The entrance to the next corridor yawned open like a long, breathless wound carved into the Citadel's bones. Reiji stood before it, letting the cold air seep into his lungs. It carried a taste of metal, frost, and something else—something that made the back of his neck tingle.
Not danger.
Not exactly.
Memory.
He stepped forward, boots scraping across stone as ancient as the knight who had dissolved into dust mere minutes ago. The weight of that encounter still lingered on his shoulders—not as fear, but as a reminder. Someone had placed their trust, or at least their judgment, in him.
But he didn't have time to analyze it further.
Not when he could feel another presence waiting ahead.
The corridor narrowed, its walls angling inward. Thin chains hung from the ceiling like veins pulled taut, clinking faintly whenever he brushed near them. Some chains bore rust. Some were pristine. Some were broken entirely, dangling uselessly.
All of them reminded him of what the knight said.
"You carry chains of your own."
Reiji exhaled slowly.
He did.
He always had.
But he kept walking.
The corridor opened into a long hall illuminated by a dozen lanterns suspended in midair—flames stirring without wind. The room was different from the last; no statues, no thrones, no guardians.
Just a flat floor of dark stone.
And at the far side, three doors.
Each carved with a different symbol.
Left door: A broken blade.
Middle door: A crown missing one jewel.
Right door: A set of scales turned upside down.
Reiji approached cautiously.
The Citadel never placed choices here without consequence.
But before he could decide, the flames flickered violently. A tremor rippled through the floor. The middle door—the one with the incomplete crown—groaned and opened by itself.
Reiji's pulse tightened.
That wasn't an invitation.
It was a demand.
He stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him, plunging the chamber into pitch black.
Then the room breathed.
A whisper crawled along the stone walls.
Not in words.
In intent.
A low, vibrating hum filled the space, growing louder until it became a chorus of fractured voices merging and splitting in the dark.
Reiji felt something heavy settle onto his shoulders.
For a heartbeat, he thought the room itself was trying to crush him.
And then he heard it—
"Reiji."
He froze.
That voice didn't belong to an ancient king or ghost.
It belonged to someone who had no business echoing in a place like this.
Akira.
Reiji's breath hitched before he could stop it.
But the voice didn't continue.
Instead, the darkness shifted, pulling away into a thin slit of light that cut the center of the room like a blade. The slit widened, becoming a pathway of sorts—an illuminated strip on the floor that stretched deeper into the darkness.
Reiji didn't trust it.
But he walked.
He always walked forward, even when the path was carved by something that wanted to break him.
As he approached the center of the chamber, the light intensified, revealing something ahead—a figure standing with its back to him.
Reiji blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The figure didn't disappear.
It was unmistakable.
Black uniform.
Dark hair cut just above the neck.
A stance that balanced tension and ease like a coiled wire.
Reiji's throat tightened.
No.
It couldn't be.
"Akira," he whispered.
The figure didn't move.
Reiji approached slowly.
As he got closer, something felt wrong. Not visually. The stance, the height, the presence—it all felt real. Familiar. Grounded.
But the room had no warmth.
No heartbeat.
No trace of life.
Reiji stopped an arm's length away.
"Akira," he repeated, voice sharper. "Turn around."
The figure did.
But its movement was too slow. Too smooth.
When it faced him, Reiji felt his chest hollow out.
The features were identical.
Perfect.
Precise.
But the eyes…
They were wrong.
Too clear.
Too still.
Too empty.
A twisted reconstruction wearing the face of someone he once trusted.
The false Akira blinked once, mechanically.
Then spoke.
"Do you still think betrayal is something you can leave behind?"
Reiji felt the cold in his bones.
"Get out of my way."
The apparition tilted its head.
"You walked away."
Reiji's jaw clenched. "This isn't real."
"You left me," it repeated, voice like glass cracking.
Reiji stepped back, gripping his blade.
But the apparition didn't attack.
It simply watched him—studied him—with a sadness so raw it made Reiji unsure where the illusion ended and memory began.
He forced himself to breathe.
This wasn't Akira.
It wasn't the past.
It wasn't betrayal reborn.
It was the Citadel trying to twist the knife deeper.
