The air in the maze had grown colder, heavier, as Alastor and Nyx ventured deeper into the heart of the Pyramid’s trial. The walls seemed to hum with energy, the ancient hieroglyphs glowing faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the thudding of Alastor’s heartbeat. He had survived the first test—relinquishing control to navigate the shifting realities of the maze—but he knew that whatever lay ahead would be far more dangerous. The Pyramid wouldn’t let him ascend without forcing him to confront the very core of his being.
Nyx had fallen into a tense silence as they approached the next chamber, her earlier revelations about her ties to the Pyramid lingering like a shadow over them both. Alastor knew she had been hiding more than she let on, but now, the weight of her secrets pressed down on him. She was playing a long game—one that he still didn’t fully understand.
Finally, they reached a set of sleek, reflective doors—mirrors, tall and flawless, embedded into the stone walls. Alastor felt a chill as he gazed at his own reflection, distorted slightly by the faint flicker of light from the glowing hieroglyphs.
"This is the next trial, isn’t it?" he asked, his voice low.
Nyx nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the mirror. "The Hall of Mirrors. It’s where the Pyramid forces you to confront yourself. Every assassin who wants to climb higher has to face it." Her voice carried an edge of something—fear? Or perhaps, respect for what lay within.
Alastor squared his shoulders, stepping toward the door. "And what happens in there?"
"You face what could be," she replied, her voice quieter now. "The versions of yourself that the Pyramid believes you can become—dead, broken, victorious. They’re all reflections of who you are, who you could be. The choice is yours."
Alastor took a deep breath, feeling the cold surface of the mirror beneath his hand. This wasn’t about skill or strength—it was about facing the person he was and choosing who he would become. The Pyramid wasn’t just testing him. It was shaping him.
With a low rumble, the mirrored doors parted, revealing the chamber beyond. Alastor stepped through without hesitation, the sound of Nyx’s quiet footsteps following behind him.
The Hall of Mirrors was vast—endless, it seemed, with reflective surfaces lining every inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling. As Alastor entered, his breath caught in his throat. He was surrounded by himself—hundreds of reflections staring back at him from every angle, their eyes cold, empty, or gleaming with something darker. It was disorienting, the reflections shifting and changing with each step he took.
But the more he stared, the more he realized they weren’t just reflections. Each version of himself was different—some stood tall and powerful, others hunched and broken, their eyes dead. Some of the reflections bore scars, their bodies twisted and damaged from unseen battles. Others grinned with malicious satisfaction, their eyes gleaming with triumph. But there were also versions of him that were lifeless, hollow-eyed corpses staring blankly back at him from the mirrors.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Alastor’s pulse quickened as he moved deeper into the chamber, the mirrored versions of himself becoming more distinct, more real. The further he went, the more the faces changed, warping into nightmarish versions of his potential futures. One mirror showed him as a king, seated on a throne of power, ruling over a city bathed in shadow. Another showed him lying dead, blood pooling beneath his lifeless form, his empire reduced to ash.
This is what the Pyramid sees in me.
The thought chilled him. Each reflection was a possible outcome of the path he was walking—victory, ruin, or something in between. He could become a god, or he could fall like all those before him.
"Choose," Nyx’s voice echoed from behind him. She stood at the edge of the chamber, her expression unreadable. "You have to choose which version of yourself you’ll become."
Alastor swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the mirrors. Each version called to him, each future more vivid than the last. The Pyramid was forcing him to confront the truth of his ambition, his desires, and his fears. Every path he could take was laid out before him.
In one mirror, he saw himself standing over the bodies of his enemies, a satisfied smirk on his face as he raised a bloodstained blade. Power radiated from him, but his eyes were cold, devoid of any humanity. This version of himself had embraced the Pyramid’s game fully, had sacrificed everything to climb to the top.
In another, he was broken, his body covered in scars, his empire in ruins. He saw the flicker of desperation in his own eyes—defeated, beaten down by the endless trials, a shadow of the man he once was.
But the worst was the mirror directly in front of him—a version of himself lying dead, his face twisted in pain, his body motionless. This was the reflection of failure, the outcome if he couldn’t survive the Pyramid’s trials.
His breath quickened as the reflections crowded in on him, each one vying for his attention. He could feel the weight of their choices pressing down on him, the futures they represented clawing at the edges of his mind.
"You can’t hesitate," Nyx warned, her voice distant now. "The longer you stay, the more the mirrors will consume you."
Alastor forced himself to focus, his gaze settling on a single reflection—a version of himself that stood tall, his face calm, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. This version wasn’t as triumphant as some of the others, nor as broken. But there was strength in his stance, an understanding of the darkness he had faced. He wasn’t a king, nor a corpse. He was a survivor, forged by the trials of the Pyramid but not consumed by them.
He took a step forward, toward that reflection.
But as he did, something shifted in the chamber. The mirror darkened, the reflection warping into something twisted. The version of himself that had been calm now wore a sinister grin, his eyes gleaming with something cruel, something predatory.
Alastor froze.
"Who am I?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes locked on the grinning reflection.
The reflection grinned wider, its smile filled with malice, as if mocking him for even asking the question.