There was a crack in the world.
It wasn't loud. More like glass sighing after it's been shattered. Like reality decided it had endured too much and started peeling off its own skin.
I'd grown used to the pain in this place. The Festering Wager was designed to break men like me—those who had too much blood on their hands and not enough regrets in their hearts.
But this time…
This time, something changed.
The path ahead wasn't fire or ash or bone. It was glass. Smooth, perfect, waiting.
I stepped forward.
And saw myself.
Not just a reflection.
A version of me.
Younger. Less scarred. Wearing the old Drelmont uniform, the one I burned the day I left the capital.
He looked at me with something bordering on contempt.
"You shouldn't have come," he said. "You always knew what this place was."
I drew my blade anyway. "I've made peace with damnation."
