The world trembled.
The twisted reflections of Ayame and Kael stepped forward, their footsteps silent on the cracked marble floor of the echo chamber. A thousand shards of mirrored memories lined the chamber walls, each flickering with distortions of their pasts—moments warped, changed, and broken.
The real Ayame and Kael stood shoulder to shoulder, hearts pounding.
"What… are they?" Kael whispered.
The reflections didn't speak. Instead, they mimicked Kael and Ayame's movements, down to the way Kael clenched his fists or the flick of Ayame's braid behind her. But the way they smiled—that eerie, slow curl—was nothing like them.
"We're looking at what we *could* have become," Ayame said quietly. "Versions of us born from fear. From choices we didn't make."
"Or didn't *refuse* to make," Kael muttered.
Then the mirror-Kael raised a glowing hand, and the chamber shifted. A ring of fire burst around them—blue flame that crackled but gave no heat. Ayame's ward stones vibrated on her belt, reacting to the surge of corrupted magic.
"Ready?" she asked, slipping into her stance.
"No," Kael said. "But let's do it anyway."
The battle wasn't like any they'd fought before. Every move was matched. Every spell countered. Mirror-Ayame danced with shadows, her movements sharper, her eyes void of empathy. Mirror-Kael fought with raw, ruthless power, swinging starlight like a blade.
Ayame ducked under a sweeping blow, rolled to the side, and fired a binding glyph. It shattered against Mirror-Kael's chest, dissolving like dust.
"We're not going to win by fighting like them!" she yelled.
"Then what do we do?!" Kael parried a strike, his wrist vibrating from the impact.
"We remember who we *are*!"
Ayame's voice cracked with something more than desperation—it carried the weight of every moment they'd shared, every truth they'd uncovered. Her eyes flashed, not with power, but with memory.
Kael understood.
They stopped attacking.
Ayame dropped her guard. Kael stepped forward, lowering his blade. The reflections paused, confused. In the chamber of echoes, where only truth survived, honesty became their greatest weapon.
"You were born from our pain," Ayame said, speaking directly to her mirrored self. "But we are not that pain anymore."
"And we're not afraid to face you," Kael added. "Not with each other."
The flames flickered, dimming. The reflections hesitated. Then, like glass caught in a thunderclap, they fractured—pieces flying in slow motion, vanishing into motes of fading starlight.
The chamber calmed.
Silence followed. Only the soft hum of energy and breath remained.
And then, in the center of the floor where the reflections had stood, a sigil appeared—an ancient emblem neither of them recognized, etched in silver and glowing faintly.
"Ayame," Kael said. "That wasn't just a test."
"No," she agreed. "It was a warning."
Suddenly, the sigil pulsed—and the floor beneath them opened.
They fell.
Not into darkness, but into light.
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