“By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.”

  ― Confucius

  Chapter 4: Judgement

  My last moments on Earth.

  A fury of motion. Daren, screeching hate.

  I remember thinking - why are you doing this? - but of course, I already knew.

  Truth be told, I’d always considered Daren something of a non-entity. I’d slotted him into the headspace of Claire’s brother: He was a peripheral presence, one I rarely crossed paths with, which suited me just fine.

  It wasn’t that I went out of my way to avoid him. Fuck, I wasn’t scared of him. Just knowing he was there, quietly hating my guts, thinking he was better than me - That was bad enough. Engaging with him would’ve made it worse.

  I’d clocked Daren for the quiet, simmering type. The kind who’d stew in his resentment, but never actually act on it. I figured he’d keep his distance, content to look down his nose at me from afar.

  I was not - in a million years - expecting him to go for my throat. Not like that.

  But when it came down to it, when the moment demanded it, he came at me with a ferocity I never saw coming. A fury, I think, that quite eclipsed what I had done.

  And, you know…I think Daren might have been waiting for this his whole life. A chance to hurt someone, anyone. An excuse to kill, in the name of a worthy cause.

  Believe me: From the way he went after me, it certainly felt like it.

  My second mistake was trying to get away.

  I was, as you may guess, sickened by what I’d done. I’d seen myself, reflected in the gleaming surface of the scattered glass underfoot: Uneasy, dark and hunched, a lurching thing smeared with gore and framed in the honeyed light.

  I looked like a murderer, which was what I was.

  I’d brandished the knife, to keep him back. The first time I cut him, it was more an accident than anything else - I’d been trying to make him see sense, to get him away from me. For it was over and done with, and I could spend the rest of my life paying for what I’d done after I’d saved Justin.

  As we grappled, the air thick with sweat and blood, I realized - too late - the demons that drove him on. That made him see red, gave him the strength to beat my face in.

  It wasn’t Claire: It was the Mark.

  He wanted the Mark, too. Or at least, he couldn’t stand the thought of me having it, that I was Chosen. Forget grief, forget the need for revenge: It was sheer dogged spite that fuelled his rage, that made him snarl and snap his teeth like a rabid animal.

  It was then - right then - that I knew.

  I was going to have to kill him, too.

  When the blade sank between Daren’s ribs, I thought that was the end of it. I felt it punch home, all the way to the hilt, with the sickening softness of tearing flesh. He must have realized it, then: That he was dead, and all that remained was to keel over.

  I saw it coming, a blur of jagged wood. I saw it clearly.

  Not that it mattered.

  I tried to dodge, tried to get my hands up…but I was never going to be fast enough. I didn’t even manage to blink before the sickening crack of impact reeled through my skull - an explosion of pain, white-hot and blinding.

  Everything crumpled inward. There was no up, no down, no world.

  The last thing I heard was Daren. Gurgling through his throat. Falling back against the wall, sliding down in a crumpled heap.

  Then all was darkness.

  “-Is he going to die?”

  Quiet noise.

  In the hospital, there was always quiet noise. The light beeps of machines, the mumbling chatter of doctors, the clack of clipboards being hung on pegs.

  Every now and then, an announcement over the PA would cut through the noise. Calm but urgent, like a knife through fog:

  “Code Blue, Room 214. Code Blue, Room 214.”

  “Nurse Carter, report to Radiology. Nurse Carter to Radiology.”

  And so on, and so forth.

  I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window, the heat of my breath fogging the pane. Inside, Justin lay pale and still: A tangle of tubes and wires snaked from his body to the machines that kept him alive, the suck and drool of his respirator a slow, liquid rhythm.

  Each breath looked like a battle. His skin was ashen, fingers twitching faintly against the starched white sheet. I couldn’t take my eyes off his hands, the way they clenched the thin hospital blanket.

  It was better than looking at the sunken hollows of his eyes, the fragile rise and fall of his chest.

  Death had never seemed real to me, before. It was a thing that happened to other people, behind closed doors: People I barely knew, and would never miss.

  The closest we’d come had been the death of Bailey, our corgi - He’d died in his sleep, peacefully and without fuss, and Dad had cleared away the aftermath by the time we got home from school.

  Justin was inconsolable. He’d cried and cried, while Mom had tried to soothe him.

  It was his time, she’d said, with infinite gentleness. He lived a long, happy life. It was just his time, that’s all.

