The night stretched longer than usual.
Even the stars above the Academy seemed to flicker less, as if the heavens themselves had begun to forget their rhythm. Within those walls, silence was no longer peaceful — it was oppressive, almost watchful. The air carried that same faint hum Keran had begun to feel ever since his encounter with the Eidolon of Decay.
He stood alone in the training hall. The crystalline lamps along the ceiling emitted a dim blue glow, barely illuminating the rune-carved floor. His sword rested before him, its edge reflecting only fragments of light — the same weapon that had once cut through monsters, through despair, and now perhaps through his own soul.
His eyes were hollow, focused on nothing in particular.
Each breath he took seemed to echo louder in the emptiness.
His mana pulsed irregularly, reacting to something unseen — something deep inside him that was trying to resurface.
"Lira…"
The name returned, unbidden, slicing through the silence like a whisper carried by the wind.
He clenched his fists. "Why does that name haunt me?"
The orb at his side pulsed faintly in response. For days now, it had begun to resonate to voices that weren't there. He had tried to suppress it — through training, meditation, even sealing talismans. But every time he closed his eyes, the images bled through: flames, cries, a girl reaching out through smoke.
And one voice — his own — calling out a different name.
Ethan.
The air shifted suddenly. The runes across the hall flickered.
Keran's body tensed. His instincts — honed from countless missions — screamed at him, but the source was unclear. The mana field rippled, distorting reality itself. The air thickened. And then — the reflection on the polished floor moved.
Not in rhythm with him.
Not at all.
Keran froze.
His reflection — his exact image — was standing straight while he remained motionless. Its eyes glowed faintly, an unnatural mix of silver and red. The reflection smiled.
"Finally," it said, voice soft but perfectly clear. "You're awake."
Keran took a step back. "What… are you?"
The reflection tilted its head, almost amused. "The better question is — what are you pretending to be?"
A tremor ran through the hall. The light dimmed further. The mirrors along the far wall began to fog, one after another, until the whole room seemed submerged in shadow and light interlacing. The reflection — no longer confined to the floor — began to rise, detaching itself from the surface like a wraith peeling off reality.
It stood before him — same height, same face, same scars — yet its presence was heavier, older. Its aura flickered with fragments of something Keran recognized instinctively.
It was his own mana, but twisted.
Keran drew his sword in one motion. "If this is an illusion—"
The other him raised a hand, stopping him cold. "You can't cut what's inside your own soul."
The words struck deeper than the tone. Keran's grip tightened. "You're lying."
The reflection smiled again — not mockingly, but almost sadly.
"Do you even remember her face? Or have you buried it under all that power the Academy gave you?"
Keran's heart skipped. "Don't—"
The reflection advanced slowly, its steps leaving faint ripples on the floor as if reality bent beneath its weight.
"When the flames came," it whispered, "you ran. You survived. But survival is not life, Ethan."
Keran froze. That name again.
"Stop calling me that."
"Why?" the reflection said. "It's who you are. You can change your name, your face, your strength — but you can't escape the echo that built you. I am that echo."
The room shuddered violently. The runes beneath them began to light up in reaction to the clash of their energies. Sparks of blue and crimson collided, filling the air with fractured light.
Keran's aura flared instinctively, defensive, his blade igniting in a burst of spiritual fire. "If you're a memory, then disappear."
The reflection — Ethan — smirked. "Then fight me, Keran. Let's see which of us deserves to exist."
---
The impact was instantaneous.
Their blades met with a burst of force that shattered the air. Blue and red light collided, twisting the training hall into a storm of unstable mana. Runes along the walls cracked under the pressure.
Keran moved with precision, every motion refined through countless duels, but his opponent mirrored him perfectly — every strike, every parry, every shift in footing. It was like fighting a shadow that knew every intent before it formed.
Sparks rained across the floor. The sound of clashing steel echoed endlessly.
Keran feinted left, then vanished in a burst of energy, appearing behind the reflection. His blade slashed downward — but met resistance mid-air. The reflection caught the strike with his bare hand, unflinching, his palm glowing with dark mana.
