The day stretched long and quiet, a haze of pale light suspended over the newly reborn sea.
They followed the shoreline eastward, where the water met cliffs of black stone streaked with white salt veins. The air shimmered with heat, carrying the faint tang of brine that clung to their skin.
For hours, no one spoke.
Sol could feel the stillness beneath her ribs, the absence of the Mirror's voice, and it unnerved her. After so many days of echoes, silence felt too sharp, too deliberate.
Ji Ming walked beside her, gaze fixed on the horizon. His expression was calm, but she could sense the vigilance in the way his fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword with each step.
Ya Zhen trailed a few paces behind, humming under her breath a tune with no rhythm, the kind of melody that existed only to fill empty air.
Finally, Ji Ming broke the silence. "If it's truly gone, we should reach the mountain border by tomorrow."
"It isn't gone," Sol said.
He looked at her. "You feel it again?"
"No. That's why I know."
Ya Zhen's fan clicked open. "Absence can be louder than presence, if you listen long enough."
Sol nodded. "It's learning patience."
Ji Ming's jaw tightened. "Then so should we."
They reached a stretch of shore where the cliffs leaned inward, forming a narrow passage of dark rock. Water trickled from cracks high above, the sound echoing faintly, like rain that had forgotten how to fall properly.
They rested there at midday.
Sol sat near a shallow pool formed by the dripping water. The reflection in it wavered faintly… too faint to be dangerous, but she still found herself watching it.
Ya Zhen crouched nearby, tracing a sigil into the damp sand with her finger. "This was once a trade road," she said. "The Couriers ran messages between the coastal outposts and the mountain monasteries. There were shrines every few miles."
"Shrines to what?" Sol asked.
"Everything," Ya Zhen said. "Wind, stone, water. Before the Empire decided faith needed a single name."
Ji Ming looked up from cleaning his blade. "And what happened to those shrines?"
"They were buried," Ya Zhen said. "Or worse — emptied. The Empire feared what it couldn't control, so it taught the people to forget."
Sol touched the surface of the pool, watching the ripples spread. "Maybe forgetting was how the Mirror began. A reflection left alone too long, trying to remember what it was made from."
Ya Zhen's eyes lifted, thoughtful. "A poet's answer. Dangerous."
Ji Ming's gaze softened slightly. "But true."
They ate sparingly, dried fruit, a few strips of smoked fish from Ya Zhen's pack. The air grew heavier as afternoon waned, clouds gathering at the edges of the sky.
When the first roll of thunder came, it was distant, low. Sol felt it in her bones before she heard it.
"The storm's moving in," Ji Ming said, glancing upward.
Ya Zhen nodded. "Good. The rain will hide us."
They took shelter in a hollow beneath the cliff. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain, sharp and electric.
Sol pulled her cloak around her shoulders. The first drops fell moments later, hitting the stone with soft taps that grew into a steady rhythm.
For the first time, she saw real rain.
It wasn't like the illusions in the Salt Fell, or the steam that rose from broken earth. It was cold, clean, and alive. She reached out her hand and caught a drop on her palm.
"It feels… new," she whispered.
Ji Ming turned toward her, his hair already damp. "It feels honest."
She smiled faintly. "You sound surprised."
"I'm not used to honesty from the sky."
Ya Zhen laughed softly from the shadows. "Careful, soldier. If you start liking the world, it might like you back."
Lightning flashed across the horizon, and for a moment the sea lit up, silver and blue and commanding. The thunder followed, rolling through the cliffs like a heartbeat magnified.
Then something strange happened.
The rain slowed. Each droplet seemed to hang in the air for a fraction too long before falling. The light from the storm shimmered against the surface of the sea, and in that reflection, Sol saw something move.
Not a wave. Not wind. Something vast, shifting beneath the water.
"Ji Ming," she whispered.
He followed her gaze, his hand already on his sword. "I see it."
Ya Zhen rose to her feet, fan half-open. "Tell me it's just light."
The shape rolled once under the surface, too smooth, too deliberate. It wasn't light. It was something alive.
Sol stepped closer to the edge of the hollow. "It's not attacking."
"Not yet," Ji Ming said.
The creature… or reflection… surfaced halfway, breaking the water with a sound like a sigh. It had no clear form, only the shimmer of color, silver and deep blue. Its body bent the rain around it, warping the air.
Then came the voice.
Soft, low, resonant — not inside their heads this time, but carried through the storm itself.
"You called me from the salt… you remembered my name."
Sol's breath caught. "The Mirror."
"Not the Mirror. Its memory."
Ya Zhen's knuckles whitened around the fan. "That's worse."
Sol took another step forward, the rain plastering her hair to her face. "What are you?"
The voice hummed like wind through glass.
"I am what you forgot to grieve. I am the shape beneath the waves."
Ji Ming drew his blade. "If you mean harm—"
The voice interrupted, gentle.
"I mean reflection. I mean return."
Lightning illuminated the sea again, and this time the water's surface rippled with images, not of them, but of cities, mountains, temples submerged under light. Visions of the empire as it once was.
Ya Zhen whispered, "Is it showing us the past?"
Sol could barely speak. "No. It's showing us what it remembers of us."
The storm intensified, rain pounding against stone. The light grew brighter, the visions flickering faster. She saw faces she didn't know; warriors, scholars, and children, all reflected for a heartbeat before dissolving.
"You are not the first," the voice said. "But you might be the last."
Then the sea stilled. The light vanished. Only the echo of thunder remained.
The three of them stood in silence, breathing hard.
Ya Zhen closed her fan with a sharp sound. "That wasn't the Mirror."
Sol looked at her. "Then what was it?"
"The memory of the world," Ya Zhen said quietly. "And it just realized it's waking up."
Ji Ming looked out at the now-quiet sea, rain still streaming down his face. "Then we'd better decide what kind of world it's going to remember."
The storm rolled inland, leaving the water glassy and pale in its wake.
Behind them, in the reflection they didn't see, the faint outline of their three figures shimmered… not distorted this time, but clear, almost perfect.
And then the image blinked.