Kael had barely recovered from Thaeon's illusion when the world shifted again—not with a sound, not with a tremor, but with the absence of both. One heartbeat he stood in the canyon mist, the next, silence consumed everything.
The sky above vanished. The land beneath his feet gave way to a void, smooth and silver, reflecting not light—but thought. A sensation washed over him—weightless, timeless. His Sigil pulsed once, like a beacon, and then all around him… they appeared.
Three figures stood in a perfect triangle around him, towering and draped in flowing garments woven from threads of starlight and shadow. Their faces were concealed—one by a shifting mosaic of mirrored glass, another by a helm wrapped in living flame, and the third, veiled by a cascade of ink-like strands that dripped into nothingness.
Kael tensed, his instincts screaming, but his body wouldn't move.
"You stand before the Sigil Tribunal."
The voices of the three merged into one—layered, ancient, inhuman.
"Bearer of Chaos. Inheritor of a broken legacy. You have pulled the thread too far. The Loom stirs. Judgment must be passed."
Kael tried to speak, but no sound came.
The mirrored figure stepped forward first, a hand outstretched. From its palm sprang an image—Kael as a child, touching the dormant Sigil for the first time. The moment of ignition. The pain. The awakening. And then—flashes of every battle since. The destruction. The power. The doubt.
"You have wielded the Sigil with purpose… and with passion. But not with balance."
Next came the figure of flame. A new vision erupted in the void: Kael standing atop a scorched battlefield, armies kneeling behind him. The raw power of his Sigil unchecked, reality fractured around him. He was a god. And a monster.
"This path is not yet yours. But you lean toward it."
Then the third stepped forward. From the dripping strands of its veil emerged a different image: Kael kneeling beside a child, shielding them from an unseen enemy. Not using his Sigil—but standing vulnerable. Human.
"This is the echo of another thread. One woven not by power, but by choice."
Kael found his voice at last, raw and strained. "Why show me these?"
The Tribunal's voice reverberated. "Because you must choose. Your Sigil is awakening further. But your soul remains… uncertain. Before you can ascend, we must test your essence."
The void trembled. A rift formed in front of him, revealing a twisted space filled with fractured landscapes—floating stone, rivers of glass, beasts stitched from memory and nightmare.
"Enter the Crucible of Thread. Face reflections of yourself and those you've harmed. Overcome your own chaos. Should you survive… you will earn the next binding."
Kael stared into the Crucible. Fear twisted in his gut—not fear of death, but fear of what he might see. Of what he might become.
But there was no turning back now.
"I'll face it," he said, stepping forward.
"Then let the Crucible judge your thread."
As Kael crossed the rift's threshold, reality folded, and the shadows of his past rose to meet him.