Kent stepped into the room. It was a throne room unlike anything he had seen before.
No dark stone, no flickering torches. It looked more like a cathedral suspended in a dream—its tall, crystalline pillars shimmered like glass soaked in moonlight. Light bent unnaturally around them. Every step Kent took echoed too long, like the room wanted to remember him.
At the end of the hall, a woman lounged on a floating dais draped in translucent silk. She was barefoot, skin pale as frostbite, eyes like violet embers.
"You came," the witch said, smiling without warmth. Her voice was melodic, soaked in something old and sharp.
"I didn't have a choice," Kent replied, fists clenched. "You dragged me here."
"I only nudged the wheel. You were already on the road."
He stopped halfway across the room. His body still throbbed from the fight with her assistant—a silver-haired mage whose spells nearly tore him apart. His ribs ached. He couldn't even be sure how many were broken.
"You knew I'd survive that?"
She tilted her head. "No. But I knew you'd try. That's why you're here."
"You're special after all." She giggled softly.
Kent's fingers brushed the edge of a ruined scar across his side. "I keep remembering bits from the past. Is this your doing? Where am I? What even is this world?"
"Ah, questions," she said, voice lilting. "A sign your mind's still intact. That's a rare trait here."
Kent took another step. "I want answers."
She stood slowly, the fabric of her robes whispering like snakeskin. "You're not ready."
"Try me."
She paced in a slow circle, circling him like a thought too slippery to grasp. "The system chooses players. But the final tier—ah, that's something different. That belongs to the one who entered first." She said vaguely.
Kent blinked. "Entered what? The final tier of what?"
"The end of all games." She smiled like she was quoting someone long dead.
Kent's voice rose. "Why me? Why did you erase my memory? You did erase it, didn't you?"
"I didn't take your memories," she whispered, stopping behind him. He was taken aback, unsure of when she creeped behind him. "I just locked the door. You gave me the key."
His breath caught. Somewhere in his chest, a cold weight dropped like a stone in water.
"Then unlock it," he said through clenched teeth.
"No." She glided in front of him again, her eyes sharp now. "Because what's behind that door will break you."
Kent's mind swirled. The system, the tiers, the haunting familiarity of this place—it was all tugging at something inside him he couldn't name. He remembered fire. Screams. And her. Always her.
"You've stolen too much from me," he said, voice shaking. "You owe me the truth." He had someone to blame for everything.
The witch turned her back to him. "Truth is too sharp. It slices more than lies ever could."
He reached out, grabbing her wrist.
For a split second, the illusion cracked. Her skin shimmered like liquid silver, and her face—her real face—flashed behind the mask. Twisted. Hollow-eyed.
She turned, and Kent stumbled back.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"Your guide," she said sweetly, "your gatekeeper, your mirror, your lie."
"Which one is it?!" He yelled. No answer.
He was trembling now, trying to grasp the whirlpool of thoughts crashing through his head.
"I just want to know who I am," he muttered. "Why can't I remember the system? Why does it hurt every time I try?"
The witch reached toward him gently, brushing two fingers against his temple. "That pain is the price of remembering too soon."
Kent's eyes closed involuntarily at her touch. In that moment, a burst of memory surged—
—a burning hospital room, his mother screaming—
—a creature made of wires and flame—
—a voice whispering in a language that hurt to hear—
He gasped and pulled back.
The witch smiled. "See? Not yet."
Kent dropped to one knee, sweat dripping down his face. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But more than anything, he wanted to tear the truth out of her throat.
"I don't need you to protect me."
She chuckled softly, "That's the problem. You think I'm protecting you." He was a spitting image of his father, she noticed.
He rose unsteadily to his feet. "What do I have to do to get my memory back?"
She stepped aside, revealing a silver mirror embedded into the wall behind the throne. It pulsed with a strange light.
"When you're ready, walk through that. But not today. Today, you rest."
Kent took a step toward it.
"No!" she snapped. "Touch it now and your mind will crack. You'll lose everything—not just your memory."
He turned to her. "Then what is today for?"
She grinned, and the room darkened.
"To test how much pain you can take."
The walls shifted. The pillars melted into shadows. The sky through the high glass ceiling turned from soft blue to burning crimson.
Kent spun, fists clenched, adrenaline flooding him. "What are you doing?"
The witch's voice echoed now, layered like multiple people were speaking through her.
"Let's see if you're still a player… or just a pawn."
The throne room dissolved into smoke.
Kent was no longer in a palace. He stood in the center of a forest of mirrors. Every reflection moved independently—some laughing, others screaming, one bleeding.
He backed away from his own reflection only to see another version of himself grin behind him, eyes pitch black.
"This… isn't real," he muttered.
"Oh, it's very real," the witch's voice echoed. "Until you break it."
Kent drew his weapon—but the steel looked warped in the mirror world. Even his own body felt wrong, heavier, slower.
He ran.
The mirrors shifted around him like a maze alive, changing corridors with each step. One image showed his mother being dissected by scientists. Another showed him strapped to a chair, screaming. Others showed things he didn't recognize—creatures that looked like him but weren't.
"Stop it!" he yelled, slashing at a mirror.
It shattered. A wave of pain slammed into his skull. Blood dripped from his nose.
"Every lie you destroy," the witch's voice said, "costs you a piece of your mind. So, tell me, Kent—how badly do you want the truth?"
He dropped to one knee, groaning. "I'll find you," he gasped. "When I do—I'll end this."
The mirrors began to close in.
And the witch whispered through the shards:
"Good. Then we'll both finally be free."