The Mirror Realm held its breath.
Aran stood still, his flame-wrought blade trembling with quiet fury. Across from him, the False Aran stared — not with rage, but with something deeper: disgust.
"I offered clarity," the false one said, his voice sharper than any steel. "And you chose doubt."
"You chose death," Aran answered.
The False Aran's eyes flared. "No. I chose purpose."
He turned, vanishing into a shimmer of fractured glass.
And then the Mirror Realm — already cracked by their presence — began to unravel.
The ground twisted, folding in on itself. Reflections became shards. Truths turned into weapons.
"Elira! The gate!" Aran called out.
She reached through swirling mirrors, pulling open a rift of pure starlight.
As the realm collapsed around them, they dove through — not into safety, but into instability.