The mirror world shifted as though it had been waiting. The fog dissolved, folding into cracks across the horizon. From those cracks spilled light, fractured into thousands of broken reflections. Each fragment floated in the air like shards of glass, showing glimpses of moments that weren't Ren's… or maybe were. Memories, stolen and rearranged, all belonging to someone but claimed by one being.
The Shard-Keeper emerged from the distortion, tall and draped in robes made of jagged glass threads that cut the void with every movement. Its face was obscured, not by shadow but by a mask of shifting fragments—eyes that weren't its own, mouths that opened to scream but made no sound. Its presence felt heavier than the Hollows, colder than Ren's shadow. This was no mere distortion. It was a jailer of memory.
"You carry yourself differently now," the Shard-Keeper's voice reverberated through the void, layered with dozens of tones, like countless lives speaking in unison. "Whole. Yet wholeness is fragile. I will peel you apart again… piece by piece."
Ren's fingers curled around his blade, the vow-thread now wrapped tightly around his wrist. It pulsed with his heartbeat, a reminder that he wasn't empty anymore. The girl stepped forward, silver hair gleaming faintly under the broken light. Her shard-wings spread wide, trembling slightly—as though her body wasn't ready to bear the weight of what she had awakened. Still, she didn't step back.
"Shard-Keeper," she said, her voice steady though her hands shook. "These fragments were never yours to claim. Return them."
The Shard-Keeper tilted its head, a ripple of cracking glass spreading from its mask. "Return? They came willingly. Memories abandoned are mine to keep. Do you speak for them? Or for yourself, Shardborn?"
Her lips tightened. That word—Shardborn. It hung in the air like a revelation Ren didn't yet understand. She didn't answer, but her stance hardened, and the wings behind her began to hum with sharp light.
Ren looked between them, his chest tightening. He wanted to ask—what did that mean? Who was she really? But there was no time. The Shard-Keeper moved.
It didn't attack with a blade or claw. Instead, the shards in the air spun violently, each one turning into a razor of memory. Images slashed at them as they flew—echoes of Ren's childhood, the face of his father, the classroom where Airi had sat smiling on her first day, the street corner where he had once stood, drenched in rain, waiting for someone who never came.
Each shard hurt to look at. Touching even one risked losing the memory forever.
Ren swung his blade, deflecting the nearest shard, but the impact sent a ripple through him. He staggered, clutching his head. That memory—his father's voice—it flickered. He nearly lost it.
"Don't let them in!" the girl cried, her wings flaring as she slashed a wave of silver light that shattered a cluster of shards before they could reach him. The fragments broke apart into dust, but Ren noticed her grimace. Every time she used her wings, it looked like it tore something out of her too.
The Shard-Keeper laughed—a sound like grinding glass. "You think you can protect him, Shardborn? Even your wings were not yours to begin with."
The girl froze at those words. Her breath caught, and for the first time since Ren met her, he saw doubt flicker in her silver eyes.
Ren stepped in front of her before the hesitation could grow. "Doesn't matter who gave them. They're hers now. Just like my shadow is mine. And I'm not letting you take anything else."
The vow-thread blazed, brighter than before, and with it, the shards around him trembled as though the vow itself rejected them. The Shard-Keeper stilled, as if… curious.
"Very well," it said at last, raising its jagged arm. The shards all aligned, forming a storm that spun into a spiraling cage around Ren and the girl. "Then prove it. Show me that your wholeness is more than fragile glass."
The storm closed in. There was no way out but through.
The storm of shards whirled like a living cyclone, each fragment shimmering with a stolen past. The cage of spinning memories closed in, filling the air with voices—his own voice, distorted, crying, laughing, breaking. The echoes pressed against Ren's mind like knives, threatening to carve his thoughts apart.
He slashed at the nearest shard, but instead of shattering cleanly, it cracked open and showed him a memory he had almost forgotten.
A birthday cake. The faint glow of candles. His mother's hands guiding his as he blew them out.
Ren's sword wavered. His breath caught. I… remember this. Why does it hurt to see it?
The Shard-Keeper's laughter scraped through the cyclone. "Do you see? You cannot fight without breaking. Every strike risks losing yourself."
The girl's wings flared again, silver shards of light colliding with the storm, but every time her wings touched a fragment, she flinched as if something was being ripped from her. She staggered, her knees trembling.
"Don't—" Ren began, stepping toward her.
"Keep fighting!" she gasped, her voice raw. "If we hesitate, it will consume us both!"
But he could see it—her wings were not just weapons. They were connected to the very shards the Shard-Keeper controlled. Each flap pulled against invisible threads that bound her to this place. She wasn't just fighting with him—she was fighting herself.
The Shard-Keeper lifted its arms, and the storm accelerated. The shards became blades of light and memory, faster than Ren could track. He dodged one, slashed another, but a third grazed his shoulder.
And then it hit him.
Not the shard—its memory.
He was standing in front of a classroom mirror, staring at his reflection. His reflection whispered something. You don't belong here.
The memory pierced him like a needle. His knees nearly buckled. He gritted his teeth, shoving the echo away.
No. That was before. That was when I let myself believe it. I'm not him anymore.
The vow-thread blazed around his wrist, burning with his heartbeat. His sword flared with shadow-light, cutting through a dozen shards in one sweep. The fragments scattered into dust, releasing a sound like a sigh—as if the memories themselves had been freed.
The girl gasped softly. Her silver eyes widened, but this time with hope. "You freed them… without losing yourself."
The Shard-Keeper stilled for the briefest second. Its jagged mask rippled. "Impossible. No one resists the weight of memory."
Ren stood taller, his breath harsh but steady. "Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
The vow-thread's glow spread further, lacing up his arm like veins of fire. With every beat, it felt as though he wasn't just wielding his blade—he was wielding himself. Every scar, every wound, every shadow he had carried was no longer weakness. It was power.
