Kael woke up in a place that was no place.
The air smelled of old ink and burnt skin, and beneath his feet was no floor, but pages. Thousands, millions of them, stretching as far as the eye could see, each written in a language that made the eyes bleed.
"Don't get up yet," said a voice to his left.
The Silent Executioner was there, but different. His armor was no longer shattered, but polished to a black mirror, and in place of his broken sword, he carried a set of scales whose pans held:
One, a human eye similar to his own.
The other, a miniature eclipse.
"Where...?" Kael tried to speak, but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth like thick honey.
"You are at the Council of Iterations," replied the Executioner. "Where all Eclipse Bringers come to be judged. Or to judge."
The walls of non-space opened then, revealing eleven thrones made of impossible materials:
One of time bones.
Another of solidified whispers.
A third of sewn eyelids.
And on each throne, a version of the Original Eleven, but different from the ones Kael knew. More worn. Sadder.
The one who occupied the central throne—a man whose skin was covered in aged constellations—spoke first:
"Kael Arcanis. Twelfth Iteration. We accuse you of breaking the cycle."
The Eleven (or was it their ghosts?) rose as one, and from their mouths came not words, but Kael's stolen memories:
The first man he had killed (a guard with the eyes of a weary father).
The moment he drank the mercury of the Roads for the first time.
The instant Lirya had whispered his true name to him, and he had willfully forgotten it.
"Every Bearer before you followed the established path," the Bonesinger said, her voice a chorus of crying children. "Either join us... or die. You have done worse. You have hesitated."
Kael felt the weight of his own actions for the first time. Not as guilt, but as a chain he had always worn.
"And what if I did it?" he spat, the mercury in his arm bubbling like acid. "Are they going to kill me again? Because from what I see..." He gestured to the thrones. "...they've done it before."
The floor of pages stirred, and from among the scrolls a figure emerged.
It was Kael.
But no.
This one wore the full armor of the Executioner, his face a mosaic of scars that formed runes, and in his eyes there was no mercury, but perfect hollows.
"Seventh Iteration," the current Executioner introduced. "The one who chose to join."
The Other Kael looked at his current version with something that could have been pity or envy.
"You look so much like her," he said. "Like Lirya. Before she realized the lie."
"What lie?"
The Other Kael smiled, showing silver teeth.
"That this is a trial."
The walls of no-space crumbled, revealing the true Council:
It wasn't a place of judgment, but a prison cell.
And the Eleven on the thrones weren't judges, but prisoners.
"They broke us, Kael," the current Executioner said, removing his helmet for the first time. Beneath the armor... was Lirya. Or something that once was her. "The true, original Eleven imprisoned us here. This 'trial' is just another Path. Another deception."
The Kael of the Seventh Iteration approached, his voice a whisper of dry leaves:
"Every time a Bearer reaches the Eclipse, they bring them here. To convince them to join. To replace us. Because they... they're already gone."
Kael looked around, the pieces falling into place too late.
"The Eleven I know..."
"They're not the originals," Lirya finished. "They're the successors. Like you. Like me. Like all of us who have fallen here."
The Council shook. The false Eleven screamed, their forms vanishing like smoke.
"You have to choose," Lirya said, grabbing Kael's quicksilver arm. "You can stay here, become a new 'Judge,' and wait for the next Bearer..."
"Or..." the Seventh Iteration interrupted, pulling something from her armor. A crystal teardrop containing a name. "...you can do what none of us had the courage to do."
Kael took the tear. Inside, a single word glittered:
"Lirya."
"Break the cycle," she whispered, her eyes filled with something that could be hope. Or terror. "Find the true Eleven. And ask them why."
The non-space began to collapse.
Kael looked at the tear, then at Lirya, then at her other self.
And smiled.
"I think I know the answer."
He squeezed the tear until it bled.
The last thing Kael saw before everything went white:
Eleven empty thrones.
And on the largest one, etched in letters that weren't letters:
"Welcome home, Thirteenth."