The room smelled of saltpeter and steel.

Not that it was a room, really. It had the bones of a palace study: arched ceilings, gold-inlaid pillars, a wide stone desk, but everything else reeked of obsession. Glass cylinders lined the walls like sentinels, each filled with faintly glowing fluids in greens and sickly yellows. Runes crawled across the floors like living tattoos. One whole wall was covered in chalk markings and anatomical sketches drawn in what might not have been ink.

At the center of it all stood a man with long violet hair, tied neatly into a ponytail. He wore flowing robes of deep purple, so dark they nearly bled into black, embroidered with patterns of coiling serpents and thorns. His frame was lean but taut, skin pale, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His violet eyes reflected no light, only hunger.

Something dark. Something ancient.

King Heinrich Schutte III of the Violet Kingdom. The Violet King.

A knock echoed from behind the double doors. “Your Grace,” came the voice of a servant. “Queen Triana of the Indigo Kingdom will arrive soon, along with the King Consort. They are expected within the hour.” Silence. The servant lingered, then footsteps retreated.

The king didn't move for several breaths. Then he stepped forward, toward the largest of the cylinders. It was the size of a small carriage, reinforced with black steel bands. Inside, floating in thick, viscous green fluid, was something alive. And it should not have been.

“I know,” Heinrich whispered to the glass, pressing a gloved hand against it. “I feel it too. Something... delicious approaches.” He leaned in, his lips almost touching the surface. “It’s not quite ripe yet. Still soft. Still innocent. But we’ll let him fatten up. Let him climb. Let him breathe.” His fingers traced down the glass, slow and tender. “And when he reaches the perfect ripeness…” He stepped away.

The thing inside was revealed. It was a nightmare sculpted in flesh.

Its spine was too long for its body, stretching like a centipede’s tail into the liquid.

Its limbs were uneven: some clawed like a tiger, others scaled like a dragon’s talons.

Its snout twisted like a crocodile’s, split with rows of vertical teeth.

Patches of feathery fur moved along its chest, where a second face was stitched: a mask with no eyes, just a tongue that moved and tasted the fluid.

Its horns were sharp, like a bull. Its heartbeat echoed through the chamber, slow and wet.

Heinrich licked his lips. “My love,” he murmured. Then he turned.

***

Mary Sue wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “I didn’t know why I… Never mind.” She inhaled, floating higher. “Anyway! Congratulations. All of you have passed Phase One.”

Zara blinked. “Wait. That’s it?”

Mary nodded. “This hasn’t happened in seven years.”

Vaylan tilted his head. “Who passed it back then?”

Mary froze. She swallowed. “An ugly, evil beast,” she said, quietly. “Ugly as sin. Eyes of a demon. Mind of a rabid dog. He climbed alone. And he didn’t stop. By the way, did I mention he was ugly?”

***

Somewhere far above, on Floor 51—

“ATCHOO!” Jin Eun-Soo sneezed violently and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. His secretary, Lee Jiwon, quickly offered a silk handkerchief.

“Thanks. Someone must be talking shit,” Eun-Soo muttered.

“Perhaps. Eun-Soo-ssi… You are widely hated.”

“Yeah, well, they're just jealous.” He stuffed the handkerchief in his back pocket.

***

Mary clapped her hands. “Now then. Are you ready for Phase Two?” The great doors behind her began to open with a low sound. A blinding white light filled the air. The four stepped through.

The trial chamber was… breathtaking. Pillars of pale marble curved up toward a domed ceiling of glass. The floor was polished to the point that it reflected the sky above. Light poured in from a hole in the ceiling: sunlight, pure and golden, even though no sun could possibly shine this deep within the Tree.

And at the center… floated a man. Shirtless. White pants. Barefoot. A fluffy scarf draped lazily around his shoulders. His body was sculpted, muscles defined but not bulky, like a painting of a god brought to life. His skin shimmered with a faint sheen, and his medium-length white hair framed his face in soft, perfect waves. Ram horns curved backward from his head.

He was sleeping.

Zara took a slow step back. “What... is this place?”

As if on cue, the man opened his eyes. Golden. Brilliant. He smiled, gently. “Oh. Visitors.” His voice was musical. Calm. “It’s been so long.” The doors slammed shut behind them.

Lato bristled. “Trap.”

The man floated forward, slowly, arms wide like he was welcoming old friends. He stopped in front of Vaylan and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You must’ve come far to get here.”

Zara blinked. “Well… yeah. We’re from Edgaris. Without the teleportation node, it would’ve taken months to reach the Tree.”

Aries didn’t look at her. He looked only at Vaylan. “And yet I wasn’t talking to you.” Then his eyes slid toward Lato. “And certainly not the cat.” He drifted back. Slowly. “Anyway,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “since you’ve come all this way…” The ground trembled. The four tensed, readying their weapons. But instead of monsters—a round table rose from the floor. Five marble chairs emerged around it, smooth and unblemished.

Then—another clap. A tray appeared. Teapots. Glass cups. Stacks of cakes and fruit.

“Tea?” Aries asked, smiling as he sat. “I recommend the jasmine.”

