The mirror realm was unstable.
Walls shimmered, folding memory into matter. Rheia stepped through the broken threshold, her breath shallow. Each mirror she passed whispered fragments—laughter that wasn't hers, hands she'd held too briefly, shadows cast by choices she never made.
Then she felt it.
Solene.
She turned—and there she was. Fire circling her like armor. Eyes glassy, blazing with everything unsaid.
"You ran," Solene said.
"I broke," Rheia answered.
The room reacted. The floor beneath them shifted into the memory of their first kiss—soft, flickering, imperfect. Magic remembered what they tried to forget.
"I couldn't lose myself in you," Rheia said, voice trembling. "Because what if the mirror is right? What if loving you means fading?"
Solene stepped closer. "What if it doesn't? What if the mirror shows fear, not fate?"
Rheia's hand reached toward a shard floating between them. It showed Solene—older, alone. Her fire dim. Her eyes searching. Rheia gone.
And then another shard, warm in glow: them together. Not perfect. Not whole. But choosing each other, still.
"The mirror wants a choice," Rheia said softly. "Sacrifice or surrender."
Solene's voice dropped to a whisper. "I surrender."
Rheia closed the distance.
The room stilled.
Their foreheads touched.
Magic laced between them—not a curse, not a bond. A choice. Bound not by destiny but defiance. The mirrors cracked—but didn't collapse. They watched, finally silent.
And from the ceiling, one final shard floated down—showing nothing.
Because the future was now unwritten.