  Back then, I hadn’t understood why Justin couldn’t accept it. We’d had plenty of warning , after all. Bailey’s muzzle had turned grey, and he’d limped when he’d once run. In the week before it’d happened, he had barely touched his food or his water-bowl.

  There was a kind of dignity in that, to my mind. A slow drawing-down of the curtains, a graceful acceptance of the inevitable. Bailey had been in pain, and he must’ve known - even as he curled up to die - there was only one cure for his suffering.

  But now - now - I understood something of what my brother had felt. It was the arbitrariness of it, the unfairness. The unspeakable tragedy of a life being cut short.

  A hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched. Lifting my gaze, I glimpsed Dr. Sebold’s wan, familiar reflection in the glass: As always, she smelled faintly of sandalwood and antiseptic, her spotless white coat draped over her sparse frame.

  She’d been with us from the very beginning, all the way from that first, terrible day. Even now, there was something innately reassuring about her, an unwavering kindness in those steady blue eyes.

  With her thinning hair pulled back in a tight bun, I’d always thought she’d looked like a schoolmarm. There was a comfort in that, somehow.

  “We’re doing all we can, Gabe,” she said, her hand still on my shoulder. Grounding me, in the face of the inevitable. “But you need to prepare yourself. Justin’s condition…”

  Dr. Sebold’s voice caught, just for a moment.

  “-Justin’s condition is very serious. Despite our best efforts, his body is no longer responding to treatment, and it’s unlikely that he will recover.”

  A pause. The crows-feet that framed her eyes became more prominent, the lines deeper.

  “We’ll continue to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible, but it’s important to be prepared for the fact that he doesn’t have much time left."

  Softer, now, but still firm.

  “I know this is incredibly hard to hear. I’m sorry, Gabriel - I truly am.”

  Her words landed like stones in my gut, each one sinking deeper. I turned to face her fully, searching her grey-eyed gaze for a flicker of hope. But there was nothing: Just the quiet resolve of someone who knew the odds better than I ever would.

  And I realized, right then - Death wasn’t a distant thing, not anymore.

  It was here, in this room. Waiting.

  “But,” I said, wretchedly aware how pathetically inadequate I sounded. “But he’s going to die-”

  I wasn’t sure what kind of answer I was expecting, really. I don’t know what I was hoping for: Some insight, some miracle to cling to, I guess. A way for everything to be, impossibly, made right aga-

  Something about that…I felt an odd pang of unease, a frisson across my mind. Like I’d been here before, somehow.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Memory stirred.

  I looked down. Blood - thick, tacky - coated my hands. And on the back of one, the Mark burned through the gore.

  Bright. Unfading.

  A lone, defiant star.

  And I said: “-Is this a dream?”

  But even then, I already knew. For the dream came after everything. The dream was the present.

  Everything that happened here, had happened before.

  A long time ago, and a world away.

  The hospital room wavered, the beeping machines fading into a low, resonant hum. Underfoot, the vinyl flooring shifted, taking on the hard-edged sheen of polished onyx.

  The scent of sandalwood and antiseptic vanished, replaced by the crisp, ozone tang of a storm about to break.

  I blinked, my heart lurching. This wasn’t the hospital.

  That wasn’t Dr. Sebold.

  “Who are you?” I said. “What did you d-”

  My voice stuttered, died in my throat, as I realized where I was.

  I stood in a soaring hall, its walls of lapis-lazuli and white marble veined with threads of molten gold. Towering pillars stretched towards a domed ceiling, where constellations of runes shimmered like stars.

  Their ethereal light cast a silver glow across the polished floor, so clear I could see my own reflection.

  And before me-

  Oh my God.

  She stood before me. Ageless, clothed in flowing robes of silver and blue. The smooth porcelain of Her face was serene yet unyielding, framed by a cascade of dark hair that shimmered like starlight.

  In Her hand, She held a spear of pure light, the peerless blade gleaming with the promise of judgment.

  She was beautiful. Terrifying.

  The force of Her regard hit me like a sledgehammer, like a body-blow, and stripped me bare. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor hard enough to set my teeth together. The cold marble bit into my skin, my throat clenching as I fought to breathe-

  I couldn’t lift my head, couldn’t meet those eyes - clear, grey as ice, shining with a light of their own. Like they could see every dark corner of my soul.

