The rest of the bridge vanished behind them.
Isaiah followed Elian Saul into a narrow lane that seemed older than the city itself - cobblestones worn hollow, walls leaning inward as if whispering secrets to one another. The mist clung to them like breath, and with each step, the air grew heavier, colder.
They stopped before an unmarked iron door set into the side of a building that looked abandoned. Elian didn't knock. He simply placed the tip of his cane against the door and waited. A faint, metallic click answered, and the door opened inward on its own.
Inside, the world shifted.
It was a hall - vast, arched, and lined with fractured mirrors. The reflections were warped, showing faces and forms as they might look years older, or after some hidden suffering. The floor was black marble veined with white, and the sound of their steps echoed like distant thunder.
Isaiah's eyes were drawn to the far end, where an oval table sat beneath a single chandelier of cracked crystal. Around it sat a dozen figures in suits, their faces shadowed by the dim light. No one spoke, but their eyes - old, sharp, and unbearably present - followed him.
"You stand in the Hall of Glass," Elian said, voice low. "The Covenant sees you now."
One of the seated figures, an elder with skin like parchment and a gaze that seemed to carry centuries, spoke first.
"Name."
"Isaiah Kaelen."
A pause, then a murmur moved around the table, too soft to catch. Another elder leaned forward.
"Your weight?"
Isaiah hesitated. "I… don't understand."
The old man's voice sharpened. "Not
your trade. Not your skill. What have you lost, Isaiah Kaelen, that still drags behind you when you walk? That pulls at you when you close your eyes?"
The room seemed to shrink. In the mirrors, Isaiah saw not his face, but flashes - the firelit night when it all went wrong, the shadows, the blood on his hands. His throat tightened.
Elian rested his cane lightly against the floor. "You don't need to speak it aloud. But if you have no answer… you have no place here."
Isaiah met the old man's gaze, and though his voice did not rise, something in his eyes answered the question. The murmurs ceased.
The elder's mouth curved - not into a smile, but something that almost resembled recognition.
"Then you may kneel."
Isaiah did, the marble freezing against his knees. A wave of silence pressed against him, heavier than before.
And in that silence, he understood: this was not a place for the unscarred.