Night came heavy and silent. The twelve gathered around a fire that Veythar coaxed from bloodsteel sparks, its glow bending the shadows into a circle that felt carved out of eternity.
For the first time since their arrival, the Mirrored Six lowered their hoods.
The silver-eyed leader spoke first, her voice soft but resolute.
"My name is Seliora. My void is Luminance—the power to turn absence into presence, darkness into radiance. Where you wield destruction, I wield restoration."
Her gaze flicked to Lucien, and though her face did not shift, something unspoken lingered between them.
Ashveil leaned forward, chin resting on his hand. "So you're the one who'll keep our pale prince from collapsing when he overdoes it."
Seliora's lips curved faintly. "If he lets me."
A ripple of laughter broke the tension.
Next was the shadow-eyed woman beside Ashveil. "Nysera. My void is Eclipse. I bind the will of others, bending their light and shadow into submission." Her gaze locked with Ashveil's, sharp as twin blades. "And unlike you, I don't waste it showing off."
Ashveil grinned. "Oh, you'll fit right in."
Then came the fiery-tempered woman across from Zarynth. Her hair gleamed like copper flame, her smirk a mirror of his arrogance.
"Vaelith. My void is Infernum. Where you shred with chaos, I incinerate with fury. Simple, really."
Zarynth raised his jug of ale. "Finally. Someone who understands the art of overkill."
Her smirk widened. "You wouldn't survive my flames."
"Baby," he said, leaning back with that maddening grin, "I was born to burn."
Groans circled the fire.
The woman near Kairo's side was quieter, her presence almost weightless. She leaned against a rock, hair like pale glass flowing over her shoulders.
"Eryndra. My void is Chronos. Where you fracture time, I weave it into threads." Her eyes flickered toward Kairo, who studied her intently, as if recognizing an echo of his own burden.
"You hear the ticking too?" he asked softly.
Her smile was sad. "Always."
Across the fire, Caelthorn's counterpart lowered her hood. Her aura pressed heavy, like the ocean crushing the seabed.
"Morwyn. My void is Depths. Where you devour with the Abyss, I anchor and drown." She said little else, but Caelthorn inclined his head in rare acknowledgment.
Lastly, Veythar's mirror revealed herself—tall, with a crown-like shimmer of crimson energy.
"Iralith. My void is Bloodveil. As you command bodies with steel, I command their very lifeblood. Together…" Her eyes narrowed with amused challenge. "…we could build empires or reduce them to marrow."
Veythar raised his jug toward her. "Finally, someone who drinks strong enough."
The Lore of the Twelves
As the fire dimmed, Seliora's voice grew heavier, carrying the weight of memory.
"This has happened before. Revenants and Mirrors. Six and Six, bound together. In every age, we have risen… and fallen."
Nysera's eyes hardened. "The last cycle ended in blood. The Revenants turned against each other, the Mirrors broke, and the world nearly drowned in void. History was wiped to hide the shame."
Morwyn's tone was low, steady. "But the void never forgets. And neither do we. The bond pulls us back—every age, every cycle—whether we want it or not."
The words struck deep. Even Zarynth, who joked through everything, fell silent.
Their Stories
One by one, they spoke.
Kairo told of his youth—how the pull of fractured time left him drifting between moments, how people feared him for vanishing from one place and reappearing in another. Eryndra listened closely, eyes soft with recognition.
Ashveil spoke of shadows—how they comforted him when no one else would, how the void whispered secrets that drove him half-mad, half-genius. Nysera scoffed but her expression softened.
Veythar boasted of battles fought in rivers of blood, but when pressed, admitted the silence after slaughter haunted him. Iralith smirked but reached out, her fingers brushing his hand.
Zarynth, predictably, turned his tale into theatrics—describing how he once "accidentally demolished a fortress because someone insulted his hair." Vaelith rolled her eyes, but the laughter she tried to hide revealed something gentler.
Caelthorn's story was heavy. He spoke little, but his words carried storms. The Abyss consumed, erased—his power had claimed those he once loved. Morwyn didn't flinch. She simply said, "Then I will drown with you, if you fall."
Finally, Lucien.
The firelight bent when he spoke, as if the White itself leaned in to listen.
"I woke up in nothing. No sound. No time. Just… the White. At first, I thought it was death. But then it changed me. It broke me. Every monster I killed split into two, then four. Endless. I don't know how long I wandered. I don't know who I was before… or if I even mattered. All I had was hatred. And the White gave me the strength to carry it."
The fire hissed. His words weighed heavier than steel.
Seliora moved closer, not touching him, but near enough for warmth to bridge the distance.
"You mattered," she whispered.
Kinship
That night, the twelve didn't sleep. They shared food, laughter, pain. They sat shoulder to shoulder as if afraid silence would swallow them again.
The narrator's voice lingered, quiet but certain:
The Revenants and the Mirrors are not accidents. They are halves of the same whole—shattered across eras, remade by the void to fight what comes. Love will not be an option; it will be the bond that anchors them against eternity.
And though none said it aloud, the beginnings of love were already written in their glances, in their laughter, in the spaces where their voices softened.
For the first time, they were not just warriors. They were human.