  Every mistake. Every sin.

  Forever.

  I stared at the floor, lungs burning with the need for air, my hands trembling against the stone. I could hear the drip of blood running from my nose, taste the salt tang as each drop spattered the stone: My focus narrowed, fixing on the tiny pool of dark blood, like it was the only real thing amid all this impossibility.

  “-I am Minerva.”

  The syllables of Her name rebounded from the vaults like thunder, and its meaning unfolded in every echo.

  Lady of Wisdom

  Mistress of All Magic

  Judicator of Endoria

  I couldn’t move. Dark spots danced in my vision, my heart hammering against the cage of my ribs. Everything about the goddess was implacable, realer-than-real: Just being here was a shattering experience, one I wasn’t sure I would ever recover from.

  “I have brought you here, Gabriel, for no power on Earth can save your brother. His sickness will claim him - Unless you prove yourself worthy.”

  She gestured, and that singular motion swung the world away.

  The midnight darkness of the onyx floor shimmered, becoming clear as glass. From above, as if from some impossibly high vantage, I saw.

  Endoria.

  A tapestry of sunlit lands, all sewn together like the inlaid board of a great game.

  Golden fields, rippling like waves of amber, dotted with the thatched roofs of villages where farmers sang to the harvest gods. Emerald forests stretching endless and deep, their canopies teeming with secret life.

  Turquoise seas lapping at distant shores. Pearl-divers braving the depths. Merchant ships flying flags of crimson and emerald, their sails taut with the promise of trade.

  The jutting fangs of graven mountains, piercing the clouds. Distant peaks crowned with guardian-fortresses of black stone, winged beasts soaring through sapphire skies.

  The sound of rain, like blowing sand.

  Across that board, epic histories played out before my eyes. Nations and empires, creeds and races. Civilizations rose and fell - bonding and fighting, forming alliances, making war.

  I saw the Sky Serpents of the First Cataclysm descend in a storm of fire, their scales glinting as they battled the ancient dwarven kings of Drakonhold, their forges glowing red against the night. Saw the last siege of Drakfj?ll, the sky black with hateful wings.

  Centuries rolled by in moments.

  The War of the Shattered Veil unfolded, a clash of gods that tore the sky asunder. Ichor rained from the heavens, seeping into the blasted earth: Below, the mortal races forged the first ley-line conduits to harness the Pyros of the fallen.

  I saw the rise of the Illumian Concord, a thousand banners flying in unity - Crimson phoenixes, sapphire stags, emerald serpents - each kingdom’s sigil raised from hundreds of guardian fortresses that stood as sentinels against the dark.

  Sagas unfolded. Tribes becoming nations, empires burning in the conflagration of war, nomadic Kaelith horselords thundering across the steppes. Great fleets carved paths through uncharted waters, questing ever-onward; Birds trilling in the trees, oblivious to the grand sweep of it all.

  Unifications, annihilations, invasions, expansions, enlightenments. All of it passed by in the blink of an eye, there and then gone.

  I saw it all, from my vantage. Like I’d been nailed to the sky, set amongst the stars - From a seat so high and precarious, it was all I could do to cling on.

  It was too much. If not for the unseen hands that held me in place, that made me watch, I would be screaming.

  And then, from the heavens - a great terror descending, like a falling star. It struck, with a roar that shook the vision: Rising, titanic, from the wound it had made. Black, tarry filth wept and ran from the blistered flesh of the star-spawned colossus, countless lesser horrors shaking off their birth-cauls as they dragged themselves from the blighted earth.

  The loop of the sky-born horror’s many arms became a gate.

  A gate to Hell, vomiting forth its bleak foulness.

  A gate that would not close. A wound in the flesh of reality.

  From it poured an endless tide of abominations: eyeless beasts with mouths like gaping wounds, skeletal fiends with wings of tattered flesh, and writhing masses of tentacles that burned the ground they touched.

  They brought madness with them, like a contagion. Blighting waves of it, tainting earth and sky. I glimpsed mounds of corpses, bodies speared and raised to the heavens, flies rising like prayers into a choking sky-

  Those who faced the first, awful days of apocalypse - crippled by loss, fleeing war and calamity - were the ones to name the terror that had descended.

  Enemy-of-All, they called it.

  Ruinbringer.

  The Wrack.

  The solemn tolling of a great iron bell echoed across Endoria, a deep and mournful call to arms.

