Ivar stares at the First Door of Madness.
It''s… mocking him.
The twisted wood grins at him. The handle wiggles, giggling like a mischievous child.
"Come in, come in~ See what awaits you, Lord Pendrol~"
Ivar glares. "I don''t like this already."
The door snickers.
Before he can turn away, the floor betrays him—vanishing beneath his feet.
Ivar falls.
Head-first.
Screaming.
And the door laughs him into the future.
Ivar lands face-first on marble flooring.
"Ow."
Groaning, he pushes himself up—only to be met with gold.
Gold everywhere.
The hall is lined with banners of the Pendrol crest. His crest. Grand pillars stretch toward a ceiling so high it might as well be the sky. Servants rush back and forth, dressed in fine silks.
And there—at the end of the hall—
A THRONE.
A massive, over-the-top, completely unnecessary throne.
And sitting on it is…
Him.
But older.
And way too serious-looking.
Older Ivar steeples his fingers, gazing down at him like a disappointed parent. "You''re finally here."
Ivar blinks. "...Oh, no."
---
Older Ivar rises, his regal coat billowing dramatically. "This is the future, Ivar. A future where you did what had to be done."
Ivar squints. "Why do you sound like a tragic villain?"
"Because I had to make a choice." Older Ivar steps forward, voice heavy. "And so will you."
Ivar crosses his arms. "Alright, let''s get this over with. What''s the horrible thing I did?"
Older Ivar gestures—
And there he is.
Aiden.
Bound. Kneeling.
And Ivar is the one holding the sword.
Ivar''s stomach drops. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Aiden, looking battered but weirdly casual, grins up at him. "Hey, Ivar. So, uh, why am I tied up? Not into this, by the way."
Ivar panics. "I—I don''t know!" He spins to his older self. "WHY AM I TYING HIM UP?!"
Older Ivar sighs. "Because it was necessary."
Ivar points dramatically. "THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER."
Aiden, still tied up, shrugs. "Yeah, Old You, at least explain yourself."
Older Ivar glares. "Silence, fool."
Aiden gasps. "Oh my god. I''m being betrayed AND insulted. This is the worst day of my life."
Older Ivar turns back to Ivar. "You had to choose, Ivar. Him… or the world."
Ivar shakes his head, frantic. "I would never betray Aiden!"
"But you did."
"I DID NOT."
"You WILL."
"I REFUSE."
Older Ivar exhales slowly. "You''re not getting it."
Aiden, looking between them, nods sagely. "Yeah, Future You is really bad at explaining things."
Older Ivar''s eye twitches.
Older Ivar waves a hand, and suddenly—
The scene shifts.
The throne room vanishes.
They are standing in a ruined battlefield. The sky is black. The ground is cracked. The air is heavy.
And Ivar sees himself—standing over Aiden''s body.
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A sword driven through his chest.
The world stops.
Ivar stumbles back. "No…"
Older Ivar steps forward. "This is what will happen."
Aiden, ghostly and oddly unbothered, floats beside him. "Welp. That''s unfortunate."
Ivar, still freaking out, turns wildly. "WHY DID I KILL HIM?!"
Older Ivar''s expression is stone. "Because of her."
And there she is.
A woman. Standing in the distance.
Her face is blurred. Her presence drenched in shadows.
Ivar doesn''t know her.
But—he knows.
She is the reason for all of this.
She is why he betrayed Aiden.
She is why he will become this.
Older Ivar speaks, voice low. "You will make a choice, Ivar. And when you do…"
"You will not recognize yourself anymore."
---
Ivar, shaking, grabs his own head. "NONONO. This is stupid. This is insane. I would NEVER—"
Older Ivar sighs. "Denial is the first step."
Aiden, still a ghost, raises a hand. "Uh, I''d like to say something."
Older Ivar pinches the bridge of his nose. "What."
"Why am I the one who always gets betrayed in these visions?"
Ivar throws up his hands. "RIGHT?! I SWEAR THIS KEEPS HAPPENING."
Aiden nods. "I mean, first it was the hallucination of Aiden getting executed, and now this? Ivar, do you secretly want me dead?"
Ivar grabs him by the shoulders. "YOU KNOW I DON''T."
Older Ivar rubs his temples. "Why are we like this."
Aiden shrugs. "Pendrol genetics?"
Ivar, still panicking, yells, "WE ARE GETTING OFF TRACK."
Older Ivar snaps. "Yes, because YOU won''t accept the truth!"
Ivar jabs a finger at him. "NO. YOU LISTEN TO ME, YOU DRAMATIC OLD MAN. I WOULD NEVER BETRAY AIDEN. PERIOD."
A beat of silence.
Older Ivar rubs his face. "God, I was so stubborn."
---
The world rumbles.
The battlefield distorts.
