Zaire drew his blade in a heartbeat, but the thing that wore his face didn't flinch.
It smiled wider.
"You came crawling back to what you buried," it said, voice like cracked glass. "But you didn't come alone."
From the shadows behind him, the catacomb walls cracked.
And something screamed.
Zaire spun around just in time to dodge a blast of black flame.
It wasn't a fire. It was a memory.
And it tried to burn his name from the inside out.
He hit the ground hard, coughing blood, pain exploding behind his eyes.
The echo of the scream, Eira's still rang in his skull.
"You're not real," he growled, staggering to his feet. "You're not me."
The doppelganger tilted its head.
"Then why do I remember things you don't?"
It rushed him.
Zaire barely blocked the first strike. The blade that met his was identical, down to the faded crack on the hilt.
Steel shrieked. Sparks flew.
But Zaire didn't fight to win, He fought to wake up.
His blood sang.
A rhythm he hadn't heard in years pulsed through his chest.
A pulse he buried when they banished him, but the magic was remembered and it was done sleeping.
He dodged low, slammed his palm into the stone floor, and whispered the word that hadn't passed his lips in a decade:
"Unbind."
The ground beneath his enemy shattered, the ancient sigil exploding into violet flame.
The doppelgänger was flung across the catacomb like a rag doll, crashing into a wall of skulls with a sickening crack.
Silence.
Zaire stood, heart pounding, breath ragged. His fingertips glowed faintly violet runes fading into his skin.
"So it's true."
The voice came from the arch above the catacomb stairs. Slow. Dry. Almost amused.
Zaire whipped around, blade still slick with blood.
There stood a man in torn scholar robes, one eye glowing dimly beneath cracked spectacles.
"I told them you were more than a ghost story," he said, limping down the steps. "And now here you are. The cursed prince. Flesh and breath and full of broken magic."
Zaire's blade didn't lower.
"Who are you?"
"Name's Kael," the man said with a half-bow. "I used to be a mage before the gods chewed up my sanity and spat me out."
"Not reassuring."
"Good. I'm not here to reassure you."
Kael stepped past the smoldering doppelgänger and examined it with a frown.
"They're making them faster now," he muttered. "Blood-forged husks. I've seen three this week. All wearing faces that don't belong."
Zaire sheathed his blade — barely.
"You know who's behind this?"
"Not exactly. But I know who's funding it. And I know why they took your girl."
Zaire's heart seized.
"Eira."
Kael nodded. "They're using her as a key."
"To what?"
"To you."
The words hit harder than a blade.
"Your magic," Kael continued. "It's blood-sealed. Buried so deep even you forgot the lock. But Eira didn't. She's the last person alive who knew how to wake it. And now that you've come home…"
"…they're going to bleed her to open me."
Kael's silence was the answer.
Zaire felt something curl inside him. Not rage. Not grief.
Purpose.
"You're coming with me," he said.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "And if I say no?"
Zaire didn't speak. He just turned, eyes glowing faint violet. The air around him pulsed like thunder caught in a bottle.
Kael chuckled.
"Right. Heroic threat. Got it. Guess I'm in."
As they moved through the catacombs, deeper into the underground veins of Vaylin, Kael paused.
"You should know," he said, quieter now. "This wasn't the only copy they made."
"Of me?"
Kael nodded. "Of her."
Zaire stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"Eira's memory. Her voice. Her laugh. All of it's being twisted. Forged into something they can control. The next time you see her…"
He hesitated.
"…make sure it's really her."