The heat radiating from the magma ocean was enough to blister skin, but inside the Firelands Knight Set, I felt only a dull, comfortable warmth. My heavy boots Emberstride Greaves left scorch marks on the obsidian rock as I walked, black sparks dancing around my ankles.

  "You are noisy," Astrid muttered, walking in my shadow. She stared at the black smoke drifting from my Mantle of Smoldering Ruin. "And you smell like a chimney."

  "I smell like victory, little scorpion," I replied, my voice booming slightly through the helmet. "And possibly bacon. It’s hard to tell."

  We reached the end of the lava field.

  The path terminated at a massive, sheer cliff of black stone. Embedded in the rock face was a gate. It stood fifty feet tall, made of solid meteoric iron, glowing with red runes. There were no handles. No keyholes. No puzzles to solve.

  Just a message carved in the metal: [ ONLY THE UNIFIED STRIKE SHALL PASS ]

  "A strength check," Baldur observed, sheathing his sword. "Combined output must exceed the structural integrity."

  "Boring," Bastian yawned, checking his nails. "Can't we just bribe it?"

  "Stand back," King Brandan said.

  He stepped forward. His warhammer, Thunder-Fall, rested on his shoulder. He rolled his neck, the vertebrae cracking loud enough to be heard over the bubbling lava.

  "Gutrum," Brandan grunted.

  Gutrum Falken stepped up beside him. He didn't ask what the plan was. He didn't look for a lever. He just gripped his massive double-headed axe, Winter's Bite, and stood exactly two feet to Brandan’s right.

  They stood there for a second, looking at the massive iron gate.

  "Reminds you of the Siege of Grey-Water," Brandan said, adjusting his grip on the hammer.

  "You were drunk at Grey-Water," Gutrum replied, his voice flat but holding a hidden smile. "You tried to headbutt the portcullis."

  "I loosened it for you," Brandan grinned.

  "You gave yourself a concussion," Gutrum corrected. "I had to carry you and the flag."

  "Details," Brandan chuckled.

  The Friendship between them was palpable. It was a frequency only they could hear. They didn't signal each other. They didn't count down.

  They just moved.

  Brandan shifted his weight. Gutrum mirrored him instantly.

  "High strike," Brandan murmured. "Low fracture," Gutrum replied.

  They moved in a blur of motion that defied their size.

  Brandan swung the hammer in a massive, overhead arc. It screamed through the air, gathering kinetic energy. Simultaneously, Gutrum dropped into a crouch, swinging his axe horizontally, aiming for the exact center of the gate’s seam.

  CRACK-BOOM.

  The sound was singular. The hammer hit the top hinge at the exact millisecond the axe bit into the center lock.

  The vibration was perfect. The shockwave from Brandan’s hit traveled down the metal, meeting the shockwave from Gutrum’s hit traveling up.

  The meteoric iron didn't just break. It exploded.

  Shards of metal flew outward, embedding themselves in the far walls. The massive doors groaned and collapsed inward, falling into the next room with a thunderous crash.

  Brandan stood there, panting slightly, his hammer resting on the ground. Gutrum stood up, wiping dust from his axe blade.

  They didn't high-five. They didn't cheer.

  Brandan just looked at Gutrum. "You were a split second late."

  "You were early," Gutrum deadpanned. "You're always early. That's why you have six children."

  Brandan threw his head back and laughed a loud, booming sound that echoed into the darkness ahead. He slapped Gutrum on the back hard enough to knock over a lesser man. Gutrum just swayed slightly, a rare, genuine grin breaking through his stoic mask.

  "Come on, Wolf," Brandan said, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Let's see what else we can break."

  They walked into the darkness together, shoulder to shoulder. The King and the Warden. The Storm and the Stone.

  I watched them go, adjusting my ash-covered visor.

  "Show-offs," I whispered.

  "That," Olenka said, walking past me with her staff, "is how men talk, Wilhelm. They don't use words. They use impact."

  She tapped my leg with her staff.

  "Take notes. Maybe one day you'll find someone who hits the same rhythm."

  I looked at the shattered gate.

  "I have Cinderbrand," I muttered, patting my giant black sword. "She listens to me."

  "Sad," Olenka noted. "Move your metal backside, Knight. We're burning daylight."

  We followed the two legends into the dark.

  The heat vanished instantly.

  The new room was cold. Silent. And confusing.

  The floor was polished silver. The walls were hundreds of mirrors, angled in chaotic directions. There were no monsters. No traps visible.

