I'm scared.
I'm scared.
I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared—
The words looped through Joshua's mind like a broken prayer, each repetition stripping away pieces of his soul.
The world around him bled crimson.
I know what's coming.
God, I know what's coming and I can't—
I can't do this again.
His adult mind screamed against the prison of his nineteen-year-old body, watching his younger self walk down that familiar corridor in the Arial palace.
Each footstep echoed with the certainty of a guillotine's descent. He could feel it all—the expensive fabric of his ceremonial robes against skin that had finally healed from the lashings, the weight of the crown that never quite fit right, and the way the servants averted their eyes as he passed.
They know. Everyone knows what's about to happen.
And I'm walking toward it anyway because what else can the expendable son do?
[JO—UAH! LIS—EN TO M—!]
Crimson's voice fractured through his mind speaking in small breaks. The system notifications flashed in and out of existence, text corrupting and reforming in endless, desperate loops.
[D—N'T LET IT—]
[ERROR ERROR ERROR]
[JOSHUA PLEASE—]
I can hear you, he wanted to scream back. But I can't move. I can't change anything. I'm trapped in my own skin.
The throne room doors loomed ahead. Massive. Ornate. The kind of doors that were meant to inspire awe, but all Joshua felt was a cold dread seeping into his blood.
This room, this place of ceremony was where most of his worst memories lived.
Please. Please, not again.
I was so tired that day. Three days without sleep because I knew if I closed my eyes, I'd run. I'd disappear into the night like the coward they all knew I was. But I stayed. I stayed because—
Because Freyna needed me to.
Because someone had to.
Because being the expendable son meant being expendable for everyone.
His hand, the same body he wore just a week ago, reached for the door handle. He could feel every ridge in the metal, every imperfection his fingers had memorized from a lifetime of entering rooms where he wasn't wanted.
No. No, no, no—
[PAIN THRESHOLD: N/A]
[W-WHAT AM I SAYI— JOSHUA YOU NEED TO—ZZZZT—]
The door opened and there they were—his father on the throne, his brothers arranged like cruel satellites around their sun, the council members who'd decided his fate without ever looking him in the eye.
And in the corner, barely visible through the crowd of nobles—
Freyna.
She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in the servants' quarters, safe from this particular cruelty. But there she stood in her best dress—the one she only wore for celebrations—and Joshua's younger self understood with horrible clarity that she'd forced her way in to watch.
To be there when they sent him to die.
Don't look at me like that. Please don't look at me with those eyes that still believe I'm worth something.
"Prince Joshua Vale," his father's voice rolled through the throne room. "The demon realm has called for their tribute. The council has decided."
I know what you're going to say.
I've replayed these words ten thousand times.
They're carved into my bones.
"You will go."
The simple declaration hung in the air with simplicity. Joshua felt his body nod, the motion automatic, practiced.
He'd rehearsed this acceptance in the mirror for weeks, making sure his expression showed duty instead of terror, honor instead of abandonment.
But inside I was screaming.
"Do you have any final words?" Marcus asked, his smile sharp enough to draw blood. "Any protests? Surely the 'brave' third prince has something to say about serving his kingdom?"
Joshua's younger self lifted his chin. Straightened his spine. Smiled that empty, perfect smile he'd mastered at eight years old.
"I am honored to serve."
Liar. Liar. You're terrified and alone and you want to run but you can't because if you run, they'll hurt her, they'll hurt everyone who ever showed you kindness, they'll—
[JOSHUA!]
Crimson's voice punched through the memory with desperate clarity, accompanied by a notification that burned white-hot across his vision:
[MEMORY TRIAL CRITICAL WARNING]
[HOST PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE APPROACHING MAXIMUM THRESHOLD]
[ACCEPTING THE ILLUSION IN: 30 SECONDS]
Accepting the illusion?
And then he saw it—a shimmer at the edge of the memory. A door that hadn't been there before. Through it, he could see another version of this moment. One where his father stood from the throne, crossed the room, and embraced him.
Where his brothers protested his selection. Where someone, anyone, fought to keep him.
Where he mattered.
That's not real.
But…
I want it so badly it's eating me alive.
The false door pulsed with warm, golden light. All he had to do was walk through. Accept the lie. Let himself believe, just for a moment, that he'd been loved.
[DON'T YOU DARE!]
Crimson's scream tore through everything, raw and desperate in a way the system had never sounded before.
[I KNOW IT HURTS BUT THE LIE WILL KILL YOU! JOSHUA, PLEASE!]
You can't lose me? What the hell are you Crimson? Why do you care so much?
Crimson cared—Actually cared whether he lived or died, not as a user but as... what? A friend?
Someone else would miss me if I disappeared into this lie.
Someone else besides—
"I'll return."
His younger self's voice cut through his spiral. Joshua watched himself turn to look directly at Freyna, breaking every protocol about maintaining royal bearing.
This place isn't even showing me memories anymore. Freyna wasn't there at first when I was summoned. It's like this place just wants to cause me as much pain as possible.
"I'll return," he repeated, louder this time, and everyone in the throne room could hear the promise in it. The vow. The stupid, impossible determination of someone who refused to accept that being expendable was all he'd ever be.
Freyna's composure cracked. Tears ran down her face as she nodded, mouthing words he could read even from across the room:
I'll wait.
The memory shuddered, trying to maintain its shape against the weight of that promise. The golden door flickered, its warmth suddenly feeling artificial, cloying.
I'm going to the demon rea— Lysandra…
The thought of the demon princess hit him like cold water. Lysandra, who was somewhere in this trial. Lysandra, who'd held his hand as they entered. Lysandra, who'd whispered "together" to reassure him.
If I take the easy lie, I abandon her.
Just like everyone abandoned me.
"No." The word tore from both versions of him.
The golden door burst into flames, screaming as it died. The memory began collapsing, his father's cold dismissal echoing as the throne room crumbled:
"Then go. Die well or at least die quietly."
The scene blurred together until he stood alone facing the Arialian royals.
…
The throne hall thundered with magic as the summoning array ignited between Prince Joshua Vale's feet.
Light cracked across the marble, shaking the pillars of the castle, and casting warped shadows over the startled court audience.
...
"I'll return," he whispered. "I give you my word. I'll return," he whispered. "I give you my word."
Her lips parted—she wanted to say more, needed to—but the light ruptured upward.
"Joshua!!" she cried.
...
The ancient pact demanded a royal be sent to the Demon Realm every generation. This time it had chosen him.
Joshua felt the world begin to change. Sound and color vanished, then gravity, until only the blue glow of magic remained. His fingers slipped through the last traces of Freyna's warmth as the world unraveled.
The marble floor disappeared from beneath his boots.
I didn't die at all, you bastard.
I survived.
I'm still surviving.
...
The reddening memory shattered like a stone thrown into a mirror, and Joshua found himself gasping on his knees in a void between memories, Crimson's notifications flooding his vision with desperate relief:
[MEMORY REJECTED SUCCESSFULLY]
[YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN YOU DID IT!]
[Joshua, I... I'm so proud of you.]
The void rippled blue this time, reality bending like water.
Through the distortion, Joshua saw her. Lysandra knelt twenty feet away, her entire body shaking.
Her eyes found his across the emptiness, and what Joshua saw there cut him deeply. Gone was the demon princess's mask, the warrior's composure, even the careful vulnerability she'd shown him on the balcony.
This was just Lysandra, raw and shattered, tears streaming down her face as she stared at him like he was bleeding out in front of her.