Chapter 17 – The Mirror Crown
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Elaria stepped into the sky.
No sound. No sensation.
One moment she stood in wind and light.
The next, only silence.
And stars.
Not above her—around her. Suspended in a sea of silver-black, constellations drifted like jellyfish through water. The sky was a dome turned inward, vast beyond sense.
And in the center of it all: a floating throne.
Not of gold. Not of iron.
But of mirrors.
Each pane showed a different Elaria.
One wore a crown and robes woven from sunlight.
One knelt before the Choir King, her hands dripping with blood.
One was a child, wide-eyed and terrified.
One was dead.
All of them turned as she approached.
All of them spoke.
> "You are us."
> "We are you."
> "Which will you become?"
---
Elaria clenched her fists.
"I already am."
The voices laughed.
> "You think you know?"
> "You're just the one who ran longest."
> "Not the strongest. Not the wisest."
> "Just the survivor."
The mirror-throne pulsed.
And a version of her—older, regal, cruel—stepped down from it.
Crowned. Armored. Eyes silver-white.
She smiled.
And she looked exactly like the version of Elaria Anterz had once dreamed would destroy the world.
---
"I ruled them," Crowned-Elaria said, circling.
"I made peace. I ended famine. I burned no cities unless I had to."
She paused.
"I remember your life. Every mistake. Every hurt. Every time you bit your tongue instead of making them kneel."
She stopped inches away.
"You could still be me."
Elaria shook her head.
"I don't want to rule."
Crowned-Elaria smiled wider.
"You already do. Look up."
---
And she did.
For the first time since entering the mirror realm, Elaria truly looked up.
And saw her own face in the sky—woven in stars.
People below chanting her name.
Worshiping.
Even without her consent, the world had made her a god.
---
"No," she whispered.
But the stars echoed it as:
> "Yes."
---
Crowned-Elaria struck without warning.
Not with fists.
Not with steel.
With memory.
A thousand lives Elaria never lived—but could have—rushed into her mind.
Standing beside the Choir King, whispering judgment.
Killing Anterz at the Tower, claiming Valteris as her own.
Reshaping cities with her voice.
Each memory felt real.
Each one burned.
She dropped to her knees.
Bleeding from the nose.
Eyes wide with pain.
---
"You can't fight what you don't understand," Crowned-Elaria said.
"You think identity is choice. But it's just... editing."
She raised her hand.
The throne behind her pulsed again.
---
Another version of Elaria appeared—young, shy, eyes filled with fear.
She held a dagger of glass.
And tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I don't want to forget him," she whispered.
Crowned-Elaria stepped aside.
"This is the first cut," she said.
"Kill the girl who loved."
"Then you'll forget the man who holds you back."
---
Elaria looked up.
Blood dripped from her chin.
Her muscles shook.
But her voice was steady.
"No."
---
The child-Elaria flinched.
Crowned-Elaria frowned.
"You refuse memory."
"I refuse erasure."
Elaria stood slowly.
And drew her dagger.
But not to kill the girl.
To face the throne.
---
"I'm not here to become you," she said.
"I'm here to end the Well."
Crowned-Elaria hissed.
"You are the Well."
---
And below, the stars cracked.
---
**
Below the mirror, Anterz stood alone.
The sky had gone black.
The clouds churned.
And then—
It descended.
A beast.
Not of flesh.
Not of magic.
A song given teeth.
It bled notes. Each step it took made the ground hum with unfinished hymns.
Anterz raised Valteris.
The blade howled.
But even it trembled.
This was no ordinary Choir soldier.
This was a Sky-Warden.
Sent to protect the mirror.
To protect her.
---
It lunged.
Faster than wind.
Anterz rolled aside, slashed across its leg—where a leg might be.
It howled, light pouring from its wound.
But it didn't slow.
The air sang with each of its movements.
It didn't speak.
Its song was its scream.
---
Valteris clashed against light.
Steel met starlight.
Each blow cracked the ground.
Anterz roared, driving the beast back.
But it adapted.
Every move he made, it mirrored faster.
Each mistake he'd ever made—it already knew.
Because the beast was made of his battles.
And it had learned all of them.
---
He staggered.
Bled from the mouth.
Could barely stand.
And then—
He heard a voice.
Soft.
Inside him.
Not the Choir.
Not Valteris.
Elaria.
> "Don't fight for me."
> "Fight for the truth of me."
---
Anterz screamed.
And moved.
Not in rage.
In clarity.
He stopped defending.
Started creating.
His own rhythm.
His own style.
New movements the beast couldn't predict.
He fought like now.
Not like memory.
And the beast faltered.
---
Valteris gleamed.
And he struck.
One blow.
Through the throat of the sky.
The beast shattered into sound and stardust.
And Anterz collapsed beside its ruins, gasping.
---
**
Inside the mirror, the throne shattered.
Crowned-Elaria screamed.
Not in rage.
In fear.
"You'll forget everything!" she howled.
"Everything you could have been!"
Elaria stood alone in the void.
Bloody.
Shaking.
But free.
"I'd rather forget every lie," she whispered,
"Than live one perfect story."
And she drove her blade into her own reflection.
---
The mirror broke.
The sky above the world fractured.
And the Well within her—
Ended.
---
She fell from the stars like rain.
Anterz caught her in his arms, sliding to his knees in ash.
She was pale.
Trembling.
But alive.
And her eyes—
Her eyes were her own.
---
"I killed myself," she whispered.
He smiled through the blood.
"Good."
She laughed.
And then passed out.
---
Above them, the sky realigned.
The constellation faded.
And with it, the fourth Well.
Gone.
---
But far beyond, on the edge of memory—
The Choir King wept.
Not in sorrow.
In pride.
And whispered:
> "Two left."
> "And now... it gets personal."