For an instant, there was no pain—only silence.
Her heartbeat stopped. The shadows froze. Even the lightning in the black-glass sky halted, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Then came the shatter.
A surge of light and darkness burst from her body in violent opposition.
Golden radiance and black flame entwined, clashing within her veins, threatening to tear her apart. Her scream ripped through the void, half anguish, half defiance.
Her shadow-self staggered, clutching at her own chest as if the blade had cut through her as well. Their eyes locked—mirror against mirror, fury against fear.
> "You fool…" the shadow hissed, voice trembling. "Strike yourself, and you strike me. But you cannot destroy me… I am you."
The golden light flickered weakly, petals of brilliance scattering from the wound in her chest. Each one burned away the shadows it touched, yet for every spark that fell, darkness coiled tighter around her ribs, binding, suffocating.
Elara fell to her knees, blood—black and gold—dripping onto the living ground. Her hand trembled around the dagger still buried in her heart.
Somewhere in the blur of agony, she heard two voices:
one soft and warm, like the golden-eyed warrior's farewell—
and one low, hungry, the red-eyed warrior's rage, urging her to surrender.
The choice clawed at her soul:
Let the golden light consume her shadow-self, risking her own life but breaking free of the corruption.
Embrace the shadow's strength, seizing its power to survive, even if it means binding herself to it forever.
Her shadow-double stepped closer, face twisting with both pain and triumph.
> "Choose, Elara. Either way… you belong to me."