Lucia stood in front of the divine mirror, her heart thundering in her chest. Every swing of Kyle's blade, every pulse of his overwhelming mana, chipped away at her certainty.
The cold, composed goddess she had always been was crumbling under the weight of old memories and emotions she had buried long ago.
Her hand rose before she realized it—drawn toward the mirror, toward him. Her feet shifted forward instinctively, as if her body longed to reach out.
Just as she was about to step beyond her barrier, a cold, porcelain hand landed silently on her shoulder. It belonged to the puppet—the one fashioned in her own image as a failsafe.
Its lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, but the touch was enough. Lucia's daze shattered like glass.
She flinched and yanked herself back.
"What am I doing...?"
She whispered, her voice trembling.
Then came the anger. Hot and blinding.