Vaylan stared. Then, wordlessly, walked forward and sat directly across from Aries. Everyone else froze.

Zara hissed, “What are you doing?”

Pierre didn’t move. Even Lato’s fur was standing on end.

Vaylan smiled. “No sugar for me.”

Aries returned the smile. “Wonderful,” he said, and began to pour.

After a beat of silence, Zara sat down, stiff-backed, arms folded. Pierre followed, still cautious, while Lato perched onto Vaylan’s shoulder, clearly unimpressed. Vaylan was already halfway through a second slice of cake.

“The cake is delicious! You don’t also happen to have any apples, do you? I have a sudden craving for apples. Bet they would go great with the tea and cake!” Vaylan said with a mouth full of cheesecake.

"Umm, Mr. Aries..." Zara began.

Aries raised his hand, silencing her with ease. "Patience. You all have questions. So do I. Let's make it fair. Each of you may ask me one question. In return, I may ask one to each of you."

Lato narrowed his eyes, ears twitching. “And if someone lies?”

“You needn’t use your truth-seeking skill,” Aries said calmly. “We can forge a geis, a binding pact. One question for one answer. Speak only the truth. If you don’t know, say so. But no lies. No silence. No refunds.”

Pierre folded his arms. “And if we don’t get what we want?”

Aries gave a languid smile. “Then don’t ask stupid questions. But fine—three each.”

Vaylan gave a thumbs up, mouth full of cake. “Sounds good t’m—”

“Consider the pact formalized,” Aries declared. Steel chains erupted from the floor, glowing with divine heat. They wrapped ankles, wrists, even Aries’s own limbs. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they dissolved into the air like smoke.

Zara flinched. “What the hell was that?”

“The pact,” Aries replied. “Break it, and you die. That includes me.”

Zara spun toward Vaylan. “You roped us into a death pact?!”

Vaylan just grinned. “Tea’s really good though.”

“I’ll go first,” Pierre said grimly. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I thought this was a combat trial. So why aren’t you attacking us?”

Aries exhaled like a man asked why water was wet. “Yes, defeating me is what the trial entails. Hence, my imprisonment here. But as for why I don’t attack you…” He looked Pierre directly in the eyes. “Why should I? I hold no ill will toward any of you.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Lato muttered reluctantly.

“I said you wouldn’t need your skill,” Aries said with a knowing smile. “My turn.”

Pierre tensed. Aries leaned in, chin resting on one pale hand. “What is your type?”

The room froze. Vaylan kept chewing his macaron like nothing happened.

“...Come again?” Pierre asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” Zara whispered.

Aries chuckled. “Relax. He didn’t answer, which voids the exchange. Let me rephrase.” His eyes sharpened. “What kind of woman—or man—are you attracted to, Pierre de Ficquelmont?”

Pierre looked around. Saw no way out. His jaw clenched. “...Older women. Not too old. Maybe five to ten years older.” A beat of stunned silence. Even Zara blinked.

“Tch,” Aries scoffed. “Pity.” He added, gesturing gracefully, “Next question.”

Pierre composed himself. “Constellations were created to kill Ascendants, specifically apostles of other gods. So... is the reason you haven’t attacked us because none of us are apostles?”

Aries smirked. “Clever.” He straightened, lips curling just so. “You’re aware that we all can’t lie in answering the questions. But nothing prevents you from lying in the question.”

Pierre’s eyes narrowed. “Answer it.”

“Very well.” Aries shrugged. “No. I don’t care if you’re apostles. I’ve never cared. So yes, you're right, I haven't attacked you. Simply because... I don’t want to.”

Zara glanced at Lato. “He’s not lying,” Lato confirmed quietly.

Aries smiled. “Shall we continue?” His gaze grew sharper. “My turn.” He turned back to Pierre. “Did you only inherit the Spear of Assal… or do you also possess the Answerer and the Wind-Sweeper?”

Pierre’s chair creaked as he sat up straighter. His pulse surged visibly in his throat. “How do you—”

“Is that your final question?” Aries asked softly.

Pierre hesitated. His fingers curled against the marble. “I only inherited the spear. I don’t have the other artifacts of Lugh.”

Aries clapped once, slowly. “Magnificent. You really are an abandoned child.” Pierre ignored the insult. His final question burned behind his teeth.

"This next one should do the trick," he whispered to himself.

He straightened, meeting Aries’s gaze head-on. "Constellations are apostles at the end of the day. Just monster versions of apostles. Therefore, constellations are still bound by divine law not to expose the identities of other apostles. A failsafe, so the gods’ pawns don’t kill each other off.”

His voice was steady. “I’m asking this carefully. Who is the other apostle of The Olympus God of War—in this room?”

The marble table fell still.

Aries blinked once, then let out a low chuckle. “Ahhh. Now I see.” He leaned back. “You wanted me to die. Clever little move. Force two laws to collide. One that says I must speak the truth, another that forbids me from revealing an apostle’s name.”

Pierre’s grin deepened. But Aries’s smile only widened.

“Too bad,” he said smoothly. “There is no other apostle of The Olympus God of War in this room.” He let the silence hang.

“The only apostle of The Olympus God of War present... is you.”