The Mirror Realm turned into a storm.
Each reflection fought back — not just with magic, but with regret. The realm lashed out at Aran, dragging his mind through the paths he hadn't taken: the times he didn't save her, the moments he turned away, the choices he avoided.
He nearly drowned in it.
Until Elira reached for him — not with power, but with presence.
"You are not those failures," she said. "You are the man who stood up again. Who never let go. Who kept the promise in his eyes."
The realm recoiled.
The true Aran rose, and his blade — the shard forged from the fallen wyrm — flared with golden flame.
"You use my fear," he said to his other self. "But you forgot the strength in it."
With a cry, Aran struck — not to kill, but to break the hold this realm had on the False Aran.
Their blades clashed, and for a heartbeat, the Mirror Realm flickered — not shattered, but awakened.
One by one, the alternate Eliras turned.
They saw the True Aran. The one still fighting. The one choosing love over domination.
And they began to sing.
Not words — but a harmony of resolve, unity, and healing.
The False Aran reeled. For the first time… uncertain.
Aran stepped forward.
"This is your last chance," he said. "Return. Or fall."