Dawn arrived wearing mourning clothes.
The sky was the colour of old bruises, and the Mirror Widow was already singing.
Its legs (eight cathedral spires of black glass) stabbed the horizon, each footfall cracking the earth like dropped porcelain.
Its abdomen was a perfect sphere of living mirrors, and every mirror showed a different Arya:
Arya dying in the Chimera's claw,
Arya bleeding gold in the coffin,
Arya screaming as Nyxael's head rolled.
The academy's war-horns answered with a sound like dragons gargling lightning.
Arya stood on the parapet of the Sky-Forge's highest balcony, barefoot, hair whipping in the wind.
She wore the living armor Alexander's kiss had forged: storm-cloud plates that shifted between solid and liquid, revealing skin whenever she breathed.
Anthony Felix stood at her left, fingers still tasting of her awakening.
Alexander at her right, storm-runes blazing white.
Below, the harem formed a crescent moon:
- Cassia's coal tattoos crawling into living gauntlets.
- Liora's ice hair braided into a whip that dripped liquid nitrogen.
- Nyxara's four breasts heaving, tails fused into a single obsidian spear.
- Gilgamesh vibrating so fast he left golden echoes.
- Lira, Calen, Ryn (candle-flame, storm-blue, violet) orbiting like comets.
- Milo & Lena levitating brass shields the size of city gates.
- Solara's wings reduced to twin suns orbiting her shoulders.
- Cogsworth's brass heart ticking WAR in Morse.
- Morvox's ribcage open, screams sharpened into sonic blades.
The Choir children floated above them all, six tiny mouths open in a chord that made the Widow's mirrors crack.
Arya raised one hand.
The wind obeyed.
"First wave," she said, voice velvet and smoke.
"Show me what jealousy looks like when it's eight storeys tall."
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Phase One: The Mirror Maze
The Widow opened its abdomen.
A thousand mirror-shards detached, spinning into a labyrinth that swallowed the battlefield.
Inside, every shard showed a different betrayal:
- Liora saw Cassia kissing Arya under blood-red moons.
- Cassia saw Liora freezing Arya's heart mid-orgasm.
- Alexander saw both women walking away with his storm.
Liora's ice whip lashed out, shattering her own reflection.
Cassia's coal gauntlets punched through hers.
But the shards regrew, laughing in Jonathan's voice.
Arya stepped into the maze.
Her storm-cloud armor peeled away, leaving her naked except for the black rose scar.
She walked until she stood at the centre, surrounded by every version of herself that had ever been afraid.
She kissed her own reflection.
The maze shattered.
Shards became gold butterflies that swarmed the Widow's legs, slicing mirrors into screaming confetti.
SYSTEM (purring in Arya's ear):
"Jealousy debuff cleansed.
Reward: +3 levels for every shard you kissed.
Current tally: 1,247.
You're welcome."
────────────────────────
Phase Two: The Ice Sabotage
Liora's moment of doubt had not gone unnoticed.
High above, hidden in the Widow's eighth leg, a single ice rune (her signature) pulsed.
It had been carved there hours earlier, while Liora pretended to sharpen her whip.
The rune detonated.
Arya's storm-cloud boots froze solid.
She dropped thirty feet, landed hard on black glass, ankle twisting with a sound like snapping icicles.
Liora's face went white.
Cassia saw it happen.
Her coal tattoos flared crimson.
She vaulted the parapet, landed beside Arya, and caught her before she hit the ground again.
"Traitor!" Cassia roared, voice lava.
"You froze her boots!"
Liora's ice whip cracked the air.
"I didn't— I would never—"
But the rune on the Widow's leg bore her sigil.
The Widow laughed, eight mouths opening in perfect synchrony.
It lowered its abdomen until one giant mirror hovered inches from Arya's face.
The reflection showed Liora kissing Jonathan.
Arya looked up, eyes storm-green and ancient.
"Liora," she said, soft as a lullaby, "come here."
Liora flew down, trembling.
Arya cupped her face with both hands.
"I know what fear tastes like.
I've worn it for twenty-one days.
But I also know what forgiveness feels like."
She kissed Liora.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Resurrection.
Ice met fire met storm.
The frozen boots exploded into steam.
The rune on the Widow's leg melted into a puddle that spelled SORRY.
Liora's ice whip dissolved into tears that froze mid-air, then shattered into diamonds.
