The white moon rose without warning.
No drum.
No howling wind.
Just a chill in Elara's marrow and a stillness too complete.
She sat up in bed, her breath fogging in the cold.
But there was no fire.
No scent of pinewood.
Only a pale glow through the window—so bright it washed the stars from the sky.
And then the silence cracked.
Not with sound.
But with a feeling.
Something had come unsealed.
She stepped out into the corridor.
The halls were empty.
No guards.
No Kael.
No voices.
And yet… she could hear breathing.
Low.
Rhythmic.
But not her own.
It was behind every wall.
Beneath every stone.
Inside her bones.
She followed it.
Down, deeper, until she reached the mirror chamber.
The glass was gone.
In its place: moonlight pouring through an open ceiling that shouldn't exist.
And in the center of the room—
A bloodstained altar.
Upon which she saw—
Herself.
Not unconscious.
Not struggling.
Still.
Eyes wide.
Mouth sewn shut.
Arms splayed like a broken-winged bird.
The white moon shone directly onto her chest, where the bone-ring sigil pulsed red, then silver, then black.
And above her—
Kael.
Dressed in his royal blacks.
Expression unreadable.
Blade in hand.
Elara stumbled back.
"No."
He didn't see her.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
He only raised the blade—
And plunged it into the version of her on the altar.
She screamed.
Fell to her knees.
Covered her ears—but the sound didn't stop.
Because there was no sound.
Just a vibrating pressure behind her eyes, behind her ribs, like her body was rejecting itself.
She turned and ran.
Through the chamber.
Down the hall.
Around corners that bent the wrong way.
But every time she thought she'd escaped—
She turned a corner—
And saw the altar again.
Kael.
The body.
The blade.
Over and over.
She dropped to the floor.
Hands on her ears.
Rocking.
Whispering.
"This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real."
And then—
A hand touched her shoulder.
Warm.
Real.
Familiar.
"Elara," said a voice.
She looked up.
Kael.
But not the dream-Kael.
Not the one from the altar.
This one wore no crown.
No blade.
Only his bone ring and bare hands.
"This isn't your nightmare," he said softly.
"It's your memory."
She shook her head.
"No, I never—"
"You saw yourself as disposable long before they tried to sacrifice you."
Tears stung her eyes.
"You stabbed me," she whispered.
"No," he said gently. "You did."
She blinked.
And suddenly she was holding the blade.
Not Kael.
Her.
Over her own body.
Over her own altar.
The room shifted again.
They stood in a vast, dark field.
The moon full above them.
A mirror hung in the sky.
Reflecting not the stars—
But every moment she'd broken.
Elara fell to her knees.
"I'm tired."
Kael knelt beside her.
"Then rest."
"I don't want to be afraid anymore."
He touched her face.
"Then stop hiding from what made you strong."
She looked up.
"I wanted to be free."
"And you thought dying would get you there."
"No," she whispered. "I thought disappearing would."
Kael's hand closed around hers.
"Don't you dare vanish."
He placed her palm to his chest.
Over his heart.
"I gave you this," he said.
"Not to carry.Not to cage.But to mirror."
The moon flared.
The sigil on her collarbone burned red.
Kael's hand covered it.
They both cried out.
And the illusion shattered.
Elara woke gasping.
Drenched in sweat.
Back in her bed.
Kael beside her.
Shaking.
Eyes wild.
They clutched each other.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Then Kael whispered:
"You saw it too."
She nodded.
He cupped her cheek.
"I didn't stab you."
"I know."
"You stabbed the part of you that still wanted to run."
She looked at him.
Tears falling again.
"Then hold me here."
He pulled her in.
Kissed her forehead.
And whispered:
"As long as I breathe,you don't get to disappear."