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Chapter 8 - Chapter 7 — The Mask That Whispered

Mira dreamed of laughter.

It came from everywhere and nowhere — a sound dripping through her thoughts like rain through a cracked ceiling. When she woke, the echo still lingered, soft and mocking, curling around her heartbeat.

The mask lay on the table beside her, pale in the candlelight. Its smile seemed sharper now, the paint wet, as though freshly drawn.

"Mira."

She froze. The voice wasn't hers. It came from the mask — smooth, velvet, familiar.

"Don't be afraid."

She stepped back, trembling. "Lorian?"

"Names are tricky things. But yes… something like that."

The voice laughed gently, the same low, impossible tone that used to shiver the air when he smiled.

"You died," she whispered.

"Did I? Or did you simply believe I could?"

The mask's reflection rippled. For an instant she saw him — sitting across from her, golden eyes bright, rain dripping down his hair. But it wasn't real. The image blinked out like a candle snuffed.

"Why are you haunting me?" she whispered.

"Because you're the only one who never believed my lies."

Something inside her tightened. She wanted to throw the mask into the fire — to end this madness. But she couldn't. Instead, she reached out. The porcelain felt cold, too cold, and her vision swam.

When she blinked, she was standing somewhere else.

A hall of mirrors stretched around her — infinite, silent, each reflection wearing a different mask: joy, grief, rage, peace.

At the center stood Lorian, unmasked.His face was beautiful and terrible — a god's face, perfect and wrong.

"Why show me this?" she asked.

"Because truth isn't light, Mira," he said softly. "It's a mirror. It shows you what you already are."

He stepped closer. She could see the cracks across his skin — glowing faintly like molten gold. "The Hunter carries my mask now," he said. "Through him, I live. Through you, I awaken."

"No," she said. "I won't help you."

His smile deepened.

"You already are."

The mirrors shattered.

She gasped awake on the chapel floor, sweat slick on her skin, the mask still in her hands. Outside, the bells of Elaris rang — slow, heavy, warning bells.

On the horizon, smoke rose from the temple quarter.The Divine Hunter had drawn his blade again.

And though he didn't know it yet, every time he looked into the mask's eyes, he blinked a little slower — as if something inside it was beginning to look back.

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