The wind changed at dawn. Not with violence, nor with supernatural whispers — just with a different lightness, as if it had learned to breathe calmly. We had been walking for days without finding a village, a merchant, not even a curious wolf. The road continued, worn by time and by our stubborn footsteps, as if it knew we wouldn't stop until the end.
"You're quiet," said Vespera, without looking at me. Her bow rested on her back, but her fingers still toyed with a loose arrow, spinning it between her fingers like a talisman.
"Just thinking about what comes after we defeat Malrik."
She laughed softly. "And if we don't defeat him?"
"Then we lose together. Again."
She glanced at me sideways, a crooked smile on her face. "At least this time it'll be by choice, not by accident."
Elara walked ahead, her eyes attentive to the leaves falling from the canopy above. "The magic here is… too quiet. As if it's waiting for something."
"Or someone," added Liriel, floating a few handspans above the ground, her feet almost touching the moss without leaving a trace. She wore the necklace again — not hanging from me, but on her own neck, as if she had regained part of the form she once lost. The glow was soft, bluish-gray, like the first sign of dawn.
We stopped where the forest opened into a circular clearing, surrounded by ancient stones covered in moss and faded inscriptions. In the center, there was a dry fountain. Not of marble or common stone, but made of a dark, opaque crystal, as if it had swallowed light over the centuries.
"This isn't natural," murmured Elara, approaching carefully.
"Nothing here is," replied Liriel. "But this… this is old. Older than the gods. Older than the mirrors."
Vespera touched one of the stones. "There are runes. But not in any language I know."
"Because they're not meant to be read," said Liriel. "They're meant to be felt."
I knelt before the fountain. Liriel's necklace, now on her neck, pulsed softly — not urgently, but with recognition. I touched the edge of the crystal. Cold, but not hostile. And for a moment, I heard a name:
— Aelthara.
"What was that?" Elara asked, seeing my expression shift.
"Nothing. Just… an echo."
Then the fountain trembled.
Not with force. With sorrow.
The dark crystal cracked, and from it emerged a silver light, soft like moonlight filtered through clouds. The light rose in a spiral, forming a female figure — tall, with long hair and closed eyes, dressed in fabric that looked made of mist and memory.
"Who are you?" I asked, my sword still in its sheath.
She opened her eyes. They weren't white, nor golden. They were empty — not of emotion, but of time. As if she had lived so long she had forgotten even her own name.
— I am the guardian of what was erased, she said, her voice not coming from the air, but from the silence between words. — You have come seeking the truth. But are you ready to carry what was forgotten?
Liriel stepped forward. "What was erased?"
— The name of the first mirror. The face of the first liar. The day truth stopped being a choice and became a threat.
Vespera frowned. "And why does that matter now?"
— Because Malrik is not the creator of the lie. He is its last defender. And if you destroy him without understanding why he exists… the truth will become just as cruel as the lie that replaced it.
We grew silent. Even the wind stopped.
"Show us," said Liriel, her voice firm.
The figure extended her hand.
— Only one may look. Because only one can carry what was lost without breaking.
Everyone looked at me.
"Why me?" I asked.
"Because you choose to stay," replied Elara. "Even when you don't understand."
"Because you doubt… but you don't give up," said Vespera.
Liriel didn't speak. She only squeezed my hand for an instant — brief, warm, human.
I stepped closer to the figure. She touched my forehead.
The world vanished.
I saw a city of golden light, built on pillars of crystal. There was no war, no hunger. But there was also no choice. Everyone spoke the same truth. Everyone thought the same way. Difference was punished not with imprisonment, but with erasure.
I saw the first mirror — not made to reflect, but to question. An artisan created it after losing his son. He asked the glass: "Why him? Why not me?" And the mirror answered… with a question.
It was the first lie. Not of words, but of possibility.
And with it, free will was born.
Here is the full translation to English, with no changes to the original content — only translation:
The rulers of the golden city shattered the mirror. But the shards scattered. And with them came chaos… and freedom.
I saw Malrik — not as a general, but as one of those who saved the shards. He didn't want to destroy the truth. He wanted to protect the right to doubt it.
I returned to the clearing gasping, kneeling on the damp grass.
"Takumi?" Elara called, kneeling beside me.
"I… understood," I whispered.
The silver figure began to fade. Before disappearing, she left something on the ground: a small crystal blade, the size of a feather, marked with the symbol of an open eye.
— Use it wisely. The most dangerous truth is not the one that hides… but the one that imposes itself.
We stored the crystal in my backpack, beside the wooden key, the black feather, and the child's mirror.
That night, we camped beneath a clear sky. Vespera prepared a soup with roots that, miraculously, weren't poisonous. Elara lit a fire with a snap of her fingers — without fainting. Liriel sat beside me, watching the flames.
"You're different," she said.
"It's just that now I know Malrik isn't the villain."
"He's still dangerous."
"But maybe… we don't need to destroy him. Just remind him of what he protects."
She smiled — small, but real. "Maybe."
Later, while the others slept, I stayed awake, watching the stars. Liriel's necklace — now on her neck — glowed with a constant, gentle light. Malrik's medallion, in my backpack, was silent. But the child's mirror reflected the moonlight, as if it knew we were getting close to the end.
I picked it up carefully. This time, it didn't show the past or the future. It showed the present: the four of us around the campfire, laughing at something silly, with worn-out clothes and tired eyes, but at peace.
And despite everything — the debts, the disasters, the transparent clothes — there was something there that no mirror could corrupt: belonging.
The next morning, we set out early. The sun rose behind the trees, tinting the path in gold. The road continued, but it no longer frightened us.
Because we knew that no matter what Malrik showed us, no matter how many mirrors tried to divide us… the most important truth wasn't out there.
It was between us.
And as we walked, the wind brought the sound of something rare: the song of a bird that no longer existed.
Maybe, I thought, some truths weren't lost. Just waiting for someone brave enough to hear them again.
And for the first time, I didn't feel like we were walking toward an end.
It felt like we were walking toward a choice.