They circled each other in the temple's open space.
Stone columns rose like silent witnesses. The dawn light cut across their faces—identical, until you looked deeper.
Toren moved first.
Not with a strike.
With a question.
"What do you want from me?"
Mirror-Toren tilted his head.
"You. Removed."
No emotion. No anger. Just mission.
Toren took another step. "You could've killed me in the night."
"I'm not here to kill. I'm here to replace."
Their eyes locked.
And the truth settled between them.
This wasn't just infiltration.
It was erasure.
Outside, Mira and Tarn waited.
Kora fed them audio snips from inside the temple—nothing actionable. Just echoes. Breath. Silence.
"You should've gone in with him," Tarn said.
Mira didn't answer.
"Do you think he'll win?"
Mira's jaw clenched. "He's not there to win."
Tarn turned sharply. "What, then?"
"To see if what he built is strong enough to stand without him."
Tarn fell silent.
And Mira whispered to herself:
"But I hope he comes back."
Inside, Toren and his double moved faster now—blow for blow, block for block. Each feint mirrored. Every strike anticipated.
But only one had weight behind the soul.
Toren stumbled first—cut across the cheek. Blood welled, real and hot.
Mirror-Toren didn't smile.
He simply advanced.
"Your people follow an idea," he said. "Not you. I can be that idea—better. Cleaner. Unburdened."
Toren breathed hard.
"You don't get it."
He rose.
Wiped the blood.
"They don't follow an idea."
He struck—hard, sharp, untelegraphed.
"They follow a man who bleeds."
Outside, the temple doors blew open.
Toren stumbled through, cloak torn, face bruised—but alive.
Mira rushed to him.
He didn't speak.
Just nodded once.
Behind him, Mirror-Toren lay still—not dead, but disabled.
And for the first time, the people of Aurex saw both.
Same face.
Same shape.
Only one walked.
Linae stepped forward, eyes wide.
"How do we know it's you?"
Toren didn't hesitate.
He reached into his pocket, pulled the first stone he'd ever carved—the one given to him by a child five years ago.
No one else knew it existed.
He held it up.
And the people knew.