But the Shard-Keeper did not retreat. Instead, it raised both arms high. The storm compressed, pulling tighter until the shards weren't flying anymore—they were forming something.
Dozens of fragments fused into towering figures. Half-finished bodies of glass and memory, each shaped like people Ren knew. Airi's face, twisted and broken. His father's hand, but jagged and wrong. Classmates with eyes of shattered mirrors.
They moved with stiff, scraping motions, reaching out with shard-blades.
The girl's wings faltered, but she lifted her chin. "It's trying to drown you in everything you've ever feared losing."
Ren tightened his grip. "Then I'll carve a path through it."
The first figure lunged. Ren met it head-on, his blade slicing cleanly through its chest. But when it broke, the fragments screamed—Airi's voice crying out in pain. His heart lurched, his swing almost faltering.
It's not her. It's not real.
Another came. His father's jagged face leaned close. "Why weren't you strong enough? Why did you let us down?"
Ren roared, slashing through it. The vow-thread pulsed brighter, anchoring him against the echoes. The fragments shattered into dust, silenced.
The girl's silver light flared at his side, cutting down three at once, but she stumbled again. Her wings bled faint cracks of glass, each beat carving into her.
"Stop overextending!" Ren shouted, blocking a strike aimed at her. "You'll break yourself!"
Her voice was weak, but fierce. "If I break… then at least you'll keep going."
Something inside Ren snapped at those words. The idea of her vanishing, of being torn apart like the shards, was unbearable.
"No," he growled, standing between her and the advancing figures. His vow-thread blazed hotter, spreading like wildfire. "You're not breaking. Not here. Not with me."
The vow's fire surged. His shadow expanded, swallowing the light, wrapping around both of them like armor. For the first time, the Shard-Keeper recoiled.
Ren lifted his blade, eyes locked on the distorted jailer. "This storm isn't going to bury us. I'll tear it apart."
The storm howled. The fight wasn't even close to over. But for the first time, the cage cracked.
The cage of memory howled louder, the cyclone of shards screaming as though the mirror world itself was in agony. The Shard-Keeper's jagged mask tilted, its voice a thunderclap of distortion.
"You think one vow can stand against the weight of everything you've lost? Against the truth you've buried?"
The fused figures—distorted versions of everyone Ren had ever cared about—closed in. Airi's reflection raised a blade of glass. His father's broken hand clawed forward. Classmates whispered his failures like a mantra.
But Ren didn't flinch. The vow-thread blazed, no longer just on his wrist but coiling through his entire arm, glowing like veins of fire.
They're not real. They're what the mirror wants me to believe. But my vow… it's mine. It's not theirs to twist.
He stepped forward, blade raised. "You'll never bury me in ghosts."
With a roar, he slashed. The strike wasn't just steel—it was memory forged into defiance. The vow-thread surged into the blade, carving a path through three mirrored figures at once. They screamed as they shattered, their voices dissolving into nothingness.
The girl staggered, her shard-wings cracking further. Silver light bled from her feathers, scattering like broken glass. She fell to her knees, clutching her chest.
Ren turned, cutting down another reflection before it reached her. "Stay with me!" he barked, his voice rough with desperation.
Her silver eyes flickered, pained but steady. "I… I can feel it. This cage is built from me, too. Every shard of me the Keeper has stolen. If I fight any harder… I'll disappear."
Ren's chest tightened. She was right. Every strike she made was draining her essence.
But the thought of her fading, of her light vanishing from this fractured hell, sent fury boiling through him.
"No," he snarled, stepping in front of her. His vow-thread pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Then I'll fight for both of us."
The Shard-Keeper's laugh cut the air. "Then I will show you what it means to carry all of her pain."
The cyclone shifted, every shard suddenly drawn toward the girl. They pierced the ground around her like spears, encasing her in a coffin of glass. Her wings flared once, then flickered weakly.
Ren slammed against the prison, his blade sparking as it struck the mirrored coffin. "Let her go!"
From inside, her muffled voice reached him, trembling. "Ren… you'll lose yourself if you—"
"Shut up!" His roar cracked through the storm. His vow-thread blazed brighter than ever, burning up his arm and into his chest. "I don't care what it takes. I'm not letting this place erase you!"
The Shard-Keeper raised its arms high. "Then break with her!"
The entire cyclone converged, collapsing into the coffin. Shards pressed tighter, layers upon layers of memory—her stolen moments, her stolen self—threatening to crush her out of existence.
Ren planted both hands on his blade. His vow-thread flared like molten chains, binding him to the weapon, to her, to the promise he had spoken.
Not one step back. Not one vow broken. Not while she still breathes.
He drove the blade into the coffin. For a moment, the shards resisted, screaming with the voices of everyone he had lost. His own reflection clawed back at him from the glass, whispering: You'll fail her too.
But Ren roared through it. The vow-thread blazed, erupting in fire-black light. The coffin cracked. Then shattered.
The shards exploded outward, dissolving into dust that rained like silver snow.
The girl fell into his arms, her body trembling, wings barely flickering. But her eyes opened, silver meeting his with something raw—relief, disbelief, and something dangerously close to trust.
"You…" she whispered, voice weak. "…you defied it. Even when it tried to bury us both."
Ren held her close, breathing hard, his vow-thread still glowing faintly. He looked up at the Shard-Keeper, whose jagged mask now rippled with cracks.
The storm had stilled. The Keeper's control had faltered. For the first time, it stepped back.
Ren's grip tightened on his blade. "This fight isn't over. But I'm not losing her. Not to you. Not to this world."
The vow burned hotter than ever, and the fractured moon above them pulsed as though it had heard.