The mist rolled in thick and sudden, swallowing the corridor before them in a silent veil. Roger, Kai, and the Director stopped instinctively, each of them squinting through the soupy gray.
"Illusions," Kai whispered, his voice barely carrying. "We're already inside it."
Roger grunted. "It's messing with the light again—like a warped version of Aria's mist."
Aria stepped forward. Her hand rested on her blade, though it remained sheathed. She could feel it—the pulse of presence, the subtle flicker in the corners of perception.
"It's not just illusions," she said. "It's me."
A shape stepped out from the swirling fog. Same posture. Same reactive armor. Same mist blade strapped to the back.
The Echo-Aria.
She didn't speak. Her gaze alone was sharp enough to slice the air between them.
"I hate this," Aria muttered. "I hate seeing what I look like when I stop caring."
Roger stepped beside her. "We've got your back."
Kai nodded. "Say the word, and we're in."
Aria stepped forward alone.
"No. Not yet. Let me feel her."
---
The mist curled tighter as Aria approached. Her Echo moved fluidly—no wasted steps, no unnecessary breath. A dancer in battle, silent and efficient.
Suddenly, the Echo vanished.
Aria ducked instinctively—and the real fight began.
Blades rang. Steel flashed through layers of fog, sound distorted and chaotic. Mist clones emerged from every direction—perfect replicas, flickering and striking in unison.
Aria twisted, slicing through one, then two, then three.
But they kept reforming.
A sudden pulse.
Pain lanced through her ribs. She spun midair, kicking off the wall just in time to deflect a strike from behind.
"She's using pressure illusions," Aria growled. "Sensory overload."
Kai had already begun tracing complex anchor runes in the dirt, his fingers dancing furiously. "I can stabilize the terrain—just need a few seconds."
The Echo lunged toward Kai.
Roger moved fast. His orb flared, creating a field of slowed time. He intercepted the Echo, fists blazing, blocking two strikes and landing one that cracked the wall.
But the Echo melted back into the fog.
"This thing is slippery," Roger barked.
"She's me," Aria said. "She doesn't win with brute strength. She wins with fear."
Another flash of movement—this time, Aria met the blow head-on. Their blades locked, mist swirling in torrents around them.
And in that clash, memories stirred.
---
She was back in the alley.
Thirteen years old. Cold. Blood on her sleeve.
A man had cornered her—wealthy, smiling, sure of himself.
Her blade had found his throat before her fear could find her voice.
She'd run for hours. Through rain. Through guilt.
Back in the present, her Echo smiled.
"You remember," it whispered. "You remember what it cost to survive."
Aria faltered—only for a second.
The Echo struck.
But a flash of light burst between them.
Kai's rune flared—a stability matrix grounding her to reality. The illusion shattered.
Aria exhaled hard. "Thanks."
"Anytime," Kai said, pale but focused.
Roger surged forward again, covering Aria's flank. The two worked in tandem—his brute strength driving the Echo back, her blade guiding his force with precision.
Then Aria moved differently.
She let her blade fall.
Closed her eyes.
And breathed.
Mist flowed from her, not conjured—but accepted.
The mist embraced her instead of obeying.
And through it, she felt every motion. Every shift. Every breath of her Echo.
She struck once.
Clean. Final.
The Echo dissolved, fading like a sigh lost in fog.
---
Silence returned.
Kai leaned on his staff, exhausted. Roger shook out his knuckles, nodding with quiet pride.
Aria retrieved her blade. "It's done."
The Director stepped forward, studying the lingering mist.
"That wasn't just your Echo," he said. "That was your guilt. Weaponized."
Aria didn't answer right away.
"Then I'm glad I killed it."
Kai gave her a weak smile. "Well, that just leaves one more."
Roger glanced toward the path ahead. "Yeah. His."
They turned toward the next corridor.
The mist parted like it was afraid.
The next trial waited.