Kyrian remained standing before the mirror for several seconds.
His reflection stared back at him. His black hair was messy, some strands falling over his face, others stuck to his forehead by dried sweat that formed small dark stains on his skin.
There was dried blood near his nose and at the corners of his lips, dark red marks that contrasted with his pale skin.
His clothes were soaked with sweat, clinging to his body like a second skin, revealing the contours of his muscles.
And yet... He had never felt so good.
The newly formed small core pulsed gently at the center of his forehead, a constant, living rhythm, like a second heart beating in sync with the first.
Each pulse was a confirmation of its existence, a reminder that something new had been born within him.
Weak. Tiny. Almost insignificant. But it existed. It was real.
His own technique. His own path.
The Mirrored Third Eye.
