CH. 59 The Truth That Devours
The Resanarum feels wrong this morning.
Not cold.
Not hot.
Not stormy.
Just… still.
The kind of stillness that happens right before a spell breaks or a world collapses—like the arena itself is holding its breath.
The torches are unlit.
The runes aren’t glowing.
The sky above hangs gray and heavy, as though even the moon and sun don’t dare to show up.
The princes stand in a line again—
Gavin stiff, Farro fidgeting, Sorien unreadable.
I stand behind them, hood low, mask back on.
My heart is still a messy puddle after yesterday, but I’m here.
Not because I’m brave—
but because the Trials stop for no witch’s existential crisis.
The Seer appears in the center of the arena, emerging not from smoke or fire this time—
but from a soft ripple of air.
His staff is dim.
Too dim.
The crowd goes quiet.
And then his voice fills the stone, low and heavy:
“Princes of Resan. You have endured six nights of the moon’s judgment.
Only one remains:
The Trial of Truth.”
The runes across the arena floor flicker—first white, then black, then vanish entirely.
Sorien whispers under his breath, “No runes?”
Gavin’s jaw tenses. “What does that mean?”
Farro swallows. “Nothing good.”
The Seer lifts his staff—
—
and nothing happens.
No light.
No roar.
No smoke.
No magic.
Just silence.
Then the Seer speaks again, each word sharp as bone:
“This trial is unlike the rest.
No illusions will guide you.
No realms will test you.
There is no enemy—
except the truth you refuse to face.”
A chill crawls down my spine.
Farro whispers, “I don’t like this.”
Gavin mutters, “Shut up.”
Sorien glances at me once—barely a flicker—and I know what he’s thinking:
This trial… is dangerous.
The Seer’s empty eyes sweep across the arena.
“In this final test, each of you shall stand alone.
No aide may intervene.
No brother may assist.
Truth is a blade wielded only by its owner.”
The ground rumbles softly.
A slit appears in the arena floor—
a thin, long crack stretching from one end to the other.
It widens.
Widens—
—and becomes a mirror.
A polished stone surface reflects the sky, the crowd, the princes…
…and then the reflection shifts.
Distorts.
Darkens.
The mirror becomes a void.
A gate.
A threshold.
The Seer points his staff.
“Step forward.
Enter the Chamber of Truth.
Face the one thing that defines you—
or destroys you.”
Gavin stiffens.
Farro goes pale.
Sorien closes his eyes once, steadying his breath.
The crowd erupts in whispers.
I whisper to myself, “Oh good. A giant void. My favorite.”
Sorien hears me. “Stay back.”
“I wasn’t planning to swan-dive into the truth abyss, thanks.”
The Seer finally turns toward me.
His voice softens—not kindly, but knowingly:
“Three princes shall face their truth.
And you, witch…
shall witness.”
My pulse jumps.
“Uh—why me?”
“Because truth follows you, even when you run.”
Rude.
Accurate.
Still rude.
Before I can respond, the Seer raises his staff one last time.
“Let the Final Trial begin.”
The mirror-gate pulses—
Light.
Dark.
Light again.
Then the princes step forward—
Gavin first, jaw tight.
Farro next, fingers trembling.
Sorien last, walking as though he already knows the truth waiting for him will not be gentle.
The mirror swallows them whole.
And I—
cursed, confused, emotionally compromised—
am left standing at the edge of the void.
The Seer’s voice whispers beside me:
“Truth devours the liar…
but it also frees the broken.”
The arena collapses into silence.
The Final Trial has begun.