Steel rang out like thunder, though neither blade was forged of mere metal.
Haruto lunged, Nullblade slicing through the dust-choked air. The shadow-Haruto moved with identical precision, every swing mirrored—every feint already anticipated. It was like fighting a perfect reflection that knew not only his moves but the intentions behind them.
Their blades clashed midair, sparking bursts of dark light.
"You hesitate," the shadow said, voice echoing with emotionless calm. "That is the weakness you gained in this world."
Haruto grit his teeth. "I gained people worth protecting."
Their blades locked. A wave of force rippled outward, cracking the stone under their feet. Around them, fragments of memory flickered to life—ghostly scenes dancing in the air like broken film.
A battlefield beneath a shattered moon. A silver-haired girl smiling before crumbling into ash. The old Haruto raising the Nullblade high as gods fell screaming from the sky.
Each memory struck Haruto like a blow.
"You loved no one then," the shadow hissed. "You were a storm. A force. You were unstoppable."
Haruto's stance wavered for just a second.
The shadow-Haruto swept forward, driving him to the edge of the platform. "That softness will kill you."
"I'm not weak," Haruto growled, eyes glowing with violet flame. "I'm choosing not to be you."
With a sudden burst, Haruto leapt backward, spinning midair. The Nullblade surged with light—not rage, but resolve. As he landed, the blade extended itself, trailing a thread of raw magic that wrapped around the shadow's sword arm.
Before the shadow could react, Haruto struck—not the body, but the chain between them. His blade passed through the illusion like light through mist.
The memory snapped.
Silence.
The shadow figure stared at him, then slowly began to dissolve. "You still carry me," it said. "But now… you choose."
With a final nod, the past Haruto faded, leaving only the Nullblade's dim glow.
Lucien and Serenya rushed to his side.
"You okay?" Lucien asked.
Haruto didn't answer right away. He looked at his hands—the same, but different.
"Yeah," he said at last. "I just remembered who I'm not."