The air shifted. Threads rippled, and from the unraveling stepped Miran.
Her cloak of lightless thread trailed behind her, absorbing even the Loom's glow. Her eyes shone with that same knowing calm Ahri had once feared.
"You still think we were enemies," Miran said softly. "But I told you—we were the answer you refused."
Ahri's blade hissed free. "Why are you here?"
Miran tilted her head. "Because you tore the Loom open. Because you bled where you should have obeyed. And because every wound calls its opposite."
Jin bristled, shadow boiling. "You've always been its hand."
Miran's gaze lingered on him. "And you've always been its sword. But Ahri—she was meant to be its heart."
Ahri's chest burned. "I won't be anyone's heart but my own."
Miran smiled sadly. "Then prepare to bleed it dry. Because what comes next will tear you past recognition."
Her fingers wove a symbol into the air. The mirrors around them exploded into shards.
And from every shard, another reflection of Ahri stepped out.