The Mirror world cracked beneath Yeo's feet as he stared at his alternate self—Kael, the Tyrant King.
Every instinct screamed to fight, but this wasn't a battlefield. It was a judgment.
"You still hesitate," Tyrant-Kael said, stepping down from his throne of bone. "Good. I remember hesitation. It was the last piece of my humanity before I burned it away."
Yeo clenched his fists. "You're not me. Not really."
"No," the Tyrant agreed. "I'm what happens when you make all the wrong choices with all the right intentions. I sacrificed friends for strength. Abandoned love for duty. And when the world begged for mercy… I gave it order."
The Mirror rippled again.
Suddenly, Yeo stood in a village—quiet, warm, peaceful.
A child ran to him, arms wide. A woman stood smiling nearby.
This version of Yeo wore simple robes, a sword forgotten in the grass.
"This is what you could be," a voice echoed. It wasn't the Tyrant's. It was Aelreth's.
"A world where you never awaken the Chronicle. Never fight. Never rise. But live. And love."
The illusion hurt more than the throne.
Then—darkness. Yeo fell through spiraling voids, each revealing fragments of lives not lived:
Yeo as a wandering monk.
Yeo as a merciless conqueror.
Yeo dead before the age of 12.
"You see now," Aelreth's voice whispered, "There is no 'you.' Only the one you choose to be."
When Yeo awoke, he was once again before the Mirror. Leiran knelt beside him, worried.
But his eyes… were different.
They held resolve, not confusion.
He stood slowly, looked at the Mirror, and spoke aloud:
"I will not become a Tyrant.
I will not hide in peace.
I will walk the hard path…
And forge the version of me that the world truly needs."
The Chronicle blazed, inscribing a new symbol into its cover—Unity through Duality.
From within the trees, Aelreth nodded once, then disappeared into mist.
The path forward was set.