The first thing Elara noticed was the stillness.
No wind. No heartbeat in the air. Even the stars seemed frozen mid-breath.
She was standing in a world that had ended, but refused to fall apart.
Beside her, Lyra stirred weakly, pressing a hand to her temple. "Please tell me this isn't hell."
Elara gave a faint, humourles smile. "If it is, it's one he built himself."
The landscape stretched endlessly: an expanse of mirrored plains reflecting a dark sky. In the distance, a single citadel rose, black stone and pale light, its surface rippling like water caught between states.
"The Citadel of Memory," Lyra murmured. "It wasn't supposed to exist."
Elara's gaze hardened. "Neither was he."
They started walking.
Every step echoed like thunder in a hollow world. The mirrors beneath their feet reflected versions of themselves, some younger, some older, some broken, some crowned.
Lyra glanced down uneasily. "These reflections… they're wrong."