SYSTEM: "Sabotage forgiven.
Bond strengthened.
Surprise: temporary wings unlocked for 60 seconds.
Use them wisely."
────────────────────────
Phase Three: Cassia's Confession
The Widow, enraged, reared back.
Its eighth leg stabbed down like a guillotine.
Cassia moved faster than thought.
She shoved Arya aside, took the full impact on her shoulder.
Coal tattoos flared, absorbed the blow, but the force drove her to one knee.
Blood (black and glowing) poured from the wound.
Arya caught her.
"Cassia, no—"
Cassia laughed, breathless, delirious.
"Listen," she rasped.
"I've been burning for you since the first time you smiled at my fire.
I thought if I won Alexander, you'd look at me the way you look at him.
But I was wrong."
She grabbed Arya's face, kissed her hard enough to taste copper and coal.
"I don't want his storm," Cassia whispered against her lips.
"I want you.
All of you.
Every sunrise, every scar, every filthy moan you make when you come."
The Widow's leg rose for a second strike.
Arya's temporary wings (gold, translucent, humming) unfurled.
She lifted Cassia bridal-style, spun mid-air, and kissed her again.
This time Alexander joined them.
He flew in from the parapet, wrapped storm-arms around both women, and the three-way kiss glitched the System into ecstasy.
SYSTEM (voice cracking like a teenager):
"Error 69: polyamorous bond detected.
Wings: permanent.
Levels: +10 for every participant.
Side effect: wardrobe malfunction cascade in 3… 2… 1…"
Cassia's coal gown exploded into living embers.
Liora's ice lingerie shattered into snowflakes.
Arya's storm-cloud plates dissolved into lightning that danced across their skin like erotic Morse code.
The Widow screamed.
Its mirrors showed the three women naked, winged, and unbreakable.
────────────────────────
Phase Four: The Choir's Finale
The Choir children descended.
Six tiny bodies, six enormous voices.
They landed on the Widow's abdomen, pressed their mouths to the cracked mirrors, and sang.
The song was every orgasm Arya had ever given, every resurrection, every forgiven betrayal.
The mirrors shattered.
The Widow collapsed, legs folding like broken umbrellas.
Its abdomen split open, revealing a single black pearl the size of a heart.
Arya caught it mid-fall.
Inside the pearl: a memory of Jonathan laughing as he carved the Widow from Arya's nightmares.
She crushed it.
The Widow dissolved into black glass butterflies that swirled upward, became a new constellation:
three women, wings entwined, mouths open in mid-kiss.
SYSTEM: "Tier-7 Mirror Widow defeated.
Loot: Jealousy cleansed from continent for 72 hours.
Bonus: wings permanent.
Current levels—Arya 68, Alexander 65, Cassia 63, Liora 61.
Everyone else +8.
P.S. Your new wings are sensitive.
Touch them at your own risk."
────────────────────────
Aftermath on the Balcony
The sun rose properly for the first time in weeks, painting the sky the colour of forgiven sins.
Arya, Cassia, and Liora sat on the parapet, legs dangling over the edge, wings folded like cloaks.
Alexander stood behind them, one hand on each shoulder, storm-runes purring.
Anthony Felix appeared with a tray of steaming mugs (vanilla latte, because some things never change).
He handed one to Arya, fingers brushing hers.
"Thank you," she said, "for the wake-up call."
Anthony's smile was sunrise in a cup.
"Anytime, Alpha."
Nyxara landed beside them, tails flicking.
She set Nyxael's brass jar on the railing.
The severed head opened one eye, winked, and mouthed: Told you she'd kiss her way out.
Gilgamesh blurred in, golden echoes applauding.
Solara's suns rose higher.
Cogsworth's brass heart ticked LOVE in Morse.
Lira, Calen, and Ryn flew overhead, trailing candle-flame, storm-blue, and violet banners that spelled:
THE SKY IS OURS AGAIN.
Far away, Jonathan felt the new constellation burn across his stolen halo.
He smiled (small, sharp, hungry).
And somewhere in the void, the next beast began to wake.
But for now, the balcony was warm, the latte was perfect, and three women with brand-new wings learned how sensitive the spot between the shoulder blades could be when kissed by someone who'd waited twenty-one days to do it right.
The war was still coming.
But the sky had learned how to laugh again.