Chapter 10: The Mirror Trial

The world felt too smooth.

No seams. No textures. Just endless spirals of pale glass underfoot, walls arching into infinity. Everything reflected everything else.

My breath fogged the air, but even that seemed… rehearsed.

"This is the trial," Ren said behind me. "The System's last chance to overwrite you before Arc 3 locks in."

"Before I become something it can't predict."

He nodded. "Or delete."

We walked in silence, glass crunching beneath us even though it never broke. Our reflections multiplied with every step. I counted dozens—hundreds—of myself in the curved walls, each one ever so slightly wrong. A curl of hair too long. A hand holding a different weapon. One wore Ren's mask.

Another was smiling. That one disturbed me most.

Then the spiral stopped.

Before us stood a wide door made entirely of warped mirror panels. Carved into the frame:

"TRIAL OF THE UNWRITTEN — FACE YOUR CHOICES."

Ren didn't follow.

"This part's yours."

"Why?"

"Because I've already done mine." His tone was heavy. "And because if I go in, I'll just become another part of the script."

I stared at the door.

It opened for me.

Inside, the air was dead still.

A vast, round chamber—its floor a pool of perfectly still black water, reflective like obsidian. No ceiling. No source of light. Just me.

Then the mirrors lit.

And the copies emerged.

Three versions of me, stepping across the water like it wasn't there.

Left: A bloodstained, armor-wrapped version of myself, eyes cold.

Center: A quiet, pale me in clean white robes, face emotionless.

Right: A feral figure in chains, body twitching like he couldn't stop screaming.

They spoke in unison.

"We are the lives you didn't choose."

Left—the Warrior.

"I accepted the System," he said. "I played the loops, earned favor, survived. I killed Ren in Arc 1. I was rewarded."

I saw the scene in my mind—a memory not mine, but familiar.

Ren's body, burning. My hands holding the match.

I flinched. "I would never."

"You would. If it meant control. Survival. Power."

Center—the Empty.

"I gave in," he whispered. "I let the narrative carry me. No resistance. No choices. I'm still looping in Arc 4. I'm… happy."

"You're empty," I said.

He smiled gently. "Isn't that peace?"

Right—the Broken.

"I fought too hard," he said, twitching. "I never trusted. Never stopped running. I tore out the mask's heart and fed it to the System."

His eyes burned like fire. "It didn't make me free. It made me mad."

"Is that what I become?" I asked. "If I fight too long?"

"No," he snapped. "That's what you become if you fight alone."

They circled me now.

The water didn't ripple.

"You must choose," they said together. "Take one mask."

Three masks hovered in the air.

Survivor's Mask (Left)

Dreamer's Mask (Center)

Rebel's Mask (Right)

I reached out.

But a thread twitched in my chest.

Ren's coin.

My fingers froze an inch away from the Survivor's mask.

Then I turned—and refused them all.

"I'm not one of you."

The water shattered.

The copies screamed.

A fourth reflection stepped out of the shards.

One I recognized.

Myself—not clean, not bloodied, not broken.

Just… me.

Unwritten.

The chamber cracked open.

I was falling again—down glass corridors that split into infinite angles, like a prism grinding itself apart. Every surface reflected possibilities.

Ren caught me mid-fall, dragging me back into reality.

"I felt it," he said. "The decision."

"It wasn't about power," I whispered. "It was about identity."

"And the System?"

"It's terrified."

The walls of the Labyrinth began to scream.

Players we hadn't seen in chapters burst from broken doors—others like us, trapped between roles, now set free.

NPCs began short-circuiting.

One staggered toward us with a fractured faceplate. "The Director is watching."

"What Director?" I asked.

But the NPC burst into white code and vanished.

Ren cursed. "It's starting. Arc 2 is collapsing."

"And we're not done."

"No," he said. "We still have to reach the Core."

Through the final mirrored door lay a spiral staircase, dripping red.

At the center: a throne of masks.

On it sat a figure.

Not Ren.

Not me.

But something shaped like both.

It had my face.

And Ren's voice.

It smiled.