Author's POV
The silence after the mirrors shattered wasn't peace—it was recoil. The kind that comes after a punch lands too deep.
Verrin knelt on the stone platform, hands trembling against the floor. His breathing came in short, rasping gasps, as though his lungs were rejecting the air. Shadows clung to his back like wet rags. When he looked up, the light in his eyes was his own again—but it was flickering.
"Verrin?" Grimpel's voice was uncharacteristically soft.
No answer. Just a nod. Slight. Almost imperceptible.
Clive stepped forward, but something in him hesitated. Not because of fear. Not even because of what just happened. But because he'd been here before—kneeling beside someone broken, unsure if reaching out would help or make it worse.
Selvara knelt beside Verrin and touched his shoulder. He flinched.
"It's over," she said.
He shook his head. "It isn't."
The Veil hadn't vanished. The corridor remained open behind them, like a mouth reluctant to close. No green glow, no whispers—but the pressure in the air hadn't eased. Just changed.
They helped Verrin to his feet. He wobbled, but stood.
Clive turned to the rest. "We need to move."
"That's it?" Nylessa said, arms folded. Her voice was calm, but clipped. "No apology? No acknowledgment of what just happened?"
Selvara snapped her gaze to her. "Do you want a thank you card for sacrificing yourself?"
"No," Nylessa said. "I want to know which part of you enjoyed it."
Selvara's fingers flexed at her sides. Clive stepped between them without a word.
"Don't," he said.
To anyone else, it would've sounded like a command. To Selvara and Nylessa, it sounded like avoidance.
Grimpel broke the tension. "Not to interrupt the blood feud, but Verrin looks like his soul got chewed on by an old god and spat into a bottle."
Verrin blinked slowly. "That's... not far off."
They moved. Out of the chamber. The Veil closed behind them with a whisper, like silk tearing.
The tunnel that followed was narrow and long. No threats. No challenges. Just the group, walking in silence, trying to pretend they weren't still bleeding.
But Clive couldn't stop thinking.
Not about Verrin. Not about the mirrors. About himself.
Because the voice hadn't asked him to name a replacement.
It had shown him one.
He hadn't said a word in that chamber. But the image hadn't left him: himself, standing over a battlefield, crowned in ash, alone. Not victorious. Abandoned. Revered by corpses.
He told himself it was manipulation. He told himself it wasn't real.
But the truth was… it fit.
That throne felt familiar.
"So," the skull said, floating near Clive's shoulder. "You're awful quiet for someone who just saved a man's soul."
Clive didn't answer.
"Is it guilt? Regret? Repressed lust for throne-shaped furniture?"
Clive gave him a look.
"Look, I get it," Grimpel went on. "You're the leader. You don't get to fall apart like the rest of us. But I saw your face in that mirror. You weren't horrified. You were resigned."
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were," Grimpel said, voice suddenly cold. "You looked at that throne like it already belonged to you."
Selvara turned, walking backwards to face them. "What throne?"
"His mirror," Grimpel said. "Showed him as king of bones. No team. No friends. Just him, ruling nothing."
Selvara looked at Clive.
He didn't meet her eyes.
Nylessa snorted. "Explains a lot, really. The way you tighten every time something goes off plan. Like you want to fix people instead of trust them."
"I do trust you," Clive said.
Nylessa raised an eyebrow. "Name one time you let me lead."
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Grimpel cackled. "Thought so."
Selvara cut in. "Don't act like this is all on him. We all made choices in there."
"I didn't make one," Clive said.
And that was true. He hadn't spoken. He hadn't chosen.
The Veil had chosen for him.
Verrin's voice came from the back.
"You did choose, Clive. You chose to stay silent. That was your answer."
Everyone turned.
He looked... different now. Not dangerous. Just changed. Softer around the edges, but something ancient peeking through the cracks. Like the Veil hadn't just touched him—it had opened a door inside him and forgot to shut it.
"You think your silence makes you better than the rest of us?" Verrin asked. "You think not naming envy means you don't feel it?"
Clive swallowed.
"Because I saw your envy," Verrin said. "You envy peace. You envy purpose. You envy people who get to stop."
The words hit harder than any blade.
Nylessa narrowed her eyes. "You're saying Clive doesn't want to lead?"
"I'm saying," Verrin said, stepping forward, "that Clive leads because it's the only way he doesn't fall apart."
Selvara stepped between them. "Back off."
But Verrin just smiled faintly. "He knows I'm right."
Clive didn't argue. Couldn't.
Because deep down, he remembered something else the mirror showed him. A woman—his wife—saying: "You never chose me. You chose what made you feel important."
And maybe it was true.
Maybe leadership wasn't nobility. Maybe it was armor.
Later, by the Fire
They made camp in the next chamber—a quiet stone hollow lit by glowing fungi and a slow-burning fire conjured by Nylessa. No monsters. No Veils. Just breathing.
Clive sat apart from the rest, sharpening his blade. Not because it needed sharpening. Because his hands needed something to do.
Selvara joined him. Sat quietly. Then said, "You've been leading since day one."
Clive nodded.
"You ever think of stopping?"
He looked at her. "If I stop, what happens to all of you?"
She smiled. Not kindly. "We're not your children, Clive. We don't break if you take a breath."
He sighed. "You're all strong, but... we've seen what happens when one of us falters."
"Then maybe share the burden," she said. "Or the envy will eat you next."
Across the fire, Grimpel was juggling three mushrooms and humming an off-key tavern song.
Nylessa lay with her arms behind her head, eyes closed—but she wasn't sleeping.
And Verrin… stared into the dark. Silent. Watching something only he could see.
Clive whispered, "I didn't want to replace anyone."
Selvara glanced at him.
"I just wanted to disappear," he said. "But still be needed."
Selvara took his hand, fingers warm. "Then stop disappearing behind control. Let us see you."
For the first time in hours, Clive didn't feel like the leader.
Just... part of the group.
He let the blade fall to the ground.