Mira woke to the sound of her own heartbeat.It thudded like a drum — slow, deep, heavy — echoing in her ribs as if something else beat alongside it. For a long moment, she lay still, eyes open to the dim light of dawn. The world outside her tent was quiet, but within her chest, the rhythm pulsed unnaturally, vibrating through every vein.She sat up slowly.The air shimmered faintly, distorted like heat above a flame.The Hollow Flame was calling.No — not calling. Listening.Mira rubbed her temples, trying to steady herself, but the whisper came again — faint, coiled around her thoughts.“You’re awake.”She froze.The voice wasn’t Riven’s, nor any human sound. It was soft and layered, echoing with both warmth and chill. A voice that could be both comfort and curse in the same breath.“Don’t be afraid,” it murmured. “You made me.”Mira swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered aloud. “You were already here. I just… let you out.”A faint laugh — like the hiss of fire on snow.“You call it le

Mira didn’t remember falling asleep.One moment she was standing at the ridge, Riven’s voice still echoing in her mind — the next, the world had folded inward, dissolving into a dark sea of mirrors.Each surface reflected her face — countless versions of it — some with eyes of light, others of shadow, and a few with nothing at all.She stood in the middle of it, barefoot, breath visible in the cold air. “Where am I?”“Inside the boundary you built,” the Echo whispered. “You made a prison out of your own mind.”Her reflection stepped forward, the silver of her eyes deepening until it looked like molten metal. “You can’t keep me hidden forever, Mira. You know that.”Mira steadied her voice. “You’re a shadow, a side effect of rebirth. You’ll fade.”“Fade?” The Echo laughed softly. “No, I grow. With every lie you tell yourself, with every moment you pretend the power doesn’t tempt you.”The mirrors around them cracked — thin lines spreading like veins through the glass.From each fracture

When dawn came, it was softer than any in living memory.The clouds above the valley glowed faintly pink, silver light spilling across the dew-wet grass. The air itself felt new — clean, charged, as though the world had drawn its first full breath after centuries of holding it in.Riven stood at the edge of the Flame Tree’s roots, watching the sunlight filter through the leaves. The once-fiery branches now shimmered between silver and black, a reflection of what Mira had become.She stood just beyond the trunk, facing the horizon. Her bare feet sank slightly into the soft soil. Her hair moved with the wind — dark strands threaded with faint luminescence.“You’ve been standing there all night,” Riven said quietly.“I don’t sleep the same way anymore,” Mira replied, her voice soft, steady.Riven walked closer. “Are you in pain?”She turned toward him, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Her eyes were still twin mirrors — one burning silver, the other a deep black that held faint spar

The morning after the storm broke with a silence so thick it felt sacred.No birds sang. No wind stirred the trees. The valley lay beneath a pale light that was neither dawn nor day — a muted glow, as if the world itself had forgotten how to breathe.Mira stood at the edge of the riverbank, her reflection rippling in the unnaturally still water. The silver in her eyes had dulled overnight, and the mark on her wrist flickered faintly like a dying flame.Behind her, Riven watched in silence. He had not slept. He couldn’t. Every hour since her scream still echoed in his mind — the sound of something ancient, wounded, and infinite.“You haven’t eaten,” he said quietly.“I don’t need to,” Mira murmured, her voice distant. “The light sustains me.”He frowned. “That’s what worries me.”She finally turned, her expression unreadable. “It’s not the light you should fear, Riven. It’s what’s beneath it.”The villagers had begun to notice.They whispered of strange shifts in the air, of walls that

The dawn came slowly.Gray light crept over the jagged peaks, revealing the scars of the storm. The mountain no longer rumbled. The air was clear, eerily still — as if holding its breath after something holy had passed through.Riven stood on the ridge, cloak torn and boots caked with ash. The climb had taken everything from him — strength, sleep, even reason — but not resolve. His eyes fixed on the summit above, where a faint shimmer lingered in the sky. It looked like a scar in the air itself, glowing silver against the pale clouds.That was where she had vanished.“Mira…” His voice broke as it left him. The wind carried her name upward, swallowed by the silence.He had seen the column of fire. He had felt the mountain shake as if alive. He’d waited through the night, hoping she would return — walking out of the mist with that stubborn spark in her eyes. But the summit remained still. Empty.Now, as dawn bled into gold, he forced his body forward.He would not leave her to fade into