The village had no name, but now it had a story. And, as always with us, that story came with a bill.
While the villagers hugged each other, crying in relief and confusion, Vespera rummaged through the pockets of an old man who was still trembling. "Just making sure he's not hiding a magic mirror," she justified, before returning three copper coins and a wooden button.
Elara, exhausted, sat by the edge of the dry fountain in the center of the square. The water hadn't started running again, but the silence was no longer the same. Before, it was the silence of absence. Now, it was the silence of relief — the kind that comes after a storm passes, but before someone remembers that the roof has collapsed.
"Will they be okay?" I asked, approaching.
"Physically, yes," she replied, without lifting her eyes from her trembling hands. "But their minds… Malrik planted something in them. A seed of doubt. Even freed, they'll wonder: 'What if the lie was better?'"
Liriel, floating above us with the spider medallion hanging from her neck, nodded. "That's how he works. He doesn't need armies. He just needs people to start preferring dreams over reality."
"So we come back later?" Vespera asked, wiping a blade clean with her sleeve.
"No," said Liriel. "He won't attack here again. He's already got what he wanted."
"Which was?"
"To test us. To see if we can break illusions… or if we'll lose ourselves in them."
We fell silent for a moment. The wind carried the smell of damp earth — someone had started watering the gardens again.
That's when a child approached. She was about eight years old, messy-haired, her eyes still wet. She stopped in front of me and held out her hand.
"Are you the hero?" she asked, her voice small and timid.
"Ah… not exactly," I replied awkwardly. "Just a guy with debts and a glowing necklace."
She ignored my answer and placed something in my palm: a small pocket mirror, just like the one Malrik had left behind — but without the spider symbol. Instead, a flower was engraved on the frame.
"My mom said you brought us back," she whispered. "So… thank you."
Before I could respond, she ran back into her mother's arms, who watched us with a mix of gratitude and fear.
"Is that good or bad?" I asked, showing the mirror to the others.
Liriel examined it carefully. "Not magical. Just… symbolic. She's trying to remind us that not every mirror lies."
"Or that not every truth hurts," Elara added, standing up with effort.
Vespera laughed, slinging her bow over her shoulder. "So it's settled: next time a mirror talks to us, we ask for its diploma first."
We left the village at nightfall. No one saw us off with banners or songs. Only silent waves, grateful looks, and a basket of freshly baked bread left by the roadside.
"At least they didn't charge us for damages," I said, chewing a piece.
"Because there was nothing left to break," Liriel replied, sipping from her ethereal cup.
We camped beneath an old oak whose branches seemed to embrace the sky. While Vespera prepared a soup with herbs she swore were edible ("If I die, just bury my bow with me"), Elara examined Malrik's medallion.
"There's something here… a tiny inscription," she said, turning the object under the firelight. "'Truth hurts. Lies comfort. Choose wisely.'"
"Too fancy for a villain," I muttered.
"That's exactly what makes him dangerous," Liriel explained, sitting beside me. "Malrik doesn't shout. He doesn't destroy. He whispers. And the worst part is, sometimes what he whispers… makes sense."
"Like what?"
"Like maybe we shouldn't keep going. That maybe it's better to stop before someone really gets hurt."
I looked at her. Her eyes, usually full of sarcasm, were serious.
"Are you speaking for yourself or for him?"
"For me. And for him. Because deep down, the doubt is the same."
Before I could answer, Vespera threw a piece of bread at my head. "Eat before the soup turns into a sleeping potion. And stop talking like the world's ending tomorrow. It's already ended three times this week."
I laughed, despite everything. It was true. Chaos was our routine. But it was also what kept us alive.
That night, while the others slept, I stayed awake, watching the stars. Liriel's necklace pulsed softly against my chest, in sync with my breathing. Malrik's medallion rested beside me, cold and silent.
Then I heard a whisper — not from the medallion, but from the mirror the child had given me.
— Are you afraid to find out you're not good enough?
I froze.
"No," I whispered. "I'm afraid to find out that I am… and still not enough."
The mirror didn't answer. It only reflected my face — tired, marked, but still there.