  Just us. And thousands of reflections of us.

  "I hate this," Bastian murmured, looking at his own reflection. "I look pale. Is the lighting bad in here?"

  "It’s psychological warfare," Baldur stated, his hand on his sword hilt. "Watch your six."

  I looked at a mirror to my left.

  My reflection stared back. The black armor. The red visor. But the reflection didn't move when I moved.

  It stood still. Then, it slowly reached up and opened its visor.

  The face inside wasn't mine. It was Dankmar Ironvine.

  "Hello, Asset," the reflection whispered.

  I spun around. Nothing there. Just the empty hall.

  "Don't look at them!" I shouted, my voice amplified by the helmet. "Don't look at the reflections! They aren't mirrors! They are screens!"

  "Too late," Gerald whispered.

  He was staring at a mirror. Inside, he saw himself... but he was King. He was sitting on the Shard Throne, wearing The Crown of Angels.

  Mary was staring at another. She saw herself frozen in ice, dead, with blue eyes.

  Astrid stared at one. She saw herself with two arms. Holding a sword. Smiling.

  "It shows desire," Olenka said, closing her eyes tight. "Or fear. It’s a Mind-Trap."

  "Desmus said there were obstacles," Brandan growled, smashing a mirror with his hammer. CRASH. "I don't have time for magic tricks!"

  But when the glass shattered, it didn't fall. The shards floated in the air.

  They swirled. They gathered.

  The shards formed a shape. A humanoid shape made of jagged, broken mirror-glass.

  Then another mirror shattered. And another.

  Ten glass golems stood before us. One of them held a glass hammer (copying Brandan). One held a glass axe (copying Gutrum). And one... one held a massive, jagged glass greatsword.

  It looked at me. It tilted its head.

  "Great," I sighed, drawing Cinderbrand. The black fire roared, reflecting endlessly in the room. "I have to fight myself. I hope I drop good loot."

  "Formation!" Gutrum roared. "Don't hit them with full force! If they reflect damage, you kill yourself!"

  "Wilhelm!" Brandan shouted. "You have the Thu’um! Shatter them!"

  I stepped forward. The Glass-Wilhelm stepped forward.

  "Let's see who breaks first," I growled.

  I inhaled. The air in the room seemed to suck toward me.

  "FUS..."

  The Glass-Wilhelm mimicked me. It opened its jagged mouth.

  "...RO..."

  We screamed at the same time.

  "DAH!"

  Two shockwaves collided in the center of the room. Black magic vs. White glass. The explosion sent cracks running through reality itself.

  The kinetic blast hit the two lead Mirror-Men. They didn't fly backward. They simply disintegrated. The frequency of the shout matched the resonance of their glass bodies, and they exploded into a million glittering diamonds.

  CRASH. TINKLE.

  "I have a voice!" I laughed, the sound amplified by my Helm of the Ash-Seer. "And it is very, very rude!"

  Two more Mirror-Men rushed me from the sides. One swung a jagged glass greatsword, copying my stance. I raised Cinderbrand.

  The Glass-Knight swung. I didn't dodge. With [AGILITY 22] (thanks to the Emberstride Greaves), the world seemed to move in slow motion. But I wanted to test the armor.

  CLANG.

  The glass sword hit my Black Pyre Cuirass. Instead of cutting me, the glass shattered against the mythic black steel. The impact rattled my teeth, dropping my blood slightly, but the armor held.

  "My turn, shiny," I growled.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I swung Cinderbrand. The black fire roared.

  The blade shore through the Mirror-Man’s torso like a hot knife through butter. He collapsed into shards.

  The last one tried to run.

  "Oh no you don't," I said. "Spider Web!"

  The web snagged his glass ankle. I yanked him back. I stepped on his chest with a heavy, burning boot. "Bad luck," I whispered. "Seven years of it." I drove the sword down.

  CRUNCH.

  A double wave of golden light washed over me. It felt like drinking a gallon of energy drink.

  I stood amidst the glittering wreckage, panting. "Level 30," I breathed. "I'm officially mid-game content."

  I opened my menu. Two points. First, I needed to be tougher. The impact had hurt more than I liked. I put one point into [ENDURANCE].

  Second... I looked at my sword. I had been relying on raw strength, but Cinderbrand deserved finesse. I put the second point into a new stat: [SWORDSMANSHIP].

  I felt a shift in my muscles. The massive greatsword suddenly felt lighter, balanced. I didn't just hold it; I understood it.