The voice from the door returns.
"You still do not understand. The trial is not over."
Ivar glares at the sky. "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"
Aiden raises a finger. "Maybe another betrayal scene?"
Ivar whirls on him. "STOP ENCOURAGING IT!"
Aiden shrugs. "Hey, if I''m gonna get betrayed anyway, might as well get used to it."
Older Ivar sighs. "I cannot believe I was ever this insufferable."
Ivar glares. "OH, SHUT UP, FUTURE ME. I DON''T EVEN LIKE YOU."
The world cracks.
The trial continues.
---
It stares at him.
He stares back.
A long, awkward silence.
Then, the door shakes its frame, like an old man stretching its spine.
"Hmm… So, you''ve made it this far, boy."
Ivar crosses his arms. "I''m not talking to a door."
"Then you have already failed."
"...What?"
The door cackles. "Enter, Ivar Pendrol. Enter, and witness the past you have forgotten."
Before Ivar can protest, the door unhinges itself—literally—swinging open like the maw of a beast. A violent pull yanks him forward.
And Ivar falls. Again.
---
Ivar lands face-first in soft grass.
He groans, pushing himself up. "If every one of these trials involves throwing me somewhere, I''m punching the next door I see."
As he shakes off the dizziness, he realizes—
He''s in a familiar place.
The Pendrol estate.
His childhood home.
Ivar frowns. "So, what? Am I supposed to relive some tragic backstory? See my past mistakes? Watch myself be a dumb kid?"
"No."
A voice rings out.
A voice that makes Ivar freeze.
Because he knows that voice.
Knows it too well.
Slowly, he turns—
And sees her.
His mother.
---
Lady Elira Pendrol sits on a garden bench, elegant as ever. Tea in one hand, a book in the other. Her piercing gaze locks onto him the moment he turns.
Ivar panics internally.
"Mother?" His voice catches. "But… you…look young"
She tilts her head. "Something wrong, Ivar?"
Ivar takes a step back. "This isn''t real. This is some kind of illusion."
Lady Elira sips her tea. "And yet, here you are, talking to me."
Ivar narrows his eyes. "If this is a test, I refuse to fall for it."
Lady Elira raises a brow. "Fall for what? Your own memories?"
Ivar grits his teeth. "This isn''t how memories work!"
His mother sets down her cup. "Tell me, Ivar. Do you recall this day?"
Ivar hesitates. The place, the time—it all feels… vaguely familiar. But no specific memory comes to mind.
Lady Elira stands gracefully. "Then allow me to remind you."
She gestures.
And the past unfolds.
---
A younger Ivar comes sprinting into view.
He''s small. Maybe eight or nine years old. And he looks… horrified.
Behind him, young Aiden is chasing after him, wild-eyed, holding—
…A WIG.
A golden cascading wig.
Aiden is screaming. "IVAR, COME BACK AND FACE YOUR FATE!"
Ivar (the present one) watches in growing horror. "No. No, no, no—"
Lady Elira smirks. "Ah. I remember this day well."
Young Ivar dodges behind a servant. "MOTHER, HELP! HE''S LOST HIS MIND!"
Young Aiden stomps forward. "YOU LOST THE BET, IVAR! YOU HAVE TO DRESS AS PRINCESS IVARIA AND GREET THE GUESTS!"
Ivar (present) claps his hands over his ears. "THIS IS NOT A MEMORY I NEEDED BACK."
Lady Elira chuckles. "Oh, but it gets better."
Young Ivar desperately clings to his mother''s leg. "Mother, please! Stop him!"
Lady Elira sips her tea. "A bet is a bet, Ivar."
Ivar (present) gasps. "MOTHER, YOU TRAITOR."
Young Ivar wails.
Young Aiden cackles victoriously.
And so, the memory continues.
--
The next scene flashes.
Ivar (present) watches in absolute agony.
There he is.
Dressed in a lavish, frilly, pink gown.
A golden wig perched precariously on his head.
And—dear gods—lipstick.
Young Ivar sulks on a throne.
The guests of the Pendrol estate stifle laughter.
Young Aiden stands beside him, smug. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present—PRINCESS IVARIA OF PENDROL."
The crowd erupts into applause.
Ivar (present) drops to his knees. "I''m never recovering from this."
Lady Elira smiles. "Your grace was commendable, Ivar."
Ivar claws at the ground. "WHY WOULD YOU SHOW ME THIS?!"
Lady Elira shrugs. "The trial of Origin reveals what you do not remember. And it seems you have… repressed quite a bit."
Ivar (broken). "I wonder why."
A voice echoes through the realm.
"Trial Complete."
The world shakes.
The past dissolves.
Ivar collapses, defeated.
Lady Elira gives him a knowing look. "You still have one door left, my son. Choose wisely."
Ivar, still on the floor, groans.
