"Ask," Xavier said.

"THE FIRST QUERY," the voice boomed, vibrating through Xavier’s bones. "YOU WEAR THE FLESH OF A MORTAL, BUT YOU WALK WITH THE BLOOD OF KINGS AND THE BLESSING OF STARS. YET, IN THE DARKNESS OF YOUR OWN MIND, YOU ARE NEITHER."

The empty sockets bored into him.

"ARE YOU THE PLAYER WHO CONTROLS THE PIECES, OR ARE YOU MERELY THE VESSEL THE UNIVERSE USES TO CORRECT ITSELF? NAME THE MASTER OF YOUR SOUL."

Xavier stood still. The answer that rested on the tip of his tongue was Me. I am the master. But the air around him tightened, the gold on the statues gleaming menacingly. That was the arrogant answer. The lie.

He thought of the System. The missions. The Goddess Astraea. He thought of the way his life had been steered, guided, and rewarded.

"I am the vessel," Xavier said, his voice steady.

The pressure increased. The face waited.

"But," Xavier continued, his eyes narrowing, "the vessel eventually outgrows the pourer. I serve the ambition that was placed inside me, but the hands that grip the world are mine. I am the one who acts."

The silence stretched. Then, the pressure receded slightly.

A pass.

"THE SECOND QUERY," the Face intoned, the ground beneath them trembling. "YOU GATHER HEARTS. YOU BIND THEM TO YOU WITH OATHS AND FLESH. YOU CLAIM TO PROTECT, TO OWN, TO CHERISH."

A wind picked up, howling through the amphitheater.

"IS IT LOVE THAT DRIVES YOU TO KEEP THEM, OR IS IT THE TERRIFYING FEAR THAT WITHOUT THEM, YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A BOY SCARED OF THE DARK? DO YOU NEED THEM, OR DO YOU NEED THEIR NEED?"

Xavier clenched his jaw. He thought of Lyra, Reva, and the women he’d claimed. He thought of the power he drew from them.

"I hunger," Xavier said, the words tasting like ash. "I take because I can. I keep them because they belong to me." He looked directly into the burning sockets. "But I fear the silence. I fill the void with them so I don’t have to hear the echo of my own monstrosity. I need them to remind me that I am still human."

The wind died down instantly.

"THE THIRD QUERY," the voice said, softer now, but infinitely heavier. "YOU SEEK THE APEX. THE THRONE ABOVE ALL THRONES. THE POWER TO RIVAL CREATION."

The golden face seemed to lean closer, the heat radiating from it intense enough to singe.

"WHEN THE LAST ENEMY LIES DEAD, AND THE UNIVERSE KNEELS, AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO CONQUER... WILL THAT BE ENOUGH? OR WILL YOU BURN IT ALL DOWN JUST TO FEEL THE FIRE AGAIN?"

Xavier stared at the face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He imagined it. Total victory, and absolute control.

"It will never be enough," Xavier said quietly, t

"It will never be enough," Xavier said quietly, the truth of it terrifying even him. "Peace is a grave. I don’t want the throne. I want the climb. If I reach the end... I will tear the sky apart and find a new enemy. I will burn it all down."

He exhaled, his chest heaving. "I am not the ruler. I am the war. I am the emperor who conquers. I am the conqueror!‌"

The golden face dissolved, not into mist, but into a sheer, vertical wall that slammed down in front of him. It stretched up endlessly, a monolith of solid, seamless gold that blocked out the sky.

There were no handholds. Just the rough, razor-sharp imperfections in the metal.

"THE SECOND QUERY IS NOT SPOKEN," the voice rumbled, fading into the background. "IT IS ENDURED."

Xavier didn’t waste a second. He reached up, jamming his fingers into a small fissure in the gold. The metal bit into his skin immediately. He pulled himself up.

The moment his feet left the ground, the gravity shifted. It multiplied.

His shoulders popped audibly. His spine compressed. It felt like a planet was strapped to his back.

He gritted his teeth and reached for the next hold.

Ten meters.

His breathing was ragged. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. The silence returned, but it wasn’t empty this time. It was filled with whispers.

"They will all die because of you."

Xavier ignored it. He drove his boot into a crevice, pushing upward.

Twenty meters.

The gravity increased again. A wet snap echoed from his right wrist—a hairline fracture. He hissed, the pain shooting up his arm like a lightning bolt.

"You are just a boy playing god," a woman’s voice whispered. It sounded like his mother. "Let go. It’s warm down here."

He looked down. The ground was gone. Beneath him was a churning sea of soft, golden light. It looked peaceful. Painless. If he let go, he would float. He would sleep.

Xavier looked back up at the infinite wall. He jammed his broken hand into the next crack. The bone ground against the metal. He screamed, a guttural sound torn from his throat, but he didn’t let go. He pulled.

Fifty meters.

Blood slicked his hands, making the gold slippery. His fingernails were gone, torn off by the rock. His muscles were tearing, fibers snapping under the impossible weight.

"Lyra will break," the voice hissed, sounding like Kylus now. "She is dying right now while you play these games."

Xavier froze. His grip faltered.

"She is rotting from the inside. And you aren’t there."

"Shut up," Xavier snarled.

He drove his fist into the wall, punching a hole into the gold to create a grip. He hauled himself up, dead weight and all.

One hundred meters. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

His vision blurred. Red vignettes crept into the corners of his eyes. His heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to burst out. Every inch was torture. Every movement was a war against his own biology.

The gravity was crushing him now. His nose started to bleed. Capillaries in his eyes burst.

"Just let go," the voices chorused, a thousand of them now. "Peace. Rest. Silence."

"Never," he choked out.

He reached up one last time. His hand found the edge.

With a final, agonizing heave, he threw his body over the lip of the cliff. He collapsed onto the flat surface, gasping, coughing up blood, his body convulsing in shock.

He lay there for a long time, the cold stone pressing against his cheek. The gravity normalized instantly. But the pain remained, a dull, throbbing reminder of the ascent.

He peeked down and saw boiling gold changing one shape to another.

He forced himself up.

He wasn’t on a plateau. He was at the start of a bridge.