The next morning, we set out early. The road led toward Vaelor, but something pulled us east. The medallion vibrated harder with each step.
"It's guiding us," said Elara, adjusting her pack.
"Or leading us straight into a trap," added Vespera, already with an arrow drawn.
"Maybe both," admitted Liriel.
We reached the crossroads at noon. Three paths opened before us. One led to the city. Another, to the mountains. The third, into a dense forest where the trees seemed to bow as if in prayer.
It was at that last one that the medallion stopped vibrating.
"Forest of Whispers," Elara read from a half-rotted sign. "They say those who enter hear voices from the past… or the future."
"Perfect," I muttered. "More voices to call me a pervert."
Vespera laughed. "At least this time it won't be your fault."
We entered.
The forest was unlike anything we'd ever seen. The air was thicker, the silence heavier. Even the birds seemed to hold their songs. The trees had twisted trunks, with grooves that looked like crying faces.
"This place is corrupted," said Liriel, frowning. "But not by darkness. By… sorrow."
We walked for hours, encountering no creatures, hearing no sounds. Only the crunch of leaves beneath our boots.
Until, in the center of a clearing, we saw it.
A mirror. Larger than the others. Round, with a frame of intertwined roots. And before it, a figure sat.
It was a man, facing away from us, dressed in simple clothes, shoulders slumped. He didn't turn as we approached.
"Who are you?" I asked, sword in hand.
He laughed — a soft, almost sad sound.
— I am who you could have been… if you'd chosen the easier path.
He turned slowly.
It was me.
Not an illusion. Not a clone. It was me — but with hollow eyes, an older face, worn clothes. He wore the same necklace, but it was cracked, dim.
"Well, that's new," murmured Vespera.
"It's not real," said Elara, gripping her staff.
"Oh, but it is," my other self replied, with a tired smile. "I'm the version that gave up. That let Liriel go. That told Elara she wasn't strong enough. That laughed at Vespera's pain because pretending not to see was easier."
I felt a knot tighten in my chest.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"Malrik brought me. Said that if I showed you what happens when you choose the lie… maybe you'd quit before it's too late."
"And what happened to you?" asked Liriel, floating in front of me.
"I lived. That's all. I survived. But I didn't live. I lost everything… because I was afraid to risk losing."
The mirror behind him showed scenes: me alone in a tavern, drinking in silence. Elara walking away without looking back. Vespera vanishing on a suicide mission. Liriel dissolving into light, with no one there to hold her.
"That's not going to happen," I said firmly.
"No?" he replied. "Then why do you still doubt? Why, every night, do you ask yourself if it's worth continuing?"
I didn't answer.
Because deep down, I knew he was partly right.
It was Elara who broke the silence.
"Takumi isn't you," she said clearly. "He makes mistakes. A lot. But he never lets us fall alone."
Vespera raised her bow. "And he's such a stubborn idiot that even death gives up on him."
Liriel smiled — small, but real. "Besides… he's the only mortal who ever made me believe imperfection could be beautiful."
My other self looked at each of them. Then, at me.
— Then maybe… you're lucky.
And with that, he vanished — dissolving into dry leaves carried away by the wind.
The mirror cracked.
From its center emerged a silver key, with a spider symbol at the top.
"He's giving us an invitation," said Liriel, picking up the key. "Malrik wants us to come to him."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he knows that if we reach him… we'll have to face the greatest lie of all."
"Which is?"
She looked at me.
"The one that says we're not capable."
We left the forest at sunset. The sky was painted orange and purple, as if the world were taking a deep breath before the next storm.
On the road, Vespera broke the silence.
"So… are we going?"
"Of course," I answered. "But first, we stop in Vaelor."
"Why?" asked Elara.
"Because if we're going to face a general who weaves lies… I need new boots. These have more holes than my dignity."
Liriel laughed — a rare, almost light sound.
And for the first time since we saw the first mirror, I felt that we weren't just chasing a villain.
We were choosing the truth.
Even if it hurt.
Even if it cost everything.
Because in the end, it was the only thing that kept us together.