The dagger's wound blazed with searing radiance.
Elara's scream turned into a cry of defiance, and from her chest burst a torrent of golden light.
It surged outward, dissolving the coils of darkness that bound her ribs, flooding the fractured sky until the red lightning was swallowed in brilliance.
Her shadow-self shrieked, hands clawing at her own skin as the light burned through her.
> "No! You would kill us both!"
But Elara's voice was steady now, even through her trembling lips.
> "I would rather die as myself… than live as you."
The double's form fractured like broken glass, shattering into motes of dust that vanished into the air.
Elara collapsed, chest bleeding gold, but as she fell, she felt the warmth of the golden-eyed warrior's hand upon her shoulder—a memory, or perhaps forgiveness.
The darkness was gone. But so was much of her strength. She had won, yet at a cost that left her hollow and fragile.
---
Path of the Shadow 🌑
Instead of resisting, Elara's grip tightened on the dagger—and she pulled the shadows inward.
The black flames roared, devouring the golden light as though it were nothing but fragile glass.
Her body convulsed, her scream echoing not in pain, but in triumph. Her shadow-double laughed, then gasped—before her form melted into Elara's, their essences merging.
When the storm cleared, she stood taller, eyes burning red, her dagger wrapped in a darkness that pulsed like a living heart.
The golden petals were gone. Only crimson ash drifted where they had been.
The voice of the red-eyed warrior whispered from within her veins:
> "Now you understand. To win, you must become the thing you fear."
Elara's reflection no longer opposed her. It had become her.
She felt unstoppable… and utterly lost.