Liora stepped toward the mirror.
Its surface wavered like water in the wind, and as her fingers brushed it, ripples of light spread outward—violet, blue, and white. The whispers grew louder now, overlapping voices from countless worlds.
> "Do you know who you are?"
"You think you follow him, but he follows you."
"Every flame burns itself before it learns to light the world."
Her breath hitched. She looked into the mirror—and saw herself.
Not the exhausted survivor from the shipwreck, nor the fearless fighter from the Mars expedition.
This Liora had no warmth in her eyes—only endless cold.
> "What are you?" Liora whispered.
The reflection smirked. "I'm the version of you that stopped caring. The one who let them die. The one who didn't run after Eris because I knew he'd fail."
Liora clenched her fists. "You're lying."
"Am I?" The reflection tilted her head. "Do you really believe he can fight gods and come back whole? He's not your savior, Liora. He's your anchor—and he'll drown you both."
The words hit deep, sharper than any blade. The mirror pulsed—drawing energy from her doubt. Cracks began spreading through the glass, each one humming with violet flame.
Lysara's voice echoed behind her:
> "Do not let it consume you! The Mirror feeds on uncertainty—accept, or be undone!"
Liora's knees buckled. Her reflection reached out through the cracks, fingers like liquid shadow.
But instead of backing away, Liora surged forward and slammed her hand into the glass.
> "Maybe I am afraid," she said through gritted teeth. "But that fear doesn't own me."
The reflection froze.
Then—light exploded.
The mirror shattered into ribbons of silver mist that spiraled around her like a storm.
When the glow faded, Liora stood alone in a vast, dark corridor. At its end was a gate of molten gold—and through it, faintly, she heard Eris's voice calling her name.
Her eyes widened. "Eris…?"
The golden gate creaked open. Wind and memory swirled around her, pulling her back through the portal.