"Your papa is very sick," she said gently.
"But you can fix him!" The boy grabbed her hands. "You're a healer! Healers make people better!"
Such simple faith. Absolute trust in the power of healing.
"Sometimes... sometimes people are too hurt to fix. Little one."
Jasmine was so immersed that she no longer thought of it as a trial. But as a reality.
The boy's face crumpled. "No! You have to try! Please! He's my papa!"
My papa. The same words I would have used.
Behind them, the dying man called out weakly. "...come here, son."
The boy, ran back to his father's side. The noble pulled his child close, whispering words Jasmine couldn't hear.
Last words. Final moments between father and son.
She watched as the man removed a ring from his finger and pressed it into the child's small hand. A family heirloom, probably. Something to remember him by.
The same way father gave me his pendant before he died.
"Take care of your mother," the noble whispered. "Be... be better than I was."
At least he knows he failed. At least he has regrets.
The child clung to his father as life faded from the man's eyes. The child's sobs echoed through the camp, raw and heartbroken.
This is what I looked like when father died. This is the pain I carried.
Other children appeared from nowhere—sons and daughters of the remaining conspirators. Each one running to a dying parent, each one begging for miracles that wouldn't come.
All of them will be orphaned. All of them will know the loss I knew. I didn't want this to happen...but...sigh.
The camp had become a tableau of approaching tragedy. Children weeping over fathers who had perhaps minutes left.
Jasmine possessed the power to prevent it all.
I could save them. Save the fathers and spare the children this pain.
But the memory of her own father's death burned too brightly. These men had orchestrated Regulus's downfall not because of investigations of corruption, but because of jealousy.
Father was too powerful. Too loved. Too close to the throne.
Regulus had won the heart of the first princess. Had commanded respect from common soldiers and nobles alike. His strength and honor had made him a natural successor to the kingdom's highest positions.
They couldn't tolerate his rise. Couldn't accept that someone so principled might gain real authority.
So they had engineered his fall. Convinced the king that Regulus posed a threat to stability. Arranged for him to be sent on a mission with insufficient support, hoping the demons would solve their political problem.
They succeeded. Father came home dying, and we fled to the wilderness to watch him waste away.
Jasmine's hands trembled with suppressed rage as the memories sharpened. Years of poverty. Her mother's gradual descent into sorrow. Her father's final breaths taken in a cave instead of the palace where he belonged.
They destroyed everything. Everything.
Another child's sob cut through her fury. A little girl, perhaps eight, shaking her dying father's shoulder.
"Daddy, wake up! Please wake up!"
She'll grow up like I did. Broken. Alone. Hungry for justice.
The parallels were too obvious to ignore. These children would walk the same path Jasmine had traveled. Would learn the same lessons about powerlessness and abandonment.
Unless I save their fathers. Unless I choose healing over vengeance.
But why should she? Why should she spare these children the education she'd received? Why should she prevent them from understanding what their fathers had inflicted on others?
Let them learn. Let them know what loss means.
The boy looked up from his father's corpse, tears streaming down his face. "Lady, please. Can you... can you bring him back?"
Innocent question from an innocent child.
"No," Jasmine said quietly. "I can't bring back the dead."
"But he's not dead!" Thomas insisted. "He's just sleeping! Look, he's still warm!"
Denial. The first stage of grief.
The boy pressed his ear against his father's chest, listening for a heartbeat that had already stopped. When he found only silence, his wail of anguish pierced the evening air.
This is justice. This is what they deserve for what they did to my family.
But as Jasmine watched the child's breakdown, something cold settled in her chest. Not satisfaction. Not vindication.
Is this what I've become? Someone who watches children suffer and calls it justice? How pathetic.
The realisation should have prompted mercy. It should have triggered the compassion the trial demanded.
Instead, it only hardened her resolve.
"It's too late now. I would make this choice even if I had a thousand lifetimes. I will and would not ever help the destroyers of my family."
She turned away from the boy's grief and walked toward the camp's exit. Behind her, more children discovered their fathers' deaths. More young voices joined the chorus of loss.
They'll understand now. They'll know what betrayal costs.
The Guardian Staff's voice echoed in her mind as the scene began to fade.
"The Trial of Compassion is complete."
Complete, huh? It didn't say pass like before. Well, I guess I'm not fit to be a healer after all. I was cursed with this damn healing talent when I could've had an offensive talent, just like father, so I can take revenge with my bare hands.
Light engulfed the medical camp, dissolving the illusion of suffering children and dead conspirators.
Jasmine found herself back in the crystalline chamber, facing the ancient staff.
I failed. I know I failed.
But as the Guardian's judgment approached, Jasmine felt no regret.
I chose justice over mercy. I chose truth over forgiveness.
The staff pulsed with subdued light, its runes shifting to darker configurations.
"You have failed the Trial of Compassion."
"The path of light is closed to you."
Jasmine raised her chin defiantly.
"I don't want the path of light."
The chamber around her began to change, walls shifting from crystalline brightness to something deeper and more complex.
My choice. My consequences. My power...
The Guardian's voice carried new undertones—not disappointment, but something approaching understanding.
"Then let us see what darkness you are willing to embrace."
The Trial of Compassion was over.