The chamber filled with Ahri's. Some were weeping, others screaming, others smiling with cruel serenity. Each one carried a threadblade, each one radiated conviction.
Jin raised his weapon, shadows flaring. "This is it. The Loom's final snare."
Miran stood back, watching. "Not its snare—its truth. Ahri is not one thread. She is many. And if she cannot accept them, they will devour her."
The reflections surged. Steel clashed. Shadows screamed. Ahri fought herself, blade meeting blade, her own face twisted with rage, with doubt, with serenity.
Each cut was agony. Each reflection struck with the weight of possibility denied.
"You chose Hyun-tae.""You abandoned Jin.""You betrayed Miran.""You betrayed yourself."
Their voices drowned her. Their blades drove her to her knees.
But then she remembered—the Pact of Ash, the scarred voices that had chosen to follow her. They rose within her shadow, whispering: You are not fragments. You are whole, because we remain.
Ahri rose, blood on her lips. "I am not one thread. I am every refusal, every wound, every choice I could not make."
Her blade cut through her reflections—not to kill, but to weave them back into herself. One by one, they dissolved into her chest, stitching her scar into a banner.
The Loom screamed.
And Miran whispered, almost tenderly, "So… you betray even the Tapestry itself."