The trial of God had begun.
On an empty bridge, Ren Zian stood by himself. The sky was absent. No earth. Three glowing threads, each hanging from invisible hands, and white mist swirling below, like memories he couldn't reach.
A familiar warmth pulsed through them.
Like golden fire, one thread was blazing. Another glistened with gentle blue grief. Like a wound attempting to mend, the third bled silver and red.
The Keeper of Broken Deals, a boy, repeated, "Choose."
Ren took a deep breath. His hands shook. The chains had disappeared hours ago, perhaps minutes ago, and his back still hurt. Here, time was merciless.
The first to tug was the blue thread.
Lyra's face the night she dozed off in his arms, the gentle touch of her lips on his shoulder, and the way her fingers trembled as she gave him her soulstone were among the images that flashed in its light.
"She prevented you from disappearing."
Ren cast a downward glance. "I even tried to live again because of her."
Then came the shimmering red-silver thread.
He was struck by a memory of Sariel's kiss under the blood moon, her laughter on that war night, and her hushed declaration that she would follow him all the way to the bottom.
"Even though you weren't worth saving, she thought you were."
Ren gasped. "She was worthy of better."
Then there was a pulse in the golden thread.
It was chaos, not warmth. Fire. Strength. Flame No. 4. a decision based on instinct rather than love. Living. And perhaps something more sinister. When the world betrayed him, something woke up.
The boy whispered, "You touched it first, before you even understood what love meant."
Ren muttered, "I didn't mean to bind myself to it."
"However, you did."
Not a word.
Subsequently, the fog below dissipated, and the three women emerged beneath the bridge one by one.
Lyra, sleeping with her eyes swollen and curled up on her knees, whispering his name.
Sariel was standing with her back straight, holding a blade, and her eyes were filled with rage and desire.
The Fourth Flame circled him in silent hunger, a shadow with wings but without form.
Now the boy's voice was quiet. "One needs to be cut off. One was spared. One... made a sacrifice.
Ren's heart pounded.
He turned to face Lyra. Her suffering was profound rather than dramatic. A hurt that resulted from tender love.
He turned to face Sariel. Her pain was raw, not weak. born from fighting next to him and not getting picked.
He turned to face the Flame. It made no request for affection. It provided power. Command. Living.
He was aware that order was what the gods desired. A decision that brought equilibrium back. Deals were fulfilled.
But his spirit told him otherwise.
He fell to his knees. "What if I am unable to make a decision?"
With her eyes still blindfolded and her mouth still stitched, the Goddess of Final Binds reappeared.
However, she raised a hand, and Ren saw a single blade emerge.
not to murder.
to cut.
to permanently unmake one of the threads.
"No."
His chest grew constricted. They will sense it if I cut any of them. Will they not?
Beside him, the boy materialized. "They do already."
Ren reached for the blade, his hand shaking.
He gazed at the strands.
Then—
He cut the thread of gold.
The Fourth Flame let out a shriek.
A thousand burning wings folded and collapsed into ash. The silence was broken by the sound of its voice.
Ren muttered, "I'm not going to let fear control me."
The fog shuddered.
He grabbed Lyra's thread and held it against his chest.
"I keep her safe."
His skin was bathed in gentle light.
warmth.
health.
Forgiveness.
Sariel's thread, the last one, grew brighter until a heavenly hand touched it.
given up.
Not killed.
but changed.
Sariel's image disappeared—not out of suffering, but out of purpose.
She would change.
Something more.
The boy grinned.
"Ren Zian, congratulations."
The fog started to lift.
"You won the initial trial."
Ren could hardly breathe. "How many remain?"
"Two."
Ren fell upward into the next world as it shattered once more.
However, he brought light with him this time.
And Lyra, a name etched into his ribs.