Chronicles of the Eon of the Order of the Keepers of the Light: The Mirror of False Light

The galactic sector "Orion-3" was known for its nebulae, which the local inhabitants called the "Veil of Illusions." Here, aboard the orbital station "Citadel of Truth," the most gifted novices of the Order of the Keepers of the Light received their training.

Among them, young Varian stood out in particular. Varian possessed innate power. His mental readings were off the charts, and the plasma blade in his hands hummed with such force that it seemed to cut through the very fabric of reality.

Varian knew that he was good. He felt it in the admiring glances of the other novices. He saw it in the results of the simulations, where he emerged victorious without fail.

"The Light is strong within me," he often repeated, gazing at his reflection in the observation window. "I feel grace overflowing in me. I am chosen for great deeds."

Master Elian, who had arrived at the station for an inspection, watched the young man's training with deep unease. When Varian, finishing an intricate cascade of maneuvers, triumphantly raised his glowing sword, Elian did not applaud.

"Your blade is bright, Varian," the Master said quietly, as the young man approached him, expecting praise. "But tell me — who is shining? You, or the Light through you?"

Varian smiled slightly, squaring his shoulders with confidence.
"We are one, Master. My purity and discipline allow the Light to shine so brightly. I have reached the state where the Light's will becomes my own will."

Elian sighed. He recognized this symptom. It was the spiritual sickness the ancient Keepers called "self-conceit" — the most terrible of traps, for it counterfeited holiness itself.

"Tomorrow you face a trial in the Sector of Shadows," Elian said. "There are no enemies with blasters there. There is only what you bring with you."

The Sector of Shadows was an anomalous zone, where psychoactive mist materialized thoughts. Varian stepped into the airlock with confidence. He activated his protective field, and his aura flared with blinding gold.

"The darkness fears me," he thought. "I have purified my mind so thoroughly that the shadows will simply burn away."

And indeed, the mist parted before him. But it did not vanish. It thickened into strange shapes. Suddenly, a figure appeared before Varian. It was a tall warrior in shining armor, his face full of nobility and wisdom. The warrior radiated grandeur.

Varian froze. He recognized this warrior. It was himself — but exactly as he saw himself in his dreams. Great, infallible, a holy Keeper.

"Greetings, brother," the Double spoke in a voice that sounded like heavenly music. "You have attained perfection. You are not like the others. They are weak and full of doubt, but you — you are a pure vessel. Accept your crown."

Varian's heart trembled with sweet delight. Everything he had believed about himself was being confirmed! This vision was proof of his chosen status.
"I knew it," Varian whispered, lowering his sword. "I felt that I was worthy of more."

He stepped toward the Double, to merge with this great image. But the moment he opened his arms, the Double's "light" changed. It grew cold. Ice-cold.

Varian felt his strength draining away. The Double was not embracing him — it was devouring him. The radiant face twisted into a grimace of pride, transforming into a demonic mask of self-satisfaction.

"You bowed down to yourself!" the voice thundered — no longer music now, but the screech of metal. "You made an idol of your own imagined virtues!"

Varian tried to summon the Light, but nothing happened. His inner reactor had stalled.
"Why?!" his mind screamed in panic. "I am righteous! I have mastered all the canons!"

But the darkness only laughed. The psychoactive mist began to choke him, and Varian understood a terrible thing: all this time, he had been warming himself not with the fire of Truth, but with the heat of his own vanity. And now, when the true trial had come, his "fuel" turned out to be counterfeit. He was falling into an abyss created by his own "self-conceit" about his own greatness.

At that moment, when death seemed inevitable, a thin, unbearably bright ray cut through the darkness. It was not a grandiose burst of energy, but a simple, calm light, like a ray of morning sun.

Master Elian walked through the nightmarish visions without even raising his sword. The specters of pride crumbled at his mere presence, because there was nothing in him for them to latch onto.

"Master!" Varian rasped, lying on the floor. "My light... it betrayed me! Why did it go out?"

Elian knelt beside his pupil and looked sternly into his eyes.

"Your light did not go out, Varian. It never existed. What you took for a spiritual gift was only hot blood and the play of imagination."

The Master raised his hand, and the hologram around them dissolved, returning them to the training hall.

"Do you remember what the ancient Keeper Ignat taught?" Elian asked, helping the young man to his feet. "'Self-conceit is a lie that passes itself off as truth.' You imagined yourself rich in spirit while being poor. You claimed for yourself gifts that were never yours."

Varian trembled. The sweetness of self-admiration gave way to the bitterness of shame, but in that bitterness, for the first time in a long while, there was truth.
"How do I fight now?" he asked quietly. "I feel empty."

"Now you are ready," Elian smiled for the first time. "As long as you were 'full' of yourself, there was no room for the Light to enter. Self-conceit cannot bear emptiness — it fills everything with lies. But Truth enters only an empty vessel."

The Master pointed to the stars beyond the viewport.
"Vanity is thinking that you yourself are the source of light, like a star. Truth is understanding that you are only a clear pane of glass, through which the Sun shines. The glass does not boast of its own transparency. It simply lets the light pass through."

Varian looked at his reflection in the glass. Now he saw there not a great warrior, but simply a tired young man, with a long road still ahead of him. And for the first time in a long while, a real, warm Light touched his heart.

"I understand now, Master," he said, bowing his head. "I will start from the beginning. From the fact that I am no one, and my strength is not my own."

"That is the first step of a Keeper," Elian nodded. "For only one who sees his own weakness gains the Strength able to hold up worlds."