The clash of light and shadow tore the air apart.
Each strike echoed through the crater, resonating like thunder against the bones of the ruined world. Silver fire met black flame, their collision painting the sky in fractured brilliance.
Arka gritted his teeth as his blade locked against its twin — the reflection's weapon, forged from the same starlight that once crowned him Sovereign. Sparks fell between them, fading before they reached the ground.
"You're weaker," the reflection hissed, its voice an unsettling mirror of his own. "You gave too much of yourself to the light."
Arka shoved the blade aside, twisting into a counterstrike that sent ripples of pure energy across the crater. "And you gave everything to hate. That's why you'll lose."
The shadow smirked. "Will I? Or will you admit that everything you built was born from the same corruption you tried to bury?"
Their blades met again — and this time, memories spilled out like blood.
The city of their first creation.
The screams of the beasts they sealed.
The countless worlds they burned before they learned mercy.
Each vision stabbed through Arka's mind, forcing him to see not just his victories, but every life erased by his mistakes. His knees wavered.
The reflection whispered near his ear. "You wanted to be a god, Arka. You just didn't want to be blamed for it."
"Enough!"
His aura exploded — a storm of silver light that blasted the reflection backward. The shockwave shattered the edges of the crater, flinging debris into the sky.
Lyra's tree trembled, its glow faltering. Her voice came faintly, threaded with pain.
"Arka… stop—if you destroy him like this, you'll destroy yourself."
He didn't answer. His breathing was ragged, his eyes glowing brighter than ever. "If that's what it takes."
The reflection laughed — not cruelly, but almost sorrowfully. "You still don't understand. I'm not your enemy. I'm the price."
Then it raised its blade and plunged it into its own chest.
Arka's heart seized. The world froze.
The reflection whispered, "You can't kill what you are. You can only accept it."
Light burst from the wound, flooding everything — the crater, the sky, the roots of the tree. Arka fell to his knees, clutching his head as images overwhelmed him again: Lyra's laughter, the destruction of the first sun, the oath they made to create harmony no matter the cost.
When the brilliance faded, the reflection stood gone. Only dust remained, glowing faintly before being carried away by the wind.
Arka's sword dissolved. He fell forward, trembling, his body collapsing beside the roots of the tree. The air was silent except for his ragged breathing.
Lyra's voice returned — faint but steady.
"You did it. The fracture is closing."
Arka lifted his head weakly. "At what cost…?"
"At truth's cost," she answered. "You faced the part of you that would have broken this world again. That's what makes it whole."
The tree's light spread outward, bathing the ruins in gold. The black veins beneath it receded, retreating into the soil. For the first time in years, the dawn shone pure — warm, unbroken.
Arka stared at the sky, his eyes reflecting both the starlight and the tears that slid down his face.
"Lyra," he whispered. "What happens now?"
"Now… the world breathes again."
And as the wind rose, petals of light drifted from the tree, scattering across the reborn land — each one carrying her voice, her memory, her will.
Arka watched them fade into the horizon and whispered,
"I'll keep walking until your song reaches the stars."
Then, slowly, he turned away from the crater — leaving behind the legacy of their creation and the shadow he had finally learned to forgive.