The First Stage of Judgment
The arena had changed.
It always did for tournaments—its shape, its environment, the glyph etchings along the perimeter shifting based on the system feeds.
But this time, something was different.
The sand beneath Lyle's feet shimmered with embedded threadlines. Not just mana channels, but traces of Codex interactions, looping back on themselves.
Each step felt like a ripple through his past.
And maybe, it was.
---
Spectator platforms had been pulled from storage, surrounding the newly formed obsidian ring at the center of campus. Dozens of students watched from the tiered seating.
But above them—hovering silently in clear wards—sat the real threat.
The Council.
Seven figures, each cloaked in silver and white, their faces obscured behind mirrored masks. They didn't speak. They didn't gesture. They simply observed.
Asterion stood near the edge of the field, arms folded.
"Remember," he said softly, "you're not here to win. You're here to be seen surviving."
Lyle tightened the strap around his left wrist, feeling the pulse of the Codex beneath his jacket.
He nodded once.
Then stepped into the ring.
---
The crowd hushed.
Juno sat among the other competitors, eyes locked on him.
She didn't smile.
Didn't nod.
But he knew what she meant.
Don't show them everything.
He wouldn't.
Not yet.
---
A voice echoed across the field.
"Next Match: Lyle Greenbottle vs. Jareth Onyx—representative of the Northern Arc Guild."
Lyle's brow furrowed.
Jareth? That wasn't a cadet.
The Council was pulling in outsiders?
Asterion tensed on the sideline.
"This isn't protocol," he muttered.
But it was too late to object.
Jareth had already arrived.
He was tall. Pale. Long arms wrapped in bandages that pulsed with living glyphs. His eyes were the color of smoke—and when he smiled, it wasn't with confidence.
It was with certainty.
He knew Lyle.
---
> [Codex Alert: Jareth Onyx – External Thread Aligned]
Abilities: Thread Recall, Mirror Step, Spectral Crush
Engagement Rating: Critical
Personal Connection: Redacted.
Lyle braced.
He didn't have time to ask the Codex what the connection was.
Because Jareth raised his hand.
And the shadows moved first.
---
Lyle barely dodged the tendril of darkness that lunged from the ground, aiming to wrap around his neck.
He rolled, planting his palm into the sand and firing a burst of Threadburn, a glyph he'd developed from one of the early dream memories. The flame hissed across the sand in a spiral.
Jareth laughed.
"You do learn," he said. "But you always start too slow."
Lyle froze mid-motion.
"What do you mean 'always'?"
Jareth didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped into his shadow.
And reappeared behind Lyle.
---
Pain flared as a thin blade sliced across Lyle's shoulder.
He whirled, pushing mana through his ring—Quinn's ring—and launched a Shadow Echo, one of the skills Quinn had taught him. The double struck Jareth dead center, driving him back.
The crowd gasped.
The Council remained still.
---
Jareth skidded back, eyes gleaming.
"Ah. So this time, you've already trained with the vampire."
Lyle's heart thundered. "You've fought me before."
"Not you," Jareth said, lowering his stance. "But I've killed versions of you. Twelve, I think."
Lyle stared.
The world narrowed.
And Jareth came for him.
---
This time, Lyle was ready.
He dropped low, activating Glyph Reverse, a maneuver he'd learned during his fifth training session with the Codex's first tier.
The sand beneath him erupted upward in a blast of pressure, masking his movement.
Jareth struck where Lyle had been.
Lyle reappeared to the side—casting without hand signs, using silent glyph threading.
A bloodline echo sigil burst around Jareth's feet.
Not real bloodline magic, but something Lyle had created to simulate the pressure.
For the first time, Jareth hesitated.
But only for a breath.
Then he lunged.
---
Steel met shadow.
Lyle deflected, countered, spun—his movements guided by instinct, by Codex-fed patterns, and by something else.
Something older.
Deeper.
Jareth pushed him.
Hard.
And Lyle held.
Even when the blade cut again.
Even when the glyphs hissed.
Even when the Council's observers leaned forward in unison.
He did not fall.
---
After twenty minutes of sustained combat, the arena itself began to warp under their strain.
Glyph anchors cracked.
The sand turned glass.
And finally—finally—Jareth dropped to one knee, breathing heavy.
"You… never made it this far," he said, voice hoarse. "Not one of you."
Lyle stood, arms trembling.
"I'm not them."
Jareth looked up.
Smiled again.
"No. You're worse."
He vanished.
---
The field went silent.
Asterion called the match.
"Victor: Lyle Greenbottle."
No cheers.
Just stunned silence.
Even the Council remained motionless.
Until the center figure raised a single hand.
A symbol glowed in the air—
A mirror, split in two.
Lyle's Codex pulsed.
> [New Thread Path Available: Broken Reflection]
Status: Hidden System Memory Line – Unknown Author
Location: Dormant within subject's subconscious.
He looked toward the Council.
And for the first time…
He saw Kalen standing beside them.
Smiling.