Solene dreamt of fire again.
But this time it didn't obey.
She stood in a field of mirrors—hundreds, maybe thousands—all cracked differently, reflecting different lives. In one, Rheia wept. In another, she wore a crown of flame. In the last, she reached for Solene—but her eyes weren't hers.
They were old.
Watching.
When Solene woke, the sheets were soaked with sweat, and her fingers were glowing faintly gold. The room pulsed with heat—but not summoned heat. Residual. Magic left behind, not hers. A signature too familiar.
Rheia entered minutes later, face pale.
"I felt it," she said simply.
"You dreamt it?" Solene asked.
"No." Rheia stepped into the room, eyes locked on her. "I was inside it."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
"I think the mirror is starting to blur our souls," Rheia whispered. "I'm seeing versions of you in places I've never been. Feeling emotions that aren't mine."
Solene's voice dropped. "And you hate it."
"I fear it," Rheia corrected. "Because if your pain is in me, and mine in you, we can't tell which fire belongs to who anymore."
Solene crossed the space between them and held Rheia's wrist—not tight, but tethered. "Then let it blur."
Rheia's breath caught.
"I'd rather burn with you," Solene whispered, "than forget how it felt to hold you fully."
Behind them, the mirror cracked again.
Only one shard fell.
It bore their faces.
Merged.