Chapter 343: Discerning The Truth
(Time-Stilled World, The Spectral Plateau, Leo’s POV)
Leo opened the [Sevenfold Revelation Codex] with a breathless urgency, his fingers grazing the familiar parchment as he silently hoped for guidance, some sign or revelation inked onto the page.
To his relief, golden ink began to bleed into view the moment the cover fell open, swirling like liquid flame as the Codex stirred to life and prepared to impart its newest lesson.
—-------
> "You have observed the shade ’Black’ which is the echo of dishonesty."
> "It is not the mark of sin, nor of wickedness— but is rather the signature of dissonance."
> "When the soul speaks a truth, the aura holds steady."
> "When it utters a lie it recognizes as false, the soul recoils."
> "This recoil, though imperceptible to flesh, stains the aura at its thinnest edge."
> "It cannot be hidden by confidence or smothered by repetition."
> "It appears only when the speaker knows they lie."
> "The unaware are spared."
> "The deceivers are not."
> "To see black is to witness fracture—the instant a soul shudders against its own voice."
> "One must always beware of lies and liars, as those who lie too often, usually have the darkest souls."
—-------------
As the final line unfurled in brilliant script, the glow slowly dimmed and the golden ink faded, retreating like a tide returning to its depths, as the codex returned to silence once again.
Leo did not move for several seconds after reading the text.
His eyes remained fixated on the now-empty page, as his breathing slowed and his mind raced.
He understood now that the black aura did not mark wrongness in the world, but wrongness in the speaker—when what they said was at odds with what they knew to be true.
And yet... that only made things harder.
He had seen the same faint black flicker at the end of all three stories.
But if the Codex was right—and it always was—then none of the specter’s heads had told the full truth.
Which meant...
"They’re all lying?" Leo murmured aloud, frowning. "But they all sounded too grounded to be completely false..."
He fell silent again, fingers absently tapping the cover of the Codex.
And then it struck him—not as a flash of brilliance, but the slow, creeping realization of something subtle he had missed.
Each story had felt grounded. Logical. Believable.
But what if that was the trap?
What if the first parts of each tale were true—details woven from real history, real events—but the final lines were where the falsehood lived?
He closed his eyes and ran through them again.
> The architects... lived in a city buried beneath ice.
They built upside-down towers, believing heaven was below.
But then the line that—"the towers are gateways to the afterlife, from where no soul returns."
That was when the speaker’s aura flickered black, meaning that it was the lie!
Same for the king’s story—
> He rewrote all the books.
He declared himself God.
But then—"his soul was scattered and children spoke in his voice."
That was the line where the speaker’s aura broke, indicating that it was a lie!
And finally the mirror man.....
> He carried a mirror to show people their true selves.
He made the broken weep or rage.
But then—"he saw nothing, because he was never real."
That final line was again a lie!
Meaning that all three statements made by the heads consisted of exactly two truths and one lie!
Leo opened his eyes.
"That’s it..." he whispered, voice low. "They’re not full lies. Just partial ones. Each of them ends with a twist that breaks from the truth."
And when the truth breaks, the soul recoils.
And when the soul recoils—
The aura turns black.
He looked back at the ghost, this time not with confusion, but with a grim certainty building behind his eyes.
Because now he understood the truth!
"I am ready to answer," he said, eyes locking onto the central skull of the specter.
The three heads turned in perfect, eerie synchrony, their gazes piercing through the mist between them like blades.
"Then speak, mortal," the left head rasped.
"Which tale was false?" asked the middle.
"Choose wrong, and you shall be punished," whispered the right.
But Leo didn’t flinch, nor did he hesitate.... not anymore.
"All three stories are lies," he said calmly, his tone not loud but sharp enough to cut the stillness. "But not completely."
The specter tilted slightly, the sockets of its many eyes narrowing.
"Go on..." the middle head coaxed, curious now, its voice laced with both intrigue and warning.
Leo took a breath.
"They each contain two truths. But at the end of each story, there is a lie."
He pointed toward the ghost.
"You said this game was two truths and a lie, but you never explained what it actually meant..... and I believe, the true game is to discern the two truths and the one lie inside every story that you narrated"
The fog thickened for a beat, curling around Leo’s boots as though waiting for him to slip, but he held his ground.
"The architects did build their city beneath the ice. They did believe in heaven below. But the towers weren’t gateways to the afterlife... that was a lie."
"The king did rewrite history. He did crown himself god. But his soul wasn’t scattered, and children don’t speak in his voice. That was the lie."
"And the mirror man... yes, he showed others who they were. Yes, they broke because of it. But he did exist. He wasn’t a ghost story. That was the lie."
The moment he finished speaking, the wind stilled. The fog stopped moving. The plateau itself seemed to freeze, caught in a breath that the world had forgotten to exhale.
And then, the specter moved.
Its three heads turned inward, facing each other, whispering in overlapping tones that sent shivers crawling across Leo’s skin. There was no anger in their muttering. Only surprise. And something dangerously close to amusement.
When they turned back to him, the center head leaned forward ever so slightly.
"...Correct," it said, voice deeper than before, carrying a strange note of approval. "We did not expect you to solve this riddle, mortal, but you are smarter than we expected! You live to face question two."
A wave of silent relief coursed through Leo’s chest as the verdict was spoken, but he dared not let it show.
He’d gambled everything on the Codex’s teachings, and on his own ability to see aura beyond the limits of normal eyes.
And it had worked!
Yet, the sense of victory was fleeting.
Because as soon as the spectre recognised his first triumph, the fog around it began to move again.
The three heads rose higher, their silhouettes now barely distinguishable from the thick gray clouds that churned behind them, until only the red embers of their sunken eyes remained visible, like coals drifting in ash.
"Your mind is sharp," the left head said, voice trailing like smoke.
"But solving one riddle does not make you worthy of passage," said the right.
"You must answer the second riddle now, or be forced to turn back and chased!" said the one in the centre, as the three heads began narrating the next riddle.