The shadow-Elara moved like liquid night, her blade slicing through the air where Elara's throat had been a heartbeat before.
Elara barely dodged, her silver vines erupting from the ground to form a barrier—but the shadow laughed, its voice a twisted echo of her own.
"Pathetic," it sneered. "You think thorns can stop me?"
The shadow-blade dissolved into smoke, reforming mid-swing into a whip that lashed around Elara's wrist. Agony seared up her arm as the darkness bit into her skin, drawing blood that sizzled like acid against the sand.
Kael moved.
His blackfire dagger carved through the shadow's whip, severing it with a hiss. The creature recoiled, its violet eyes narrowing.
"Oh, Prince of Corpses," it purred. "Do you really think she'll ever trust you? After what you've done?"
Elara didn't have time to process the words. The shadow lunged again—but this time, it wasn't aiming for her.
It went straight for Kael's heart.
Kael didn't flinch. He met the blade with his own, the clash sending sparks of black and violet into the air. But the shadow wasn't trying to kill him.
It was trying to show him something.
A memory—not his, not Elara's, but theirs.
The vision struck like a knife:
_A younger Elara, no more than twelve, kneeling in a circle of silver thorns. A man in a High Priest's robes held a dagger to her throat, whispering, "The blood of the Silverthorn heir will awaken our god."_
_And then—a blur of motion. A boy with void-black eyes lunging from the shadows, cutting the priest down before the blade could fall._
_Kael._
_But Elara never saw his face. By the time she looked up, he was gone—leaving only a single black feather in his wake._
The memory shattered.
The shadow-Elara grinned. "She doesn't remember, does she? You saved her life… and she hates you for it."
Kael's grip on his dagger tightened. "Enough."
Elara's mind reeled. That never happened.
…Did it?
The shadow didn't give her time to think. It split into two, then four—doppelgängers surrounding them, each wielding a different weapon of darkness.
Elara gritted her teeth. "Any brilliant ideas?"
Kael's voice was calm. "Mirrors reflect what's in front of them. So stop feeding it."
"What the hell does that—"
Then she understood.
The shadow thrived on conflict. On doubt. Every time she questioned Kael, every time she hesitated, it grew stronger.
So she stopped thinking.
She acted.
Her silver vines shot forward, not at the shadows, but at the ground beneath them—shattering the black sand into a thousand pieces. The mirror's illusion wavered.
The shadows screamed.
Kael didn't waste the opening. His blackfire dagger became a whirlwind, carving through the doppelgängers like paper. But the real shadow—the one that wore Elara's face—dodged, its laughter ringing in her ears.
"You can't kill me," it taunted. "I'm you."
Elara met its gaze. "No. You're what I refuse to be."
And she plunged her dagger into its chest.
The shadow didn't bleed. It dissolved—into whispers, into memories, into a single drop of liquid darkness that fell onto the sand.
Then the world shifted.
The black desert vanished. They stood once more in the tomb, the Void Mirror now shattered at their feet.
But something was wrong.
Elara's hand trembled. The mark from the amulet—the one that bound her to Kael—was spreading, tendrils of silver and black creeping up her arm like vines.
Kael saw it too. His expression darkened. "The bond is accelerating."
She swallowed. "Because we…?"
"Because you won," he said quietly. "The amulet rewards strength. And now it wants more."
A reward that felt like a curse.
Elara flexed her fingers, the new markings pulsing with every heartbeat. "What does it want from us?"
Kael's gaze held hers. "The same thing all cursed things do. A story."
And then the ground gave way.
They fell.
Not into darkness, but into light—a blinding, golden radiance that seared Elara's eyes. She heard Kael curse, felt his hand grab hers instinctively as the world twisted around them.
When the light faded, they were no longer in the tomb.
They stood in a city of white stone and shattered spires, the sky above them a swirl of crimson and gold. The air smelled of incense and iron.
Elara's breath caught. "Where…?"
Kael's voice was grim. "The Amaranthine City. Where the gods once walked."
And then she saw it.
At the center of the ruins stood a throne.
And on that throne sat a figure clad in shadows—a crown of twisted silver resting on its brow.
It turned its head.
And smiled.