. “If you leave me, you’ll be empty again.”
He looks at her — eyes softer than I’ve ever seen. “Then maybe it’s time I find out what that feels like.”
He drives his blade through the illusion.
Light explodes outward.
The reflections dissolve.
The ballroom fades back into the Resanarum.
---
Farro drops to one knee again, chest heaving, gold ash clinging to his gloves.
I clap slowly from the viewing ledge. “Brilliant performance. Bit dramatic, but very heartfelt.”
He looks up, dazed. “I don’t think I’ll ever flirt again.”
Sorien mutters, “That’ll last an hour.”
Gavin almost smiles. “Progress, though.”
For a heartbeat, they look almost like brothers again — battered, breathless, and bound by something new: understanding.
The light shifts once more, brighter this time, gathering behind Sorien like a sunrise.
The Seer’s voice returns, quieter now:
“The last flame burns brightest when temptation wears a familiar face.”
Sorien looks up, eyes narrowing as a figure takes shape before him — soft light, long hair, and the outline of someone I recognize far too well.
Oh no.
I mutter, “Oh, this is going to be awkward.”
And as the illusion clears, standing before Sorien is the one woman he can’t quite forget —
Andromeda.