The courtyard had stopped breathing.
Not even the embers dared move. The storm was gone, the Broodmother was gone—yet somehow, the silence still had teeth.
I leaned against a crumbled wall, my sword dragging a thin scar across the stones. Every muscle felt like it had been replaced with regret.
> [Vitality Low: 8%]
[Auto-Recovery in Progress…]
Yeah, sure. Take your time. It's not like I almost died saving royalty or anything.
Elira stood beside me, silent. Moonlight caught her hair, painting streaks of silver across her face. She looked like a portrait—beautiful, broken, and too proud to admit she was scared.
Her eyes were on the ruins, but her hand hadn't left her sword.
"You're shaking," I said.
"So are you."
"Yeah, but mine's from personality."
That earned me a small smile—weak, but real. I'd take it.
For a moment, we just existed there, both of us pretending the world wasn't falling apart beyond those shattered walls. Then the air shifted.
Cold. Static. Familiar.
> [Realm Signature Detected.]
[Initiating Echo Link…]
The text burned through the dark like a flare, and before I could blink, the ground beneath us rippled.
"Elira, move!" I shouted.
Too late.
The courtyard shattered—stone tiles peeling away like paper. Light erupted from the cracks, and gravity forgot whose side it was on. My stomach lurched as we were yanked upward—no wind, no sound, just raw motion.
Then—darkness.
---
I woke up on glass.
At least, it looked like glass—smooth, transparent, endless. Beneath it, a void full of shifting eyes blinked like heartbeats.
> [Welcome to the First Realm: Reflection.]
The voice wasn't the usual mechanical monotone. This one whispered—like the System was trying on humanity just to freak me out.
> [Objective: Face Yourself.]
"I'd rather not," I muttered. "I already hate that guy."
Elira landed beside me, graceful even when gravity tried to make her art. She groaned, rubbing her head. "Carl… where are we?"
"Customer service for masochists, apparently."
Her gaze swept across the endless plane. "There's no exit."
"Yeah, there never is. The System's got a flair for drama."
> [Warning: Failure to complete trial may result in permanent loss of identity.]
"See?" I said. "Drama."
---
A shape began forming in the reflection below—like a figure clawing its way out of a mirror. At first, I thought it was some monster or projection.
Then it looked up.
And I saw myself.
Same eyes. Same smirk. Same scars.
Only difference—the thing standing across from me wasn't tired. It looked alive. Sharp. Hungry.
Elira took a step back. "Carl… that's—"
"Yeah. Me. But with better posture."
> [Trial Commencing: Defeat Your Reflection.]
[Note: The Reflection possesses your current stats and skills.]
"Oh, come on. Atleast nerf him a little!"
The Reflection tilted its head, that same wicked grin cutting across its face. "Still hiding behind jokes?"
My mouth went dry. It even sounded like me—just colder.
"Still trying to sound deep?"
It lunged.
Few minutes earlier
The east wing burned like the world was ending.
Smoke choked the halls, thick enough to hide the dead. I could barely hear my own voice over the roar of collapsing beams.
"Move! Keep moving!"
Servants stumbled through the corridor, arms full of crying children and half-packed bags. Slaves followed behind—some too shocked to cry, others whispering prayers that broke mid-word. Every time someone tripped, I hauled them back up. Every time someone looked back, I shouted louder.
There was no time to bleed. No time to breathe. Elira's last command echoed like iron in my chest.
> Protect them. That is an order.
The problem with oaths is they leave no room for fear.
Something slammed into the outer gate—hard enough to rattle the walls. Dust rained from the ceiling. The Wraithspawn were still out there, shrieking like wind through a graveyard.
"Captain!" a guard called, limping toward me. His armor was cracked, one arm hanging useless. "They're coming from the west too—through the gardens."
My jaw tightened. "Block the corridor. Seal off the stairwell with furniture. If the monsters want in, make them choke on splinters."
He hesitated. "And you, Captain?"
"I'll buy us time."
He didn't argue. Good man. Foolish, but good.
I turned to the evacuees. Their faces were pale and hollow-eyed—ghosts of the living. Some whispered prayers to the Lightmother; others just stared at me like I was the last wall holding the world upright.
I raised my sword and lied through my teeth.
"They won't reach you. Not while I still stand."
They moved faster after that. Fear's a cruel motivator, but it works.
When the last of them disappeared into the underground passage, I exhaled the weight in my chest.
Elira was still up there.
With him.
That insufferable man who smiled at death like it owed him money.
Carl.
I hated that I was worried. He was reckless, infuriating, unpredictable—but he kept his word. If he'd promised to protect the Princess, then by the gods, he would. Or he'd die loud enough to make sure I knew he tried.
A distant boom rolled through the night. The courtyard flashed white for half a second, and my stomach turned.
That was no thunder.
"Elira…" I whispered.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to run back—to forget orders, to think only of her. But then a child's cry echoed from the passage, and the choice was made for me.
Duty before desire. Always.
I turned toward the gate, blade raised. The air was colder now—wrong. Shadows writhed along the walls like oil on water.
"Come on then," I growled. "Try me."
Something screamed back.
And as the corridor filled with moving darkness, I realized maybe Elira wasn't the only one fighting her nightmares tonight.