  Legions marched forth. Armored in silver, armed with faith, their banners bearing the sigil of the crescent moon. They fell upon the calamity with a courage born of desperation - Knights with swords of blessed iron, mages raining blue fire down upon the Twisted, the priests rallying the faithful with their plainsong chants.

  Thousands died beneath the Wrack’s slaying shadow, thousands more to the creatures disgorged from the faith-rot. But with one final, terrible effort, it was driven back. Back into the dark places of the earth, through the rift it had torn open.

  The rift could not be closed, but it could be barred. Through great and terrible magics, a titanic gate was raised - Bound in steel and silver, hewn from cyclopean blocks of abyssal stone, made fast by the seven times seven times seven sigils of binding.

  Upon it, the Radiant Seal. The only thing that could resist the dissolution of the caverns, that could retain its solidity in the face of ravening corruption.

  The survivors, those few who remained, knelt among the ruin. They gave thanks, fragile prayers winging their way skyward, that their world had endured. Upon that last battlefield, they vowed to rebuild, to never forget.

  Upon that rock, they raised their capital.

  Illum, city of light and learning.

  Illum, city of Minerva.

  I saw it take form. Saw spires of white stone and crystal rising from the desolation, great towers blossoming to catch the sun. Above the Radiant Seal, the city grew, a defiant monument to survival.

  Grand plazas of polished marble spread like petals around the central spire where the Temple of Minerva stood, golden dome gleaming like a second sun. Libraries of alabaster and glass took form, shelves lined with tomes of ancient knowledge and scrolls that glowed with inner light.

  There were busy quarters of bustling streets and squares, of fine markets and elegant public spaces. Great academies of sorcery, rising over beautiful acres of parkland and urban gardens, festivals filling the streets with music and light.

  And everywhere, murals of the Wrack’s defeat: Knights in silver, mages in blue, priests with their crescent banners. All immortalized in victory.

  Generations were born, flourished and died, knowing nothing of the Great Terror. The ordered currents of the arcane powered spells of healing, protection, and foresight, the nights lit by lanterns that held the radiance of the sun. Illum’s walls, inlaid with runes of warding, hummed with silent surety - a promise of safety to all who dwelt within.

  For a time, Illum thrived.

  For a time.

  For the Wrack was not dead, not at all.

  I saw the Radiant Seal dimming, the aegis of its protection flickering with fitful light. Saw the slow poison of the Wrack’s spite, seeping through the cracks: Something that ran and dripped, swelled and flowed again. A dark something that sought in every weakness, every flaw, the quickest unbroken route of escape.

  Somewhere, somewhere impossibly far away, I heard the beginnings of a sound, in all that yawning silence.

  A black heart, beginning to beat.

  I woke.

  My first, new breath brought pain, sharp and cold. Sweat-soaked, my heart palpitating, I was shivering against the cold onyx floor, my eyes focusing only slowly.

  The vision had seared itself into my mind.

  Endoria’s history, its wonders and its horrors. The Wrack’s devastation, and Illum’s fragile hope.

  I felt hollowed out, like the weight of centuries had carved me empty. I had words in my mouth, but they were all broken and none of them worked.

  How could I speak after seeing that? How could I comprehend the scale of it all?

  “Look upon Me.”

  I didn’t want to - I couldn’t - but Minerva’s voice was a chain I couldn’t break. Slowly, trembling, I lifted my gaze, my eyes meeting Hers.

  It was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  Her face was the face of every disappointed parent, every stern teacher, every judge who’d ever weighed someone’s worth and found them wanting.

  God, the disappointment in Her eyes - It cut deeper than any blade. I felt small, insignificant, a broken thing beneath the weight of her gaze. A gaze that had watched empires rise and fall, that had seen the Wrack’s terror and Illum’s slow rise.

  A gaze that now found me lacking.

  Because She knew, you see. She knew everything.

  Shame flooded me. A suffocating wave that dragged up every sin, every failure, every lie I’d ever told. Claire’s bloodied face flashed in my mind, the horrible, choking gasp she’d made echoing in my ears-

  My chest tightened, a sob clawing at my throat, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to beg for forgiveness, to plead my case, but the words wouldn’t come. Just the bitter taste of my own inadequacy, the crushing weight of what I’d done.

