The reflection didn't lie.
It showed what was:
Two little girls, hands clasped tight, standing in a field of white flowers that hadn't bloomed in centuries.
Payune reached out—
—and the glass bit her.
Blood dripped onto the surface, forming words:
"THE FIRST STORY WAS WRONG."
Hayuni snarled, tails lashing. "What fucking game are you playing now, Mother?"
The mirror laughed in their mother's voice:
"Not a game, darling. A recipe. And you've finally gathered all the ingredients."
The Twin Blades shivered in their hands, revealing their true forms:
Payune's Dragonblade:
Now clearly a feeding tube
Filled with liquid time
Markings along its length showing:
The Dragonlord's last breath
Every scar Payune ever earned
A single white petal
Hayuni's Foxfire Sword:
Transparent as glass
Contained dancing blue flames that formed faces
The tip dripped something that wasn't blood
Mother's voice crooned:
"Dragon's rage. Fox's cunning. Father's love. Daughter's grief. And now..."
The mirror cracked down the middle, releasing:
The scent of burning hair
A child's unfinished lullaby
A single copper button
Hayuni went deathly still. "That's... that's from my first kimono."
The world folded like origami, revealing:
A celestial kitchen (Walls lined with jars of preserved memories)
A stove (Burning with blue foxfire)
A pot (Large enough to hold a god)
Mother's shadow moved about the space, humming as she:
Tossed in the Dragonblade (The pot screamed)
Stirred with the Foxfire Sword (The liquid turned the color of regret)
Sang the words carved inside the crib:
"Salt the earth with daughters' tears,
Sweeten with fathers' fears,
When twin flames learn to share,
The first truth will be laid bare."
Payune understood first. "We're not the cooks." Her voice broke. "We're the meal."
His ghost materialized between them and the pot, more substantial now—wearing the face he'd had when tucking them in at night.
"Wrong again," he murmured. "You're the invitation."
With a sweep of his arm:
The kitchen dissolved
The Twin Blades fused at the hilt
The mirror's cracks formed a map
Hayuni touched the glass, her fingers leaving foxfire trails along the fractures. "It's... a way out?"
The Dragonlord shook his head. "A way through."
Then he pushed them both into the mirror.
The world on the other side was:
Familiar (Their childhood home)
Wrong (The sky pulsed like a living heart)
Empty (Except for one figure)
The Real Mother.
Not the monster.
Not the architect.
Just a woman on her knees, hands bloodied from digging, whispering:
"I didn't mean to.
I just wanted you to live.
Even if it had to be inside the story."
At her feet:
Two tiny graves.
And between them:
A single living flower.