  "Sharp," I muttered, flourishing the blade with a speed that shouldn't be possible for a man in heavy plate.

  I looked around the Hall of Mirrors. In the corner, obscured by the shattered remains of a reflection, sat a chest.

  I kicked it open. Two items floated out.

  First, a pair of gauntlets made of dark, volcanic rock, with veins of magma pulsing in the palms.

  "Yes, please," I said, tearing off my old leather gloves. I equipped them. My grip strength skyrocketed. I felt like I could crush a coconut with one hand.

  Then, the weapon. It was beautiful. A bow made not of wood, but of translucent, tempered glass that shimmered with gold light. It hummed with a high-pitched frequency.

  I picked it up. It was cold to the touch. As I held it, knowledge flooded my brain. A new spell.

  "I have to try this," I whispered.

  I aimed the bow at a distant, unbroken mirror about a hundred yards away. I didn't reach for an arrow. I pulled the string back. Magic coalesced. A jagged, five-foot-long spear of solid glass materialized on the string.

  "Thwip."

  The recoil kicked my shoulder. The glass arrow screamed through the air.

  SHATTER.

  It hit the distant mirror and blew the entire wall apart. The impact was like a cannonball. "Ohoho," I chuckled, channeling my inner Bastard. "That will do nicely."

  I slung the bow over my shoulder and looked at the carnage. My stomach growled. Loudly. "Right," I sighed. " Calories. The eternal enemy."

  I looked around. No food. Just glass shards and... The remains of the Mirror-Men. They weren't just glass. Inside the shattered shells was a core of pulsating, gelatinous ectoplasm. Magical biomass.

  "Disgusting," I noted, poking a blob of glowing blue jelly with my sword. "Absolutely revolting."

  My stomach growled again. "But... protein is protein."

  I knelt down. I scooped up a handful of the Mirror-Man jelly. It wobbled. "Bottoms up, mates."

  I slurped it down. It tasted like electric blue raspberry jello mixed with battery acid and coins. Crunch. Gulp.

  [ CONSUMPTION LOG ] Input: Arcane Ectoplasm. Nutritional Value: Magical. Effect: Rapid Blood Regeneration.

  Warmth flooded my veins. The nausea passed. My health bar topped off.

  I wiped the glowing blue goo from my mouth. "Not bad," I burped, a small cloud of glitter escaping my lips. "Needs salt."

  I stood up, fully healed, fully geared, and terrifyingly powerful.

  I checked my reflection in a surviving shard of glass. A knight in black, burning armor. A massive ash-sword on his back. A glass bow in his hand. And a visor that glowed red.

  "I look expensive," I grinned.

  "StormSong-Falken!" Alliance!" I shouted, my voice booming. "The snacks are terrible, but the loot is legendary! Move out!"

  I marched toward the exit of the Hall of Mirrors, leaving a trail of black sparks and blue slime behind me...

  We left the Hall of Mirrors and stepped into the void.

  The next zone wasn't just dark; it was an absence of light. It felt as if we had walked into the throat of a dead god. The air was stale, cold, and smelled of ancient, stagnant water.

  "Torches," Baldur commanded, his voice tight. "Formation tight. Brandan, center. Olenka, rear."

  "I can't see my own hand," Brandan grumbled, swinging Thunder-Fall blindly. "Wilhelm, you're the lighthouse. Get up front."

  My Firelands Armor was glowing. The veins of magma in the black steel cast a dim, blood-red light around us, illuminating maybe five feet in any direction.

  "Quiet," I whispered. My voice wasn't the boisterous Bastard anymore. The Helm of the Ash-Seer had filtered the acoustics, making me sound deep, metallic, and cold.

  I tapped my visor.

  The world turned into a grain of green and grey static.

  "Something is watching," I murmured.

  "Where?" Gutrum asked, his axe ready.

  I didn't answer. I saw movement.

  Thirty yards to the left, standing in the absolute pitch black.

  It was Malachia.

  She was standing there, waving at me. But she wasn't Flickering. She was perfectly solid.

  That’s not right, I thought. Malachia is with Desmus.

  I blinked. The figure shifted.

  Bones cracked. Flesh rippled.

  Now it was Brandan.

  He was looking at me, his face twisted in a silent scream, clutching his chest.

  I looked next to me. The real Brandan was arguing with Bastian about map directions.

  Illusion, my mind snapped. Or a lure.

  The figure shifted again. Gutrum. Then Gerald.

