The Mirror Realm didn't reflect faces.
It reflected truths.
"You'll each enter alone," Professor Orin said, standing before the black-glass portal. "The realm will show you what you fear most… or what you desire most."
"And what if we don't want to see it?" Mira asked, uneasy.
"Then you'll fail," Orin replied. "Because the Stellar Core fragment only appears when the soul accepts its shadow."
Irish crossed her arms.
"Great. Another place telling me who I'm supposed to be."
Aria said nothing. But her eyes locked onto Irish—and the way Kael from Pyra adjusted her cloak before she entered.
"You've got ash on your shoulder," Kael had said, smiling easily.
"Thanks," Irish had replied, not stepping away.
Aria clenched her fists.
Jealousy.
Hateful, absurd, uncontrollable jealousy.
First, Ren went in. He emerged twenty minutes later, pale but calm.
Then Mira. She came back laughing, though her eyes were damp.
"It's not so bad," she said, smoothing her hair. "It just forces you to say out loud what you already know."
When it was Irish's turn, Aria couldn't help but watch.
Irish walked toward the portal with her head high—but her fingers trembled.
And just before stepping through, she looked at Aria.
Just for a second.
As if searching for something.
As if she needed Aria to hate her… so she wouldn't fall apart.
The portal sealed behind her.
Aria waited.
Counted every second.
Imagined a thousand scenarios:
—What if Irish sees a future with someone else?
—What if she realizes she doesn't need me?
—What if… she's finally free of this tension that binds us like chains?
When Irish emerged, her face was a perfect mask.
But her eyes were red.
And her flames—extinguished.
"Your turn," she said, without looking at Aria.
"What did you see?" Mira asked, worried.
"Nothing that matters," Irish replied flatly.
Aria stepped toward the portal.
But just before crossing, Irish stopped her with a single word:
"Wait."
Aria turned.
"What?"
"Nothing." Irish looked away. "Just… don't believe everything you see."
Aria frowned.
"I don't need advice from you."
"Of course you don't," Irish said, voice bitter. "Because you already know the truth, don't you, ice princess?"
Aria entered the Mirror Realm without another word.
But the echo of those words followed her.
Inside, there were no walls—only infinite mirrors stretching to the horizon.
And in each one, a version of Aria.
One with longer hair, laughing with Irish in a field of wildflowers.
Another with their hands intertwined beneath the eclipse moon.
Yet another, crying as Irish walked away… with Kael.
"Lies," Aria whispered, covering her eyes.
"They're not lies," said a voice—her own, but softer. "They're possibilities."
"I don't want to see this."
"Why? Because it hurts to admit you don't hate her for being your rival… but because you fell for her?"
Aria spun around.
Before her, a mirror showed the courtyard scene: Irish telling Liam she's not into guys.
And Aria, hidden behind the column, chest burning with relief.
"That doesn't mean anything," Aria said.
"It means everything," the reflection replied. "Because ever since that moment, every time Irish looks at someone else, you feel like you're losing something you never had."
"Shut up!"
"Why? Are you afraid it's true? Afraid that if you stop hating her, you'll have no excuse left not to love her?"
Aria struck the mirror.
It shattered.
But in every fragment, she still saw Irish.
Smiling. Furious. Vulnerable.
Hers.
"The Stellar Core fragment is at the center," the reflection said gently. "But you won't be able to take it until you accept this:
You don't hate her. You envy her.
Because she feels without fear… and you're drowning in silence."
Aria exited the Mirror Realm with the fragment in hand—and dry eyes.
But her steps were heavier.
Irish glanced at her sideways.
"Did it show you something pretty?"
"Nothing you haven't already seen," Aria replied coldly.
"Then you know it's not real."
"What's real is that it bothers me when Kael touches your shoulder like he has the right to."
Irish stiffened.
"What?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No. Say that again."
"I said it bothers me," Aria met her gaze directly. "Happy? Going to mock me for it now?"
Irish didn't mock her.
She stepped closer.
So close Aria felt the heat of her skin.
"If it bothers you so much…" Irish whispered, "then stop pretending you don't care about me."
Aria recoiled as if burned.
"I never said I didn't care. I said you're my rival."
"Rivals don't get jealous, Aria."
"I'm not jealous!"
"You're lying. Just like I lied when I said I don't care what you do."
Silence.
Mira and Ren exchanged a look.
They knew they were witnessing something they shouldn't.
"Let's go," Ren said, pulling Mira by the arm. "Stop fighting… or whatever it is you're doing."
When they were alone, Irish walked away first.
But before turning the corner, she said without looking back:
"The next time Kael touches my shoulder…"
"What?" Aria asked, against her will.
"I'll pull away."
"Why?"
"Because I'd rather have the cold of your hatred… than the false warmth of someone who isn't you."
Aria didn't answer.
But that night, for the first time,
she didn't dream of control.
She dreamed of fire.
And she wasn't afraid of it.