Chapter 30: The Envy Trial

The passage felt endless. Every step echoed against the jagged obsidian walls, warped by flickers of green-glassed illusions. They had walked the narrow path for what felt like hours, and still, the twisted veil of Envy clung to them like a jealous whisper, clawing at their minds.

Clive could see the end now—a faint glow, the promise of exit—but it felt too easy. He knew better.

Behind him, Selvara and Nylessa trudged in silence. The heated exchange from earlier still hung in the air like smoke after a fire. Grimpel floated between them, muttering to himself, while Clive remained grimly focused. The path was barely wide enough for them to walk single file, and any misstep would send them tumbling into the abyss below.

"You know what's funny?" Grimpel's voice cracked through the silence. "I don't think this place ends with us walking away. I think it ends when one of us gets what they want."

Clive glanced back. "And what do we want?"

Grimpel raised a spectral brow. "You, my dear broody hero, want clarity. You want to believe you're a better man now. That what happened to Lena, to your wife, to Darswich—that it didn't break you. But it did. You're just better at hiding it than Selvara is."

Selvara looked up sharply. "Careful, Grimpel."

"Am I wrong?" he asked, spinning in the air lazily. "Clive hides behind his mission, behind his grief, behind the mask of the reliable one."

"We all do," Clive muttered. "We wear what keeps us from falling apart."

Nylessa laughed, bitter and musical. "And yet, it's the falling apart that brings the truth."

"Truth," Selvara echoed, as they stepped past another mirror, each one reflecting not just their faces, but the twisted desires they buried. In this one, Clive saw himself crowned, adored by thousands, worshipped.

He blinked and it vanished.

"This trial isn't just envy of others," Clive said. "It's envy of who we could have been."

Nylessa smirked. "It always is."

Selvara stepped forward. "We're close. Let's move."

They walked again in silence. Then Clive heard it: the distant sound of sobbing. It was faint but unmistakable.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

Selvara nodded. "Someone's crying."

"Or something wants us to think someone's crying," Nylessa added.

Still, they moved toward it.

The sound led them to a break in the wall—another mirror, only this one was cracked. Inside it shimmered a ghostly version of Clive, holding a girl in his arms. Lena.

The illusion-Clive looked up at the real one. "Why didn't you save me, father?"

Clive's breath hitched. He reached for his sword but didn't draw it.

"Don't," Grimpel warned softly. "That's not her. It's what this place wants you to believe."

"I know," Clive whispered. "But knowing doesn't make it easier."

The ghost vanished.

Behind them, Selvara stopped walking. Her eyes were glassy.

"Sel?" Clive turned, only to find her staring into another mirror.

In it, she stood next to Maedra, not as an enemy—but a daughter.

"No," she whispered. "That's not true. She created me, but I was never hers."

"Doesn't matter," Nylessa said. "It's how you feel. That's what this trial feeds on."

Selvara turned away, breathing hard.

They walked further until they found the source of the crying.

It was Verrin.

Or something that looked like him.

He sat hunched, rocking, murmuring incoherently. When they approached, he looked up and smiled. His teeth were too sharp. His eyes, green flames.

"You left me behind."

Grimpel floated forward. "That's not him. That's the envy of being forgotten. Of being overlooked."

The false Verrin rose, limbs distorting grotesquely, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings.

Clive unsheathed his sword. "No more games."

The monster lunged.

Clive ducked, slashed.

Selvara and Nylessa attacked in tandem, Nylessa's whip cracking like thunder, Selvara's arcane sigils pulsing with violet fury.

Grimpel chanted something ancient and terrible.

The illusion shattered with a deafening screech, and the corridor rumbled. From the broken image of Verrin spilled dozens of shadowed figures, each one bearing a warped version of their faces, fueled by envy—envy of strength, of freedom, of purpose.

They fought.

Clive cleaved through a mirror-Selvara who hissed, "She'll always be better than you."

Selvara destroyed a shadow-Clive who muttered, "She'll leave you too."

Nylessa danced in the storm of images, a blur of fury and silence.

When the last illusion collapsed, the walls stopped pulsing. The mirror ahead cleared.

The light returned.

And the real Verrin was there—standing at the edge of the exit, his hands in his pockets.

"Took you long enough," he said.

Clive stared. "Where did you go?"

Verrin smirked. "The Trial of Envy wanted something from me too. I gave it what it wanted."

"What was that?" Nylessa asked.

"My envy of you," Verrin said, nodding at all of them. "And trust me, it's not worth holding on to."

Clive frowned. "And what happens now?"

The light beyond the final mirror grew brighter.

Verrin gestured. "Now? We leave. And hope the next sin is kinder."

They stepped forward, together.

The veil shuddered.

Behind them, the Passage of Mirrors began to crumble.

Ahead, the light grew stronger, almost blinding now.

But Clive could not shake the feeling that something had been left behind—not just the illusions, but something deeper.

A seed.

Of truth.

Of doubt.

Of envy still lingering.

They passed through the final archway.

Into the next sin.