The stars above Ethan shifted like swirling brushstrokes, painting new constellations. The floating platform beneath his feet dissolved, replaced by a winding path of polished stone edged with silver. The Stone of Luck and Destiny pulsed gently in his palm.
Estrade's voice echoed around him, tinged with amusement.
"You touched fate. Now let's see what it touches back."
Ethan stepped forward. Mist curled at his boots, shimmering with flickers of laughter, screams, and fragmented dreams. At the end of the path, a circular platform held three doors:
A bronze door scarred and dented.
A silver door, glowing faintly like moonlight on water.
A golden door, radiant and locked tight.
"Three doors?" Ethan asked.
"Three trials," Estrade replied. "The first Trial of the Past—you survived. The silver is the Trial of Illusion and Choice. The golden... comes last. But it only opens for the version of you that emerges from this one."
Before Ethan could reach the silver door, a figure emerged from the mist—tall, regal, and dark-robed, with glowing golden eyes.
"We meet again," the figure said calmly.
"Zenith"
"Are you ready to make your choice?"
Ethan studied him, wary but unshaken. "Let's find out."
Pressedor nodded. "Then step through. And remember—your choice isn't just who you are… it's who you refuse to be."
Ethan opened the silver door.
Light shattered—then darkness reshaped it.
The Illusion Paths
He stood in a hall of mirrors, each reflection of himself reshaping into doorways. A disembodied whisper echoed:
"You must walk each path. Then choose."
He stepped through them, one by one.
1. The Lone Wolf
A battlefield. Screams in the air. Ethan fought alone, blade flashing, teeth clenched. His armor was cracked. His eyes, dead.
He saved many—never stayed. No allies. No warmth.
Died in silence, unknown. No one mourned him.
"Is solitude the price of survival?" Ethan thought. "Or just fear disguised as strength?"
2. The Greedy One
He built a fortune atop betrayals. Friends, family—steppingstones. He drank from diamond cups and ruled hollow halls.
He choked alone, clutching a jewel. Not even the servants cried.
"This feel… empty. Not power. Just rot dressed as gold."
3. The Fallen King
He ruled justly at first. Loved by all.
Then paranoia bloomed. He executed the loyal. Starved the innocent.
His throne broke under his weight—both metaphor and truth.
"To be king is to be watched. Judged. Feared. Is that what I want?"
4. The Blood Seeker
War never ended. He loved it too much.
He drowned in enemy blood—and his own soul. Died smiling in a field of corpses.
"Glory from gore... isn't glory at all."
5. The Atlas
He bore the weight of all. Carried others' grief like armor.
He saved many, helped more—but shattered quietly.
His heart gave out under too much giving.
"What good is saving everyone if I lose myself in the process?"
6. The Selective Savior
He saved only his own: his family, his friends. All others? Forgotten.
He died in their embrace—but guilt never stopped whispering.
"I could live with that. But… would I still respect myself?"
7. The Bandit
He took what he wanted. Laughed as the world burned behind him. Believed in strength, not justice.
He was stabbed by one he trusted most.
"A short road. Fast and bloody. Built on sand."
8. The Cultist
He prayed to something vast and wrong. Offered souls. Called disaster with trembling hands.
He became a vessel for horror.
"What's left of me when I trade my soul for certainty?"
9. The Recursive
He stepped out of the world. Watched it fall. Did nothing. Said it wasn't his job.
He died quietly, unknown, unmissed.
"Safety is not peace. Distance is not freedom."
10. The Puppet Master
He controlled kings, shaped wars from shadows.
No one ever saw him coming—until someone else did.
He died poisoned by a girl who smiled too sweetly.
"Power without connection is just cold puppetry. That's not life."
The Choice
Ethan stumbled back to the center. Every life still clung to his skin.
He stood before the silver mist. Ten doors waited.
His hand hovered over the sixth: Selective Savior. Familiar. Understandable. Comforting.
He froze.
"Is this it? A path of limits? Do I save only the ones I love? Is that justice—or fear?"
He stepped back. Looked at all of them.
Then he looked inward.
"None of these are me. And I won't let someone else choose for me again."
"I choose to be no one… and everyone. I will forge my path within my own bounds. I'll save who I can. If power comes, I'll become their beacon. But I am Ethan. Nothing more. Nothing less."
Back in the soul realm, Ethan dropped to one knee, breath trembling. Every version still clung to his spirit like ash.
Estrade's voice returned:
"The illusion ends. One path must be chosen. What do you carry forward?"
Ethan didn't speak. Not yet. Faces flashed behind his eyes—Sasha, Rick, Alia—friends, moments, fragments of a life that mattered.
He had seen power, detachment, control, peace, sacrifice… but none of them held all of him.
He rose. Quiet. Steady.
"None of them," he said at last. "I won't become a fragment of myself. I choose to be whole. I choose… to be me."
The realm held its breath.
Far beyond the portal, Estrade and Zenith watched.
Zenith:"What choice do you think he'll make?"
Estrade:"I thought… the Savior. His pain begged for purpose. But I was wrong. He broke the illusion. He's becoming more than even I imagined."
The illusions shattered. A brilliant light surged through Ethan's soul—cleansing, binding, reshaping. Raw potential rushed through his veins.
Estrade's voice softened, reverent:
"You passed. You refused corruption, temptation, and escape. You remain Ethan. Still flawed… but true."
He stepped from the broken illusion, clutching something new: a small glowing rune.
"A Time Rune," Estrade said. "Its meaning will come in your third trial. This choice forged your will… but what comes next will test it."
"What is this…?"
Estrade's voice answered, solemn and proud.
"A gift. One you'll need in the third trial. It marks the moment your will solidified."
Back in the mist, Estrade and Zenith watched in silence.
"He didn't choose Selective Savior," Zenith said, surprised.
Estrade smiled.
"He chose himself. That's rarer than any title. Most are too afraid to stand alone."
"Do you still think he's the one?"
"Now more than ever."
The Final Word
As Ethan stepped toward the golden door, Zenith appeared once more.
"You made your choice. You just might be what I've been looking for."
"What if I'd chosen differently?" Ethan asked.
Estrade's voice cut in.
Estrade:"Then you'd be another version. Powerful, perhaps… but not whole."
Zenith stepped forward, eyes gleaming: "You may be what I seek—a soul that refuses to be defined yet will not break. Good luck, Ethan. We'll speak again. If you survive."
"The third trial would have tested a different man. But this choice—this one—will shape your will, your path, and your strength. It defines how you break… or don't."
They vanished.
The golden door clicked once.
Ethan stood alone.
No reward. No applause.
Just clarity.
He looked down at the Rune. Then the Stone of Luck.
And whispered:
"I am who I choose to be."
Then he walked into the mist, the echo of all he could have been trailing behind him like shadows—
—and only one version of him walking forward:
Ethan.