"Nothing can be worse than this."
And with that, the Second Door of Madness spits him out.
--
Ivar stands before the Third and Final Door of Madness.
It looks… different.
Less ominous.
Less terrifying.
More… welcoming.
The frame is golden, with warm light spilling from the cracks. Soft, peaceful music hums from the other side. The air smells like fresh bread.
Ivar squints.
"...Alright, what''s the trick?"
The door creaks open, slowly.
A voice whispers.
"Enter, Ivar Pendrol. Your final choice awaits."
Ivar crosses his arms. "Yeah, yeah. I know how this works."
And with that, he steps forward.
---
Ivar blinks.
He''s no longer in a battlefield.
No longer in a ruined world.
He''s in a cozy little house.
The smell of freshly baked bread lingers in the air. Sunlight filters through curtains patterned with tiny ducks.
A small table sits in the center, set for two.
And across from him—
Sits a middle-aged version of himself.
With spectacles.
And a knitted sweater.
Sipping tea.
Ivar stares.
Future Ivar sips.
Ivar stares harder.
Future Ivar flips a page in his book.
Silence.
Then—
"Who the hell are you?" Ivar blurts.
Future Ivar slowly looks up. Adjusts his spectacles.
"I am you. The version of you who chose peace."
Ivar''s eye twitches. "Peace? You look like you spend your days talking about cabbage prices."
Future Ivar smiles warmly. "Oh, I do. It''s quite thrilling, actually."
Ivar grimaces. "No, no, no. This isn''t right. I was expecting something dramatic. A godly choice. A fate-altering decision. Not… NOT A KNITTED SWEATER!"
Future Ivar gently sets his tea down. "Tell me, Ivar. Have you ever considered a life… without conflict?"
Ivar crosses his arms. "No. I like conflict. It keeps me entertained."
Future Ivar nods. "And yet, look at what you could have."
He gestures.
Suddenly—
A door swings open.
And in run two small children.
Giggling.
One boy. One girl. Both with Pendrol features.
Ivar freezes.
The children latch onto Future Ivar. "Papa! Read us another story!"
Future Ivar chuckles. "Of course, my little ducklings."
Ivar (internally screaming).
"WHO. ARE. THEY?!"
Future Ivar smiles. "Your children."
Ivar stares at the kids. Then at Future Ivar. Then at the knitted sweater.
Then back at the kids.
Then back at the sweater.
Then back at the tea.
"...Who is their mother?"
Future Ivar sips his tea. "That is not important."
"THE HELL IT ISN''T!"
Future Ivar ignores him. "They live a happy life. You live a happy life. No war. No battles. Just peace."
The children look at Ivar.
"Papa?"
Ivar (panicking). "I AM NOT YOUR PAPA."
Future Ivar smiles. "You could be."
Ivar takes a shaky step back. "This is a nightmare."
Future Ivar sets down his tea. "It is a choice. Seal your Core. Forget the battles. Forget the pain. And live a life of warmth and love."
Ivar clenches his fists. His heart pounds.
He won''t lie.
It looks… nice.
Peaceful.
Easy.
But—
"...Would I forget everything?"
Future Ivar nods. "Yes. You will forget your struggles. Your pain. Your fights. You will simply… be happy."
Ivar''s breath catches.
Forget everything.
Forget Aiden.
Forget his past.
Forget the reason he fought in the first place.
He looks at the children again.
They beam up at him.
For a second—just a second—he imagines it.
A quiet life.
A warm home.
No war.
No burden.
But then—
Ivar takes a deep breath. Straightens his back.
And grins.
"...Yeah, no. I''d rather punch a dragon in the face."
Future Ivar pauses. "Excuse me?"
Ivar rolls his shoulders. "Look, I get it. This is supposed to be some deep, introspective moment where I question my entire existence. But I already know who I am."
He cracks his knuckles.
"I''m Ivar Pendrol. I fight. I struggle. I make stupid decisions that sometimes work out. And most importantly—"
He glares at Future Ivar.
"I do not wear knitted sweaters."
Future Ivar blinks. "But they''re quite comfortable."
Ivar shakes his head. "You disgust me."
Future Ivar sighs. "So, you refuse peace?"
Ivar grins. "Peace is boring."
A heavy silence.
Then, the world begins to crack.
Future Ivar sips his tea one last time. "Then I suppose our conversation is over."
The children vanish.
The house fades.
And the warm light flickers out.
Ivar closes his eyes.
When he opens them—
He''s back.
---
Ivar stands at the entrance of the Three Doors of Madness.
All three are now sealed.
A voice echoes.
"Trial Complete."
Ivar exhales.
Then, he laughs.
"I swear, if Aiden had seen that, I''d never hear the end of it."
With that, he steps forward, ready to go out of the place
---
To be continued