The world felt different after the mirror.
The air was heavier. The colors around them dulled as if the lands themselves mourned the fragments of shattered fate. Lucien sat in silence at the helm of the airship as it glided over the ravaged terrain below, his thoughts a tangle of memories that didn't belong to this life—but felt so deeply woven into his soul that he could no longer tell where one version of himself ended and the other began.
Eiran stood beside him, arms folded, gaze fixed on the horizon.
Neither had spoken since leaving the ruins.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was weighted—like the calm before a storm neither of them could name.
Sorrel finally broke it. "You touched the shadow… and you lived."
Lucien didn't look at her. "Did I?"
"You shattered the Mirror of Haleth," she said, walking forward. "That's never been done. No one even thought it was possible."
Lucien's voice was soft. "It was never about seeing the truth. It was about accepting it."
Eiran turned to him. "And what did you accept?"
Lucien looked up, meeting his eyes. "That I can never erase who I used to be. That the past lives in me, like a scar. But that doesn't mean I have to follow it."
Eiran smiled faintly, placing a hand over Lucien's. "You won't. Not as long as I'm here."
---
They returned to the floating city by nightfall, the towers glowing with soft white light, the air tinged with rain. But something was different.
The guards met them with urgent expressions.
"What is it?" Sorrel asked sharply.
"The Northern Border," one said. "It's under siege."
Lucien froze. "By whom?"
The guard hesitated. "They call themselves the Ashborn. And their commander… bears your face."
The blood drained from Lucien's face.
Eiran gripped his shoulder. "So it survived."
"No," Lucien whispered. "It evolved."
---
The Council reconvened by dawn. The War Room pulsed with tension. Sorrel laid out a map etched with light, showing the Ashborn's path of destruction. Towns burned, forests razed. And at their front, a cloaked figure in obsidian armor.
"The shadow has learned," Sorrel said. "It's no longer a memory—it's a general. A commander of chaos."
"And it wants the throne," one of the Councilors said bitterly. "No doubt."
Lucien shook his head. "It doesn't want power. It wants to prove I was never meant to change. That everything I'm doing… is futile."
"So what do we do?" Eiran asked.
Lucien looked up. "We go to the border. Not to fight. Not yet. But to see him. To understand what he's planning."
Sorrel's eyes narrowed. "That's dangerous."
Lucien's voice was firm. "So is pretending he'll stop on his own."
---
The borderlands were a dead zone.
No birds sang. No wind stirred. The earth was cracked, blackened. And the sky hung heavy with storm clouds.
Lucien stood just beyond the edge of the last village that hadn't been burned. Eiran beside him, Sorrel just behind. The air shimmered—and then the shadow stepped into view.
He looked exactly like Lucien.
But colder. Paler. His eyes glowed faint red.
"You came," the shadow said, voice smooth like silk over knives.
Lucien faced him. "What do you want?"
"What we always wanted," the shadow said. "Control. Power. Respect. You've forgotten. I haven't."
"I've grown," Lucien said. "You're a relic."
The shadow smiled. "And yet… you still ache, don't you? You still feel the pull."
Lucien didn't answer.
The shadow stepped closer. "Come with me. Reclaim your throne. The real one. Not this imitation you're playing at with your prince and your dreams of redemption."
Lucien stepped forward. "I'd rather die."
The shadow tilted his head. "That can be arranged."
Eiran moved instantly, sword drawn, but the shadow only laughed and vanished into the mist.
---
That night, in the safety of a hidden camp, Lucien sat by the fire, rubbing his temple.
Eiran knelt in front of him. "Talk to me."
Lucien opened his eyes. "He knows everything I know. Every memory. Every weakness. He is me, Eiran. The worst version."
"And you think that version is stronger?"
Lucien hesitated.
Eiran leaned closer, cupping his face. "You have something he never will. Love. Purpose. A soul that's been tested. And won."
Lucien closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.
"I'm scared," he whispered.
"So am I," Eiran said. "But I'll be damned if I let that thing take you."
Their kiss was slow, desperate, filled with everything they couldn't say. A promise in every breath.
---
At midnight, Lucien stood alone at the edge of the camp.
The stars flickered.
And a voice spoke inside him—not the shadow's. Older. Wiser.
"The path ahead will burn. But from the ashes, something new can rise. If you dare to choose it."
Lucien opened his eyes.
"I choose it," he said aloud.
Behind him, Eiran appeared, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders. "Then we fight. Together."
Lucien smiled.
But as the first ray of light broke over the battlefield beyond, a new banner rose among the Ashborn.
A phoenix, black as night.
And beneath it, a name spelled in runes:
Nemesis.
Lucien's breath caught.
The real war had only just begun.
---
To be continued...