02:00 – The Void Regent's Panopticon, Sub-Level 17
The dungeon had grown teeth.
They stepped through the black glass shard Jonathan left behind and landed in a sphere of mirrors that floated inside a void.
No up.
No down.
Only reflections—
infinite,
perfect,
cruel.
Each mirror showed a different cell:
nineteen branded souls,
naked,
bound in chains of frozen sound.
Their mouths were open.
No sound escaped.
At the sphere's centre:
a single throne of black glass,
upholstered in Velira's dust and Cogsworth's brass feathers.
Jonathan sat on it,
legs spread,
cloak of yesterday's kisses pooled around his hips.
In his lap:
Calen Storm-Eyes,
storm runes bleeding,
eyes wide with the same candle-flame hope Lira had worn.
But this time,
Calen was awake.
Jonathan's hand was inside him—
not surgical,
sexual.
He was carving a new brand directly into Calen's heart with the gear-dagger,
slow,
deliberate,
intimate.
He looked up as Arya entered.
"Welcome to the Panopticon, Alpha," he said,
voice soft as the moment before a scream.
"Every mirror is a live feed.
Every feed is a lesson.
Today's lesson:
watch."
He twisted his wrist.
Calen screamed—
a sound that cracked the mirrors.
02:03 – The First Mirror
The sphere rotated.
A mirror zoomed in:
Ryn, violet hair,
bound spread-eagle on a table of black glass.
Two yesterday-Jonathans—
clones grown from his stolen kisses—
took turns carving void-runes into his thighs.
Every cut drew a moan that fed the heart above the throne.
Arya's halo cracked wider.
Alexander's storm runes flared white.
He lunged—
lightning spear aimed at the mirror.
The mirror absorbed the lightning,
reflected it back as a whip of frozen sound that lashed Alexander's chest.
He staggered,
blood spelling WATCH across his skin.
Jonathan smiled.
"Rule one," he said.
"No breaking the mirrors.
Break one,
and the soul inside breaks with it."
He gestured.
The sphere locked.
The cohort froze—
seventeen bodies,
seventeen heartbeats,
seventeen reasons to burn the dungeon down.
But the mirrors wept.
02:07 – The Second Mirror
Another rotation.
Lira Featherlight,
candle-flame hair spread across a bed of brass gears.
A clone wore Cogsworth's face—
chrome skin,
gears clicking in perfect 6/8 time.
It kissed her throat,
slow,
deliberate,
wrong.
Lira's eyes—
pleading—
locked on Arya's through the mirror.
Cogsworth's brass wings shattered.
She screamed—
a sound that cracked the sphere's core.
Oil and starlight poured from her wounds.
She lunged—
gears spinning into a drill.
The mirror absorbed the drill,
reflected it back as a chain of frozen sound that wrapped Cogsworth's throat.
She choked,
eyes wide,
human.
Jonathan's voice drifted from the throne:
"Rule two:
Every scream you make
becomes a chain.
Every chain
tightens."
He twisted the gear-dagger deeper into Calen's heart.
Calen gasped.
The heart above the throne beat faster.
02:12 – The Third Mirror
The sphere spun faster.
A mirror showed Velira—
not dust,
not memory,
alive.
Bound in shadow-petals,
spread-eagle on the throne's armrest.
A clone wore Arya's face—
halo cracked,
eyes wells of starlight and rage.
It kissed Velira's throat,
slow,
deliberate,
wrong.
Arya's knees buckled.
The thorn in her chest screamed.
Velira's eyes—
shadow-bright,
pleading—
locked on Arya's through the mirror.
Alexander caught her before she fell.
Solara's wings folded around them both,
gold dimming to candle-flame.
Morvox's locked heart slammed shut.
Sable's shadows curled into a coffin around the cohort,
midnight silk trembling.
Jonathan stood.
He walked to the mirror,
pressed his palm to Velira's cheek through the glass.
The clone inside kissed her deeper.
