The silence in the temple was crushing. All eyes were on Amara, the shard still trembling in her hand. The mirror — Myraea's heart, its oldest bond — lay in ruins.
The Elders' voices rose in panic. Some women rushed forward, examining the shattered frame, while others turned their accusing stares on Amara.
"She destroyed it."
"She's broken the bond."
"What have you done?"
Amara's lips moved, but no words came. The truth stuck in her throat like thorns. She wanted to say it hadn't been her idea, that the stranger had guided her hand. But the stranger was gone, leaving only her guilt behind.
"Enough!"
The voice thundered through the hall. Nysa pushed past the crowd, her face a storm. She strode to Amara, seizing her wrist. The shard clattered to the ground.
"Do you realize what you've done?" Nysa's voice shook, not with fear but with fury. "The mirror is the bond of all Myraea. Without it—"
Amara's chest tightened. "I was trying to—"
"Trying to what?" Nysa's eyes blazed. "To free yourself? To run again? Do you think only of yourself, Amara?"
The words cut deeper than any blade. She opened her mouth, but the Elders' voices rose behind them.
"Take her out."
"She cannot be trusted."
"Her bond is broken."
Nysa's grip faltered. For a moment, her fury gave way to something else — hurt. She released Amara's wrist as though it burned her.
"I saved you, again and again," Nysa whispered, low enough that only Amara could hear. "And this is how you repay me."
Amara's eyes stung. "It wasn't meant—"
"Don't." Nysa's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't speak. You've said enough."
---
The courtyard was waiting when they emerged, torches casting long shadows. Villagers gathered in tense clusters, whispering, staring. Their eyes on Amara were no longer curious, but cold.
Nysa stepped forward, her posture unyielding as a shield. "The mirror is gone," she announced. "Until the Elders decide, the bonds will hold only by our will."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Fear. Distrust.
And Amara — at the center of it all, her hands trembling, shame twisting in her stomach like a knife.
One villager spat at her feet. "She cursed us."
Another hissed, "Outsider."
Amara's breath came shallow. The air was too heavy to draw. She wanted to defend herself, to shout that she hadn't meant this. But every pair of eyes told her it wouldn't matter.
---
Later, when the courtyard had emptied, Amara sat alone on the steps of the hut. The night pressed close, filled with the hum of insects and the distant crackle of fire.
Her wrist burned faintly where the bond ribbon used to pulse. Now it lay still, dim, almost lifeless.
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. Why did I listen? The stranger's words echoed cruelly: You will be free. But what kind of freedom was this — hated, distrusted, cut off from the only person she had begun to trust?
Footsteps approached. Heavy. Familiar.
She lifted her head. Nysa stood at the edge of the torchlight, her face unreadable.
Amara surged to her feet. "Nysa, I—"
Nysa raised a hand, silencing her. Her eyes glimmered, not with fury now, but with something worse — disappointment.
"I don't know if you can ever fix this," she said quietly. "But if you care for this village, if you care for me at all — you had better try."
Then she turned and walked into the dark, leaving Amara trembling in the silence.
---
Amara sank back onto the steps, burying her face in her hands. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
She had wanted to protect herself, to seize some control over her fate. Instead, she had shattered everything.
The village's trust.
Nysa's faith.
Her own heart.
And now, with the mirror gone, the bonds of Myraea were weaker than ever.
She lifted her gaze to the night sky, stars sharp as broken glass.
"I'll fix it," she whispered, voice raw. "Somehow… I'll fix it."
But even as the words left her lips, doubt curled deep
in her chest.
Because she wasn't sure if she had the strength to mend what she had broken.