Yurin Crimson sat alone in the hollow chamber of his fortress, the echoes of Clara's intrusion still lingering in his veins. For the first time in a very long while, his hand—his own hand—shook faintly as he flexed it before his eyes.
The throne loomed behind him, its cold iron frame humming with the runes etched into its back. But Yurin remained standing, pacing slowly, his cloak dragging like shadows across the obsidian floor.
"She pushed me," he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "She pushed me."
He hadn't expected it. Not from Clara. The tether was designed to link her as a conduit, a witness, a vessel to carry his presence closer to the edge of their fragile resistance. It was never meant to give her enough strength to contest him.
And yet…
Yurin brought his hand to his lips, touching the spot where Clara's voice had forced itself through. He could still hear it—the sharpness, the defiance, the will that didn't bow even in his domain.
His lips curved into a smile, slow and wolfish. "Impressive."
But behind the amusement, something gnawed at him—a hairline fracture across the perfect surface of his control. She had not only glimpsed his world; she had touched it. Left a mark on it. For a brief instant, the servant who had bowed before him had looked up, startled. Startled at him.
That was unacceptable.
The blue flames around the chamber guttered and flared as Yurin's aura thickened. He closed his eyes, and the tether pulsed between them, stretching across distance and realms. Through it, he felt her pulse, rapid and frantic, like a trapped bird.
Clara…
His voice slid across the tether like silk. Do you understand what you've done? You didn't resist me—you challenged me. And for a heartbeat, you almost won.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Almost. That word will destroy her if she clings to it too tightly."
Yurin moved back to his throne, sinking into it with calculated calm. His fingers drummed against the iron armrest as he considered his next move. She was dangerous now—not because of her fragility, but because of her willpower. A strong-willed vessel was rarer, more volatile, more useful than a passive one.
If he could twist that strength to his side, she would not just be a vessel. She would be an extension. An equal.
And the thought… thrilled him.
But the crack remained. She had seen too much. If she continued to push, if she learned to grasp the tether with more control, she could destabilize the very system he had built.
Yurin's eyes narrowed, the air around him heavy with a dangerous stillness. "She needs a reminder. A lesson. A taste of despair strong enough to remind her who she belongs to."
His gaze shifted toward the runed map spread across the far wall of the chamber. It displayed the continent, etched with glowing crimson lines of ley energy. His forces were already positioned, the Outer Legion restless at the borders.
Perhaps… Clara didn't need to wait to see what his armies could do. Perhaps she could feel it—through him.
The thought curved his smile into something sharper. He would let her glimpse their destruction, let her hear the screams, let her smell the smoke, all while knowing her resistance had bought nothing but suffering for the innocent. That would break her faster than any direct assault.
Yurin rose again, his cloak whispering against the floor. He raised his palm, and the rune etched onto his skin flared with power.
"Time to remind my little mirror," he whispered, "that reflections crack more easily than glass."
The tether between them pulsed violently, and in that instant, Yurin decided: Clara would no longer merely see through him. She would live through him. And once she did, the line between her and Yurin Crimson would blur until no one—including Clara herself—could tell them apart.