The city of fire collapsed inward as the crimson figure on the rubble stepped down, each footfall cracking the earth. Memory Yurin wasn't an echo—he was a sovereign presence. His aura rippled like a tidal wave, pressing against their lungs until every breath felt stolen.
Clara's wings flared instinctively, sparks falling as her heartbeat raced. The memory threads that had once been background chaos now slithered toward her, weaving patterns in the air like a predator circling prey.
Damien braced himself, flames gathering in his fists. "This is insane. We're fighting his past self?"
Evelyn laughed, spinning like a dancer in the storm. "Oh, darling, no. We're fighting his truth. Isn't it delicious?"
Yurin, the real one, stood motionless. His calm didn't waver, even as his counterpart closed in. But his eyes narrowed. For the first time since the fissure dragged them in, a faint tension cracked through his mask.
Clara forced herself forward. Her voice shook, but her wings blazed. "If this is your truth, then I'll carve it open myself."
The threads struck. Crimson lashes tore through the air, splitting cobblestone like paper. Damien leapt up, flames exploding around him, his fire colliding with the threads. The explosion shook the memory realm, but the crimson storm swallowed the fire like oxygen.
Damien hit the ground hard, coughing blood. "He's… stronger than the real one."
"No," Yurin said quietly, stepping between Clara and the storm. "He is me without restraint. Without calculation. Without reason. He is what happens if I abandon control."
Clara's wings twitched. Her fire faltered at those words. Was this what he truly was? A being who could unmake worlds, restrained only by his own choice of calm?
The memory figure's threads lashed again. This time, they weren't aiming at Damien. They surged toward Clara.
Yurin's real self moved, threads snapping out to intercept. The clash was thunderous—crimson against crimson, threads entangling and hissing like serpents locked in combat. The ground quaked beneath the sheer weight of it.
Clara staggered back, shielding her face. The sight was unbearable—two Yurin Crimsons, one coldly serene and the other a storm of annihilation, tearing reality apart in mirrored arcs.
Evelyn whispered in her ear suddenly, her voice a knife. "Do you see now? He isn't your savior. He isn't your shield. He's a monster dressed in restraint. And one day, darling, he will stop holding back."
Clara turned, fire sparking in her wings. "Shut up."
But the doubt had already wormed in.
The clash of crimson broke apart in a blinding surge. Real Yurin staggered slightly—only slightly—but Clara caught it. His calm mask cracked for a single heartbeat. Memory Yurin towered over them, threads wrapping the air like a noose around their throats.
Then the memory shifted again. Not the battlefield. Not the corpses. Something more intimate.
The city dissolved, and suddenly Clara stood alone in a room she had never seen before—except she had. Recognition clawed at her gut. A chamber filled with torn books, broken chains, and a single iron mirror.
Inside the mirror: her own reflection. Except her eye was crimson, threads bleeding outward from her veins.
Her voice shook. "What is this…?"
The reflection smiled. "The future."
Clara staggered back. The memory wasn't just Yurin—it was infecting her.
Somewhere distant, she heard Damien shouting, Evelyn laughing, the real Yurin's voice commanding—but here, inside this trial, she was alone. The reflection stepped forward until it pressed against the glass.
"You'll see it, Clara," it whispered. "You'll stop resisting him. You'll become him."
Cracks spread across the mirror. The reflection's threads lashed outward, striking for her chest—
And Clara screamed, unleashing fire that split the mirror apart. Shards scattered, dissolving into embers. The chamber collapsed, and she fell through.
She hit the battlefield again, gasping, trembling. Damien was still fighting to hold the storm back, Evelyn was toying with threads like they were ribbons, and Yurin—real Yurin—stood bloodless but strained, his threads barely holding against the other self.
Clara's wings burned hotter than before. She rushed forward, fire spiraling into a blade. She didn't care if it was real, if it was memory, if it was destiny itself. She wasn't going to let it decide for her.
She slashed. The fire cut across the memory Yurin's chest, searing through threads that hissed and recoiled. For the first time, the crimson storm faltered. The doppelgänger stepped back, tilting its head toward her. And then, it smiled.
Not cruel. Not angry.
Pleased.
Clara's heart skipped a beat.
The storm surged again, this time larger, swallowing the sky, as though her strike had invited it to acknowledge her.