The Pane wasn't quiet anymore.
The eyes above them bled streams of fractured light, their unblinking gazes locking onto Ren and the scar-copy kneeling before him. The mirrored world trembled with each ragged breath, as though the fight itself had split its reflection in half.
Selene held Ren's arm tightly, her fingers digging in. She could feel his pulse racing, the heat of his Thorn burning through his veins.
But Ren wasn't moving.
He stood frozen, his blade hovering in hesitation. Across from him, his scar-copy knelt, clutching its chest as black glass-bleeding veins spread across its body. It didn't sneer, didn't mock, didn't fight anymore.
It only begged.
"Don't erase me. Don't make me vanish again."
The words weren't just echo—they were his voice. Not distorted. Not hollow. His own voice, raw and broken, tearing from the scar that should've never spoken.
