The right path is dark. The mirrors show scenes of loss and abandonment: empty rooms, broken promises, people turning away in disgust. Bodies in the street. Grief carved into faces I almost recognize.
“Three paths,” Lord Evander observes. “Each representing a different approach to leadership.”
“The left glorifies power,” I say slowly, studying the golden reflections. “It would show us strength without consequence. Make conquest look noble.”
“The centre offers balance,” Lady Nerida adds. “But balance built on lies. See how the shadows corrupt every scene?”
Lord Castor eyes the right path with obvious distaste. “And that one shows us the ugly truth. Loss. Failure. Everything we’d rather not see.”
They all look at me for the decision.
This isn’t just about finding the right path through a maze,I realize.It’s about what kind of leader I want to be.
Someone who chases power and ignores the cost? Someone who seeks comfortable balance while pretending the darkness doesn’t exist? Or someone who confronts loss and truth, even when it’s brutal?
I think about the one-on-one meetings. About Lord Evander saying I need to be flexible while maintaining direction. About Lord Castor demanding I move fast and decisively. About Lady Nerida warning that fear is just a tide.
I think about Astrid’s words before we entered:You’re the structure. The glue.
Structure requires foundation. I want a foundation built on transparency and truth.
“Right path,” I decide, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “If we’re going to lead, we need to face reality. No illusions. No sanitized versions. We confront what’s real, even when it hurts.”
Lord Evander nods slowly. “That seems like the logical choice.”
“Logical?” Lord Castor shakes his head. “It’s thehardestchoice.”
“Which is why it’s the right one,” I say. “My father ruled through power and lies. I won’t make the same mistakes. If I’m going to lead anyone, I need to see clearly and honestly. That means facing uncomfortable truths.”
Lady Nerida’s eyes focus on me with unusual clarity. “You chose truth. Truth is what you’ll receive.”
The words sound like both promise and warning.
We step onto the right path.
The moment we cross the threshold, the mirrors change. The casual reflections and scattered memories disappear.
The maze heard my choice.
Now it’s going to show me exactly what truth looks like.
The first mirror that activates shows a young man with golden hair that catches the light like a crown already sits on his head. It falls in waves to his shoulders, the colour of sunlight on wheat fields, radiant and alive. His eyes are true gold, warm and bright, the kind of eyes that seem to hold their own inner fire. It’s the same gold that flickers in my eyes.
His face is almost painfully beautiful. High cheekbones, straight nose, strong jaw softened by youth. His skin glows with health, olive-toned and unmarked by violence. He’s smiling at something beyond the mirror’s frame, and the expression transforms him into a man worthy of worship.
My father, but decades younger than any portrait I’ve ever seen. He can’t be more than sixteen.
Before the wars. Before the torture chambers. Before he learned that power could be wielded through pain.
This is Solric before he became the Sun King, when he was just a boy who didn’t yet know what kind of monster he would become.
The worst part is how human he looks. How normal. There’s nothing in his face that hints at the cruelty to come, no shadow of the tyrant lurking beneath that gentle smile. He could be anyone’s son, anyone’s friend.
He could be me.
I hear Lord Castor’s sharp intake of breath. “Is that?—”
“My father,” I finish quietly.
