They left the shattered mirror clearing behind, but Rose could still feel her echo's presence like frost clinging to the inside of her ribs. Every so often, she caught her reflection looking just a second too long. Watching. Waiting.
"Is it normal to feel haunted by yourself?" she muttered, adjusting the collar of her coat.
Nimbus, tucked into the folds of her hood like a living brooch, replied, "Depends. Did the ghost of you threaten to seduce your crush and murder your soul?"
"...Yes."
"Then no. Not normal."
Basil kept a steady pace ahead, silent as usual, but his knuckles were white on his sword hilt. The confrontation had shaken him more than he let on.
"She knew things about me," Rose said. "Things I haven't even said out loud."
"She is you," Basil replied quietly. "Just… twisted."
They camped that night in a grove of lantern-bark trees, their soft glow casting gentle light over their little campfire. Basil handed Rose a steaming cup of root tea—muddy, bitter, but warming.
"You alright?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I just fought myself in a mirror dimension conjured by a dark sorcerer's echo spell, so, you know. Classic Tuesday."
His lips quirked in a small smile. "You handled it better than most battle-hardened mages would."
"You saying I'm exceptional?"
"I'm saying you're... Rose."
She looked at him then, really looked. In the flicker of firelight, he looked more tired than usual. Worn, like a blade used too often without rest. But also—steadfast. Real.
She reached out, touching his hand. "She said I'd lose you."
Basil's eyes met hers. "She was wrong."
The silence stretched—comfortably this time. The kind that hummed with things neither of them needed to say just yet.
But Nimbus, ever the interrupter, chose that moment to clear his throat dramatically. "Not to ruin the mood, but you are both glowing."
Rose blinked and looked down. The ring on her finger—and the thread glyph beneath her skin—were pulsing faintly. Not in danger, but… aligned.
Basil narrowed his eyes. "It's resonating. That fight—it changed something."
Rose turned her palm upward. The glyph didn't just glow now. It shifted, like a compass needle slowly rotating.
"Is it pointing us somewhere?" she asked.
Nimbus bobbed, intrigued. "Ooh. Maybe we unlocked a new level in the 'evil cultist' game."
They followed the new direction in the morning. The terrain shifted quickly—stone paths forming under their feet, winding through arches of bone-white trees. Everything about the land felt old. Waiting.
At the path's end was a door. Not just any door—this one floated midair, ancient carvings etched in languages Rose's tongue didn't recognize but her magic did. It hummed like recognition. Like welcome. Like warning.
Basil ran a hand along the edge. "This isn't just a passage."
Rose nodded. "It's a threshold."
Nimbus gulped. "I vote we knock politely and run the other way."
But Rose was already reaching forward.
Because some doors didn't open with keys.
They opened with destiny.