  Then, the skin seemed to unzip. The human disguise sloughed off like wet paper.

  What remained was tall. Seven feet.

  It had a tail.

  It had scales that absorbed the light.

  Its eyes were vertical slits of glowing yellow.

  The creature smiled at me a mouth full of needle-teeth and slipped behind a pillar of black stone.

  "Keep moving," I said to the group, my voice flat. "I'm checking the flank."

  "Wilhelm, stay in formation!" Baldur barked.

  "I said keep moving," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.

  I activated [STEALTH].

  I vanished from their sight, slipping into the darkness like ink dropped in water. The heavy black armor should have clanked, but the my high stats made me move like a predator.

  I followed the lizard.

  I tracked the heat signature through a maze of crumbling ruins. Deeper into the dark. Far away from the safety of the Alliance.

  Finally, the creature stopped.

  It was a small clearing, hidden behind a fallen statue of an Aurean Emperor. The Reptilian stood there, waiting.

  But it wasn't alone.

  A man was leaning against the statue. A man with a silver mask and a heavy iron brace on his one leg.

  Konstantin Shadowgrove.

  The Inquisitor didn't look surprised. He looked impatient.

  "You are late, Skin-Walker," Konstantin rasped, tapping his silver-skulled cane on the stone.

  "The Bastard has eyes," the Reptilian hissed. Its voice sounded like wet gravel. "He sees through the dark. The Ash-Helm is powerful."

  "Wilhelm is a distraction," Konstantin dismissed, waving a gloved hand. "He is a merchant playing soldier. He is irrelevant."

  I crouched in the shadows, my heart hammering against the Black Pyre Cuirass. I held my breath.

  "The target?" the Reptilian asked.

  "The Bear," Konstantin whispered. "Brandan Stormsong."

  My blood went cold.

  "He is strong," the Reptilian warned. "He broke the Mirror-Men with a single swing. In a fair fight, he might crush Alexander."

  "Then we ensure it is not a fair fight," Konstantin said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, lead vial.

  "The Tears of the Basilisk," Konstantin murmured, holding the vial up to his mask. "Slow-acting. Colorless. Odorless."

  He handed the vial to the Reptilian.

  "Coat your blades. Or slip it into their water supply. It does not kill instantly. It weakens the heart. It drains the stamina."

  Konstantin leaned in, his silver mask gleaming in the faint light.

  "When Alexander faces him in the Final Circle... Brandan will not be a King. He will be an old, tired man gasping for air. Alexander will cut him down. Legally. Publicly."

  "And the throne?" the Reptilian asked, tucking the poison away.

  "Alexander becomes King," Konstantin said, a cruel smile audible in his voice. "House Shadowgrove takes the Crown. And we... we serve the Masters above."

  He pointed a finger at the ceiling, at the white ships.

  "The Anunnaki want order. Brandan is chaos. Brandan is emotional. Alexander is... perfection."

  I gripped the hilt of Cinderbrand. The leather creaked.

  They are going to murder him, I thought. Not in battle. They are going to poison him like a rat.

  The urge to jump out was overwhelming. With my new stats, with the Thu’um, I could flatten Konstantin. I could cut the lizard in half.

  Don't be stupid, Wilhelm, I told myself. You are the Master of Coin now. You don't start a fight you can't finish in one swing.

  I slowly released the hilt.

  "Go," Konstantin ordered. "Shadowgrove ascends tonight."

  The Reptilian nodded and shifted. Its scales rippled, turning into the form of a generic Stormsong soldier. It ran off into the dark.

  Konstantin lingered for a moment, adjusting his leg brace. Click. Thud.

  "Heavy lies the crown," he chuckled wheezingly to himself. "Especially when you steal it."

  He dragged himself away.

  I stayed in the shadows for a long time after they left.

  The swagger was gone. The jokes about loot boxes and gold were gone.

  I looked at my hand. The gauntlet was black iron, burning with ember-light.

  My brother. The loud, boisterous, broken man who loved a dead girl. The man who drank too much because he couldn't forget. The King who protected me when the world called me a Bastard.

  They wanted to poison him.

  I stood up. My visor glowed a deep, hateful crimson.

  "Alexander wants to be King?" I whispered, my voice a low growl that vibrated in the dark.

  I drew Cinderbrand. The ash fell from the blade like black snow.

  "Then Alexander is going to have to go through me."

  I turned back toward the group. I had a King to save. And a conspiracy to burn.