The moment Noa struck —
the shadow caught the blade.
But shadows don't have hands.
Except this one did.
It stood now — fully formed — a tall, lean reflection of Noa…
But its eyes were hollow.
No whites. No pupils.
Just two black swirls, twisting endlessly like they knew the truth he avoided.
It wore no armor. No name.
But it moved like someone who had trained for longer than Noa had lived.
Noa blinked — and the figure was behind him.
A sudden strike. No contact.
But Noa stumbled — not from the blow, but from the shock of being matched.
He turned.
> "You're not real."
The figure smiled. Barely.
> "I am as real as your rage."
Noa lunged.
His blade met the shadow's arm — and passed through it like cloth soaked in oil, hissing, sizzling, burning.
Then — impact.
The shadow's knee slammed into Noa's chest, sending him crashing backward into the wall. Stones cracked.
Lyric and Rowan ran forward — but Vareth held out his hand.
> "Stay."
They froze.
Because in that moment, Noa wasn't fighting an opponent. He was fighting a mirror.
---
Noa spat blood and rose.
The shadow circled him slowly.
> "You train to fight enemies," it said.
"But you haven't faced the one inside."
Noa exhaled sharply.
> "I know who I am."
The shadow tilted its head.
> "Do you?"
It leaned forward — as if about to whisper something intimate, sacred.
Its mouth moved:
> "I am Em—"
But the sound broke.
Like static.
Like a name corrupted by time.
Noa clutched his head. The sword dropped.
The shadow took a step closer, its face now clearer:
It was Noa's — but older. Hardened. Lips twisted into something calm… and dangerous.
> "One day, I will have your hands.
One day, I will be the one holding the blade."
"And when that day comes…"
"Noa will no longer be your name."
---
The ground beneath Noa cracked.
He screamed, not in pain — but in refusal.
He slammed his fists down, shattering the illusion.
The shadow fractured into pieces of obsidian light and vanished —
like a mirror dropped on stone.
---
Silence.
He stood, sword in hand, chest heaving, eyes wide.
The others didn't speak.
Vareth approached slowly, cloak dragging like a shadow of his own.
> "That wasn't just a sparring hallucination," he said.
"That was your blood warning you."
Noa didn't answer.
He picked up the blade and walked past them.
No words.
Only the echo of that half-spoken name following him like a curse.