"Rule three," he said.
"Every trauma you carry
becomes a mirror.
Every mirror
becomes a cage."
He turned to Arya.
"Watch," he whispered.
"Watch what you made me."
02:15 – The Trauma Trigger
The sphere exploded into a thousand mirrors.
Each one showed a different Arya:
Arya watching Velira die,
Arya watching Cogsworth stop,
Arya watching Lira's brand glow,
Arya watching Calen's heart bleed.
The mirrors closed around her.
She was alone.
In the centre:
Jonathan,
naked,
crown of every crown he had shattered,
holding Velira's twin dagger to Calen's throat.
"Choose," he said.
"Kiss me,
and I stop.
Refuse,
and I finish the set."
He kissed Calen—
slow,
deliberate,
wrong.
Calen's scream became a chain that wrapped Arya's throat.
The thorn in her chest burned.
She saw it:
Velira's laugh turning to dust,
Cogsworth's gears stopping,
Lira's candle-flame eyes pleading,
Calen's storm runes bleeding.
She saw herself—
broken,
crowned in six broken laws,
watching.
The mirrors wept.
02:20 – The Kiss That Wasn't
Arya's halo shattered.
The pieces became knives.
She walked forward—
through the mirrors,
through the screams,
through the chains.
Jonathan's eyes widened—
suns eclipsed by storm.
She kissed him.
Not surrender.
War.
Her tongue slid against his—
Pain/Pleasure Conversion flaring white-hot.
His Mana Leech tried to drink.
Her core ate it,
turned it into lightning that burned his throat.
The mirrors shattered.
The chains dissolved.
The branded souls fell—
nineteen bodies,
nineteen heartbeats,
nineteen reasons to live.
Milo and Lena caught them mid-air,
lowered them gently to the glass floor.
Sable's shadows wrapped them in midnight silk.
Cogsworth's brass wings folded around them like a cradle.
Jonathan staggered,
blood on his lips—
his own.
"You—" he started.
Arya smiled—
slow,
sharp,
final.
"Checkmate," she whispered.
She snapped her fingers.
The cohort moved.
Alexander's storm became a hurricane.
Solara's wings became a sun.
Morvox's locked heart opened like a flower.
Liora and Cassia braided ice and fire into a single blade.
The twins' spear became a living comet.
Gilgamesh ran a golden circle around Jonathan,
kissing every mirror until it shattered.
The Choir children sang a single note—
Calen's name,
over and over,
until the sphere wept.
Jonathan lunged—
gear-dagger raised.
Arya caught his wrist.
The thorn in her chest bloomed.
Velira's twin dagger slid into his shoulder—
not deep,
just enough to brand.
Black glass petals bloomed from the wound,
spelling MINE in Velira's handwriting.
He screamed—
a sound that cracked the sphere's core.
Then he vanished—
stepped through a shard of black glass,
leaving only the echo of his scream
and the smell of rust and honey.
02:30 – The Aftermath
They carried the branded souls out on biers of brass feathers and shadow-petals.
Their brands were gone.
Their heartbeats were steady.
Their eyes—
candle-flame bright—
never left Arya's.
The Panopticon collapsed behind them,
folding into a single black seed that drifted into Arya's palm.
Level 880.
The cohort surged—
Alexander Level 600,
Solara Level 750,
Cogsworth Level 660,
Lira Level 52,
Calen Level 48,
Ryn Level 42 and weeping starlight tears.
They emerged into the dawn.
The sky-port was silent.
The continent watched on a hundred million crystal orbs.
Arya raised the black seed.
It bloomed into a single shadow-petal—
Velira's laugh,
Cogsworth's heartbeat,
Calen's first kiss.
She pressed it to her lips.
"We're coming for the rest." She whispered
The thorn in her chest slept.
For now.
The trauma was survived.
The war had a new name:
Calen Storm-Eyes.
And the Panopticon was only the third heart Jonathan would lose.