The fractured cityscape groaned above them, its inverted towers scraping against the black sky like teeth. Shadows flowed between broken bridges, twisting into forms that seemed both human and not. Lyra clutched the Codex to her chest, its pages fluttering wildly though no wind touched it. Kael scanned the shifting streets with his hand on his blade, shoulders squared against the weight of a world that shouldn't exist.
But it was Rienne who slowed her steps. The crystalline prosthetic at her arm pulsed — not in rhythm with her heartbeat, but with something deeper, stranger. Each throb sent a ripple of cold up her neck. She could feel it pulling her forward, toward a ruined square where a broken fountain still trickled glass instead of water.
"Rienne?" Lyra's voice cut through the unease. "Don't go too far ahead—"
Rienne stopped. Someone was already waiting at the fountain.
The figure sat on the edge of shattered stone, posture eerily familiar, head bowed as if deep in thought. The same dark hair, streaked with threads of silver. The same scholar's robes, though theirs shimmered faintly as if made of fractured light. When the figure looked up, Rienne's stomach lurched.
She was staring at herself.
No — not quite. The face was hers, but gaunter, drawn tight with exhaustion. The crystalline growth that replaced her arm had spread much further: curling up the shoulder, ribcage, and even along her jaw. Her reflection's left eye glowed faintly like molten glass.
"Finally," the echo said. The voice was her own, but hollow, resonant, carrying too much weight. "You've come back to where you started."
Kael's sword rasped free. "What manner of specter is this?"
The mirror-Rienne smiled, though it never reached her eyes. "Not a specter. A possibility." Her gaze locked onto Rienne. "You already know me. You've feared me in every sleepless night. I am what you become when you stop pretending there's a choice."
Rienne's breath caught. Her crystalline arm throbbed harder, sympathetic to its other self. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying to still the tremor running through her body.
"You're not me," Rienne whispered.
The echo rose from the fountain. The glass covering her body chimed faintly with each step, like wind through shattered panes. "You invented the Resonator. You pulled the Veil open and let its echoes bleed through. Do you think the consequences simply vanish because you regret them?"
Lyra stepped closer to Rienne, defiant. "She's not you. She chose differently."
The reflection tilted her head at Lyra, then back at Rienne. "Ah, but she hasn't chosen yet. The Veil is fraying. The glass grows. Every time she uses it, it spreads further. She knows it. She feels it. And when desperation claws at her, when people are dying, will she stop? Or will she use it again… and again… until she wears this body of crystal as I do?"
Rienne flinched. The prosthetic pulsed, and she swore it crept another inch higher toward her collarbone.
Kael moved in front of her, blade raised. "Enough of this poison. You will not sway her."
But the echo ignored him. She stepped closer to Rienne, their mirrored faces nearly touching. "You've seen it, haven't you? The dreams where your lungs crystallize, where your voice becomes glass dust in your throat. The dreams where you are still working — always working — because it's the only way to stop the unraveling. And when you wake, you know they're not just dreams. They are inevitabilities."
"Stop." Rienne's voice cracked.
The echo extended her own glass hand, the fingers delicate yet jagged. "Accept it, Rienne. You don't need to fight me. You don't need to cling to some fragile hope. We are inevitable. The Veil demands a price, and we are the coin."
The prosthetic on Rienne's arm surged with light, reacting violently to the echo's presence. She stumbled backward, clutching at it, choking on panic. Lyra tried to steady her, but Rienne shoved her away.
"Don't touch me!" she gasped.
The crystal was crawling. She could see it spreading in veins beneath her skin, luminous cracks branching up her neck.
"No," she whispered. "No, I won't… I won't let this happen."
The echo only smiled — a broken, weary smile. "You already have."
With that, the fountain shattered, glass-water erupting upward in a violent geyser. The shards swirled around the echo like wings, cutting the air with shrill keening. Kael lunged, striking at the apparition, but his blade passed through like mist. Yet the shards cut him back, biting into his armor, drawing blood.
"She's not real!" Lyra shouted over the storm. "Rienne, it's you who gives her power!"
Rienne fell to her knees, clutching her arm as the glass climbed higher. Her thoughts spiraled. What if the echo was right? What if all her efforts — every invention, every desperate attempt to mend the Veil — only brought ruin closer?
The mirror's voice wrapped around her like a noose. "Just surrender, Rienne. Accept what you've done. Accept what you are. Only then will the pain stop."
Rienne pressed her forehead to the cold stones, shaking. Then, through the din, another voice reached her.
Kael's, ragged but fierce. "Listen to me! You are not your mistakes. You are not bound to them. You are stronger than the echo of your guilt!"
And Lyra's, urgent, pleading. "You gave me back my sight when no one else would. You've risked yourself for this city again and again. That's who you are, Rienne — not her!"
Rienne lifted her head. The echo loomed above her, wings of glass shimmering. But when Rienne met her own twisted gaze, something inside her steadied.
"No," she whispered. Then louder, stronger: "No. I refuse."
The crystal along her arm blazed with light, not jagged but warm, steady. For the first time since the Resonator accident, she didn't feel like it was consuming her — she felt like it was listening.
Rienne rose to her feet. The echo staggered back as if struck.
"You are guilt," Rienne said, voice clear. "You are fear. But you are not inevitable. I choose who I become."
She lifted her glowing arm, and the shards swirling in the air bent toward her, resonating with her will. The echo's wings splintered, fragments breaking away. The apparition screamed, voice fracturing into a thousand echoes.
With one last surge, Rienne thrust her crystalline hand forward. The echo shattered like a mirror under a hammer, bursting into dust and fading into the storm.
Silence fell. The fountain was nothing but rubble.
Rienne collapsed, breathing hard, sweat dripping down her face. Kael rushed to her side, steadying her. Lyra crouched opposite, searching her eyes.
The crystalline growth had receded, pulling back to her arm, though faint cracks remained across her collarbone — scars that would not heal.
Rienne's voice trembled, but her words were resolute. "She was right about one thing. The danger is real. But the rest… the rest is a lie. I will not let fear dictate who I am."
Lyra clasped her hand gently. "And we'll make sure you never face it alone."
Kael nodded, fierce determination in his eyes. "If the Veil demands a price, then we pay it together. Never alone."
Rienne looked at them — truly looked — and for the first time in years, she felt the crushing weight of her guilt lift, just a little. The glass at her arm still pulsed, but it no longer felt like a curse. It felt like a burden she had chosen to carry.
Somewhere deep within the broken city, the Codex stirred, its pages turning as if in agreement.