When Reiji moved to walk past it, the apparition extended a hand—not to strike, but to grasp his sleeve gently, like Akira used to when he wanted him to stop.
That small gesture cut deeper than any blade.
Reiji stopped.
The apparition lifted its eyes to him.
"If you keep walking, you'll become the very thing you fear."
Reiji froze.
Because deep down, buried under layers of denial and necessity—
He feared it too.
He shoved the apparition back. "You're not him."
"But I carry his voice."
Reiji's nostrils flared. "Then let me silence it."
He lunged.
But the apparition dissolved into smoke before the blade touched it. The vapor reformed behind him, speaking again in Akira's tone—but warped now, layered with something like ridicule.
"You abandoned me."
Reiji swung again, slicing through the mist.
The apparition reformed.
"You watched me fall."
Reiji struck once more, faster, more violently.
The apparition shattered into seven fragments—each one shaped like a distorted silhouette of Akira, each speaking a different memory.
"You hesitated."
"You let them take me."
"You ran."
"You left."
"You broke faith."
"You were supposed to protect me."
"And you didn't."
Reiji roared—a raw, guttural sound he'd never made before—and slashed through all seven forms. They burst apart simultaneously, dark mist scattering like blood sprayed across the room.
Silence.
The mist crawled across the floor like liquid shadow, converging, rising, forming one final version of Akira—this time older, with torn fabric and dried blood across his throat.
A version Reiji had never seen.
And that made it worse.
The apparition spoke softly.
"I didn't die because of the enemy, Reiji."
Reiji stiffened.
"I died because you stopped believing in me."
Something inside Reiji snapped.
He charged, blade raised high, even though he didn't know if he wanted to destroy the apparition—or drown in the agony it forced to the surface.
He swung.
The apparition didn't block.
It didn't dodge.
It simply stood there watching him.
The blade passed through it.
No resistance.
No impact.
Just cold.
And that cold wrapped around Reiji's arm, crawling up his skin, gripping his chest.
Suddenly, the illusion whispered—
"This is what betrayal feels like."
The breath fled Reiji's lungs.
For a terrifying moment, he felt nothing beneath his feet—like the floor had disappeared, like the Citadel was swallowing him whole.
His mind fragmented.
Images flashed—memories he'd fought years to bury:
Akira laughing beside him.
Akira kneeling, blood on his lips.
Akira shouting his name in the middle of a collapsing corridor.
Akira reaching out in fear and trust—
—and Reiji turning away.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
No.
That wasn't how it happened.
He knew the truth.
He remembered.
He didn't betray Akira.
He wasn't the one who abandoned him.
But those illusions weren't trying to lie.
They were trying to expose the scars he refused to treat.
Reiji forced his eyes open.
The apparition tilted its head again.
"If you keep walking, more will fall because of you."
Reiji's voice came out low, rough.
"That's the difference between you and me."
He tightened his grip on the blade.
"I don't walk because I believe I'll save everyone."
He stepped toward the apparition, slow and unflinching.
"I walk knowing I might fail. Knowing I'll bleed for it. Knowing I'll regret it."
He lifted his weapon.
"And I keep walking anyway."
The chamber trembled.
Light erupted from the blade—not magical, not supernatural, but sharp and raw like a decision forged in pain.
Reiji stabbed forward.
The apparition opened its mouth as if to speak again—
—but the moment the blade touched its chest, the illusion shattered like glass under pressure.
A deafening crack split the air.
The fragments dissolved into smoke.
The smoke dissolved into nothing.
Silence finally returned.
Reiji dropped to one knee, catching his breath. His pulse throbbed violently in his throat and temples. Sweat clung to his jawline.
He didn't wipe it away.
He let the ache sink into him.
After several seconds, the chamber's far wall groaned. A section of stone slid open, revealing another corridor—this one lit by torches that flickered like desperate hearts.
Reiji stood.
His legs trembled, but they held.
He took one long breath.
Then another.
Then he walked forward.
Leaving behind the illusions.
Leaving behind the false voices.
Not leaving behind Akira.
The real Akira didn't deserve that.
And Reiji refused to let a chamber made of ghosts define what betrayal meant to him.
He stepped through the opening.
The stone closed behind him.
The Citadel accepted his resolve.
For now.