"You've grown stronger," it said, pushing him back effortlessly. "But not wiser."
Keran skidded, regaining balance. His aura flared brighter. "You're not real."
The reflection chuckled softly. "Then why does my blood burn in your veins?"
Before Keran could respond, the air shattered again. The reflection's aura expanded — waves of red light tearing through the runes. The hall distorted; its walls warped outward, transforming into a vast, burning landscape. The floor became blackened soil. The scent of ash filled the air.
Keran turned — and froze.
He was standing in the ruins of his old village.
Flames licked at the remains of houses. The sky glowed crimson. Screams echoed from every direction. And there — among the rubble — he saw her.
A little girl with light hair, clutching a pendant.
"Lira…"
The reflection appeared beside her, resting a hand on her head. "You remember now. You promised you'd protect her."
Keran's chest tightened. He remembered — the night of the attack, the circle of runes, the chanting figures, the moment he ran into the woods with the world collapsing behind him. He remembered her scream.
He fell to his knees. "Stop… please…"
The reflection crouched beside him, voice low and cold. "You begged the gods to give you another chance. And they did. But you came back empty — your power reborn, your memories sealed. You call it destiny. I call it cowardice."
Keran's aura cracked. "I didn't choose this!"
"Didn't you?" The reflection's eyes glowed. "You wanted strength more than you wanted to live with your guilt. You traded memory for might."
Keran roared, his mana exploding outward in waves of blue flame. The illusion shattered momentarily, fragments of the burning village flickering away — but not entirely gone.
"Enough!" he shouted. "If I forgot, it was because I had to! Because remembering would've destroyed me!"
The reflection straightened, its expression unreadable. "Then maybe destruction is what you need."
The ground split open beneath them. Blue and red energy collided once more, forming a storm of opposing forces. The two versions of Keran charged, their blades meeting again and again, faster than thought, stronger than reason. Every clash tore through the illusion, revealing flashes of the real hall beneath — fractured, trembling, on the verge of collapse.
At last, Keran caught his reflection off guard. His sword cut through its defense, piercing its chest.
The reflection staggered back — then smiled faintly.
Blood — or something like it — dripped from its wound, dissolving into light. "Good," it whispered. "Then maybe… you can carry both of us forward."
Keran hesitated. "What—"
The reflection's form began to disintegrate. Its voice echoed through the storm of light.
"Don't deny who you were, Ethan. Because the Void doesn't forget. And it's coming for what you left behind."
The world imploded into silence.
---
When Keran opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor of the training hall.
The lamps flickered weakly above him. Cracks lined the walls, and the runes were completely dead. His sword rested beside him, its blade dull, covered in faint ash-like residue.
He sat up slowly, his breathing uneven. Every muscle ached. But deeper than that pain was a heaviness in his chest — not of injury, but of remembrance.
He looked at his reflection in a shattered mirror nearby. For the first time, he didn't just see Keran, the hero in training.
He saw Ethan, the boy who had failed to protect everything.
And yet… both eyes glowed the same blue flame.
---
A soft knock echoed from the doorway. Flora stood there, her expression a mixture of concern and fear.
"What happened here?" she whispered, scanning the broken runes.
Keran rose slowly, sheathing his sword. "A reflection," he said simply.
Flora frowned. "A mirror illusion?"
He shook his head. "No. A memory."
She hesitated. "Keran, your aura— it's… different."
"I know," he said quietly. "Because now I remember who I was."
She stepped closer, uncertain. "Who?"
Keran turned toward the window. Dawn was breaking again — pale and cold.
"Someone who failed," he said. "And someone who won't fail again."
His hand brushed against his orb. It pulsed faintly, whispering in response:
The Hollow is awake.
Flora's eyes widened. "What did you just—"
But before she could finish, the entire building shook.
A deep, resonant sound rippled through the Academy — not from outside, but from beneath. The floor trembled, and the torches along the corridor flared red for an instant before extinguishing.
Keran and Flora exchanged a glance.
The pulse from below came again, louder this time — almost like a heartbeat.
Keran's expression hardened. "The convergence has begun."