Kage's eyes trembled at what he saw. He stood in a familiar place, at a familiar time.

A birthday cone sat crooked on his head. At his feet lay a woman with purple hair and glassy purple eyes, drowning in a pool of her own blood.

To his right was a boy frozen in death, blonde hair matted, wide eyes staring at nothing. His blood crept toward Kage like something alive. Behind him knelt an armless man, blood bubbling and spilling from his mouth as he stared.

The man looked at Kage with pure resentment and rasped:

"You killed us. You killed us all."

Kage's expression crumbled. His eyes shook, and he wanted to stagger back, but there was nowhere to step. Would he step into Taro's blood? Or his mother's? His heart lurched with fear and grief.

Then suddenly, a loud, cold, hoarse voice cut through the silence.

"GET IT TOGETHER!"

Kage frowned and spun around. Nobody. The same voice added—amused this time.

"Oh? The proxy isn't delivering my words. Seems they're reaching you directly."

Kage furrowed his brows. That moment of reprieve let him piece everything together and remember: he was in a test. This was a vision.

He exhaled heavily and looked around once more, recognizing that manner of speech.

"Elder Inquisitor?"

"Oh oh, you recognized me right away!"

Kage noted internally.

He does sound old.

"I'm not even that old. Ah! Anyway, this test is tricky—they found a way into your head. I must say, these academy people are acting shady. Why create a harmful test? Make it simple. Don't invade people's minds."

Kage's eyes widened.

"If they enter my head—"

The voice chuckled, confident.

"Don't worry. They can't find out about us. In fact, I dispelled whatever was supposed to get into your head."

The voice paused, then turned stern.

"Although, I'll advise you to be very careful when you enter the academy. There's something about this entire Archipelago that feels off."

Kage nodded.

"Thank you, Elder Inquisitor. What about the others?"

"If all of us opened a window here, they certainly would've discovered a terrible pressure emanating from you. That would've raised questions—a non-cultivator shouldn't be emanating pressure that even Demigods would tremble before. So, with careful thought, I was sent instead."

Kage exhaled.

"I see. Thank you."

He glanced around and hesitated.

"How… do I leave this illusionary place?"

The voice sounded like it shrugged.

"It's the plane of your fear. Only you know how to get out."

The Heretic Inquisitor of Eternal Truth said nothing more.

Kage looked at the corpses on the floor. He bent down, touching his mother's cold head. He glanced at Taro, then back at Master Shinro.

"Is this my fear? My greatest fear?"

He smiled.

"That's satisfying then. I would've been absolutely disappointed in myself if it were otherwise. Like getting killed by my father or brother, for example."

He chuckled lightly. The chuckle transformed into laughter, and the laughter continued—became demented. Kage laughed like someone insane, rabid, unhinged.

Then the plane fractured and shattered like glass.

His laughter ceased. He found himself back in the mirror room. The mirror in front of him no longer reflected his image—it had become liquid, ripples spreading across its surface like disturbed water.

Kage reached in and pulled out the third Harmony marker.

The jade medallion was engraved with an image of a mirror and seven symbols flowing toward the center point. On the other side was the third truth.

Kage read it softly.

"You are not what others expect. You are not what you fear. You are not even what you wish. You are what you choose when faced with yourself, and that choice defines the path ahead. Walk it with open eyes."

Kage clenched the medallion.

'I plan to.'

Kage threaded all three medallions onto his scroll's binding. As they came together, they released a green glow, and the scroll's binding unraveled itself like a serpent shedding skin.

He opened the scroll. The first thing he saw was a small paper. He unrolled it and read:

THE RIDDLE OF THE SEVERED BLADE

A blade cuts cleanly through the world,

Severing truth from lie, self from shadow.

But tell me, wielder of edges sharp:

What happens to the blade that cuts itself?

You sever connections to survive,

Cut bonds before they bind too tight,

Separate heart from hand, love from logic,

Believing distance grants you sight.

But answer this, philosopher of cuts:

Can the surgeon heal what he dissects?

Can the blade that severs every thread

Ever weave itself back whole again?

Three truths hide within this question:

First—to cut is not to understand.

Second—what you sever may be yourself.

Third—some wounds are made by your own hand.

When you stand before the Gate of Seven Bridges,

You must answer true, with no deflection:

What remains of a man who has cut away

Every part of himself he deemed infection?

Is he purified? Or is he empty?

Is he free? Or is he alone?

Is he strong? Or is he brittle?

Is he blade? Or is he stone?

The mountain awaits your answer, Child.

But know: the Triumvirate sees through lies.

They will not accept philosophy.

They will not accept disguise.

They want the truth you hide from yourself:

The wound beneath your perfect mask.

The fear beneath your calculated calm.

The question you're terrified to ask:

"If I sever everything that makes me weak,

What part of me will still be worth saving?"

Kage stared at the riddle, his expression unchanged. He rolled the paper back and tucked it into the scroll. Then he pulled out the next item—a larger paper. A map.

The map of the Silent Grove.

Kage studied it for a while and thought:

'If they're providing a map, it must be one hell of a place.'

No doubt the most difficult part of this examination.

The last item in the scroll was a black journal with empty pages. The instructions stated that they should journal their journey until the end.

Kage looked at it with irritation. Of course—another test of honesty. His journal would be fact-checked against the instructors who had been monitoring him for the past four days.

He hissed and tucked it back into the scroll before leaving the room.

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