The Eclipse Blade struck the arena, and a black-scarlet vortex bloomed. Mirrors rippled outward, reflecting worlds of impossible tranquility. The 33 Saint runes pulsed in unison, and Elito intoned softly, "Come home." The Kid watched nearby, eyes like distant galaxies, knives resting easily at his sides. Maya staggered, visions flickering at the edges of her sight. He offered them heaven — a paradise that burned forever.
Shattered mirrors transformed into windows, each showing a hero reunited with a lost loved one. Elito's voice floated across the arena: "I can bring them back. Step through and never fight again." Jessica's reflection revealed her whole arm restored, laughter and children surrounding her. Valgor saw his city untouched by fire, while Eden's mirrored image portrayed him worshiped, his shield unfallen. The promise of returning what war had stolen shimmered before them.
The heroes held their breath, entranced by the comforting familiarity of the images. "They look… real," Maya whispered. Elito's calm voice countered, "You only have to stay. Let go once." Salah's fingers trembled as he resisted the urge, and Walid gritted his teeth, declaring, "Not for sale." A single surrender could rewrite their fate entirely.
Walid was the first to falter. Drawn to a mirror where his sister tended a child, he stepped forward. For a moment, the world seemed to still. The Kid's shadow passed over the mirror, making it waver. A whisper promised, "You can have them all back." Walid reached out, and the glass took him. The mirror closed like a lid, leaving a bubbling pool of black scarlet in his place. His companions screamed, but no reply came. Elito murmured to the Kid, "One down." Those who welcomed heaven discovered only a grave.
Elito planted his blade into the floor, feeding the runes into the fallen pool. Threads of soul-light were plucked and burned into rune-smoke. Eden reached toward it, but his hand passed through as if into wind. "You die for the lie you choose," Elito declared. Jessica backed away, tears streaming, unable to touch her healed reflection. Revival had been bait; surrender was final.
Jessica's own mirror tempted her — a life where she had never lost her arm, laughter and children all around. For a fleeting heartbeat, she inhaled as if she could smell home. Lacolone struck the mirror with his katana, shattering the illusion, but the fragments stitched themselves into bleeding shards that whispered, "Stay." Even in ruin, peace seemed to call.
Valgor hesitated before his mirror, seeing his people alive. A phantom of his father reached out, calling him home. "I can save them," he murmured. Eden shouted his name, trying to pull him back, but Valgor stepped through. One by one, temptation carved clean lines.
In the mirrors, Walid and Valgor laughed and embraced, wounds erased. Yet crimson shadows crept through each smile. Walid's joy faltered as a shadow slithered behind his sister. In the arena, Lacolone slammed his blade into the floor in desperation. Elito watched, amused. "They sleep better than the living."
Eden's mirror offered him glory, but he refused. His chest shook as he finally understood Elito's rule: surrender meant erasure. "When you give up, your name is hollowed from the book," Elito whispered. "You liar! You revive nothing!" Jessica screamed. "Revival is the bait. Oblivion is the payment," Elito said, the bargain forged in vanished names.
The Kid wandered among the mirrors, twisting images like curios, playing with Valgor's child until it convulsed. Salah lunged at him, but knives flicked through the air, leaving perfect crescents. The Kid laughed, stepping through one mirror and reappearing behind Salah. He was the gaoler of dreams.
Maya fought against the pull, trembling as a perfect vision of Lacolone, whole and smiling, reached for her. Eden and Jessica anchored her, shouting names from the present. Her fingers brushed the glass, and for a moment she nearly succumbed. The Kid lunged, and Maya snapped awake, breaking the connection.
Black-scarlet pools remained where friends had stood, the air tasting of loss. Lacolone knelt before one, whispering Walid's name. Eden screamed into the void, but his voice was swallowed. Elito planted his blade like a preacher's staff. "Each of you bought a reprieve with a corpse." The Kid tossed a mirror shard into the abyss; it shattered into silent screams.
The remaining heroes staggered, trembling before mirrors of their own healed lives. "If they were happy… maybe—" Jessica whispered hoarsely. Lacolone slammed his forehead to the ground in rage. Eden drew a sigil, voice raw: "We will not let you erase them." Elito chuckled, "Try and write on water."
Salah, bloodied, began a jagged, raw Whispercall. He sang not to map the battlefield but to remember — names, small moments, laughter. The voices in the mirrors wavered when he called true memories rather than desires. Jessica repeated a childish joke Walid had once told; one mirror hesitated. Memory fought illusion, a candle against a storm.
As Salah's counter-song spread, the Kid's mirage doubled, knives slicing at the singers. Eden collapsed under the strain of maintaining his sigil; time inside the mirrors stuttered. Jessica reached into a reflection, pulling a laughing child from the edge — the image fractured. For a fleeting moment, Walid's hand appeared, grasping at air. He whispered, "Fight…" before vanishing again. Hope exacted its own toll.
Elito lifted his blade, the runes glowing like a cold sunrise. "You cling to one another. Fine," he said, drawing the runes across the floor, trembling the remaining mirrors. The Kid added, "Each surrender made the rest sweeter." Maya gathered the survivors with threads of light, faces streaked with tears, linking their hands. Elito watched, expression unreadable. "Then taste what your resistance costs." He taught them the price of breathing.
The survivors stood in a ring of broken mirrors and black pools. Elito and the Kid towered above them on a raised dais, the 33 runes spinning like a crown. From the pools, faint echoes of Walid and Valgor pleaded in half-voices. Maya, Lacolone, Eden, Jessica, and Salah — broken and bloodied — lifted their heads together in fragile unity. Above them, Elito's voice thundered:
"Surrender, and vanish into perfection. Resist, and I will keep tearing until nothing remembers you."
Some bought paradise. Some paid with name and bone. The true war now was memory itself.