  “The Wrack rises,” She said, Her voice colder than a blade of ice. “A devourer of worlds, an abomination born of the void between stars. It feeds on life, on order, on all I stand for. To save My world, I called you forth - For only the Bearer of the Mark can slay the Enemy-of-All.”

  Subtly, ever-so-subtly, Minerva’s fathomless eyes narrowed.

  “You were not My first choice, Gabriel.”

  The scorn in Her words felt like a lash.

  “I sought a champion pure in thought and deed, one worthy of My blessing. Yet here you stand: A murderer. An usurper. A thief of destiny. The weight of your crime cries out from your soul - Do you think I cannot hear it?”

  My breath hitched. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, I felt the first embers of resentment kindled in my chest. She didn’t understand.

  She couldn’t.

  “I-” Somehow, I put strength into my words. “I did it for Justin,” I said, fighting to keep my voice from shaking. “I had to save him. I had no choice.”

  “Choices are the foundation of order, Gabriel. You chose murder over honor, cruelty over compassion. Your own will, over My divine plan. A true champion of mine would have held faith in a just path, not stained their hands with innocent blood.”

  Easy for you to say, I thought, gritting my teeth. I tried to look away, to compose my thoughts - But I found Minerva standing wherever I turned, even when I looked up. Staring down at me, sandaled feet never quite touching the ground.

  The light of Her spear flared, bright enough to make me wince. It cast harsh shadows across my face, made my eyes water…But if She expected me to look away, I was happy to disappoint Her.

  I knew what I was.

  “I know what I did,” I said. “I know I killed Claire, and I’ll live with that guilt until I die. But I’d do it again, if it meant saving Justin. I’ll do anything - anything - to save him. Even if that makes me unworthy. Even if it makes me a monster in your eyes.”

  Those perfect lips curled, scornful.

  “Your love for your brother does not absolve your sin, Gabriel. A champion of order must rise above such selfish acts, not justify them.”

  A pause. A lull, that could have meant anything.

  Come on, I thought, with every scrap of my being. Come on-

  “But Endoria’s need is dire, and you are what remains - A flawed, unworthy vessel I must use. Your brother’s time grows short, and the Wrack threatens all. Do you understand what you must do?”

  “I do,” I said. My eyes were shining with tears, now, but I refused to blink. I wouldn’t look away, not from this.

  The goddess drew nearer. The light that radiated forth from Her was scouring, blinding. I felt translucent, like paper. Less-than-real, a screen against the sun.

  “Your road will not be easy, nor your burden light.”

  “That-” A dizziness swept over me, all of a sudden. I felt it, then - a kind of relief, the light-headedness that came with clearing the first, impossible obstacle. But even then, I knew I was reaching the absolute limit of my endurance.

  How long had I been here?

  How long had I waited for this moment?

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said. Carefully, slowly, though grey fatigue blurred the corner of my vision. “I’ll get there, whatever it takes. I…I’ll get there.”

  For Justin.

  “Do you swear it? To see to its end this course you have begun?”

  I felt the ache in my chest sharpen, as I clenched my fists to keep them from shaking. Somehow, on a deep, primal level, I knew: This oath would be a binding one. That I’d have to see things through, no matter what it took.

  But then - If there was a line, I’d already crossed it. I’d already done the unthinkable.

  Compared to that, this was nothing.

  “-Yes,” I said. One word, fraught with meaning. I made myself believe it, put every ounce of conviction I could summon into my voice…For I knew this was my only chance.

  Justin’s only chance.

  Above, the constellation of runes dimmed. Like the aurora, their light settled on Minerva, unfurling from Her back like wings.

  Then kneel.

  Her voice cracked like thunder, shaking the world. Somehow, I held on - just long enough to kneel, not collapse.

  Mom. Dad. I thought, willing myself not to tremble. I’m coming home.

  I’ll fix this. I swear.

  Minerva’s lips curved - barely. A smile. Maybe approval. Maybe mockery.

  “We shall see,” the Judicator said.

  Wait, I thought. You can-?

  One ageless hand grasped Her spear, and lifted it high. Its blade blazed like starlight made solid, blue fire burning the world pale.

  It sang. A keening note no human throat could ever shape. Power crackled and hissed, thrumming through the spear’s fierce point.

  I braced, expecting the goddess to speak, to begin some rite or benediction. To lay the spear on my shoulder, or my brow.

  Instead, Minerva drove it straight into my heart.

  TO BE CONTINUED