The Breach cracked again.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But like glass slowly remembering it was never whole.
Kael ran.
The path beneath him shimmered with feedback—
his own movements reflected back a fraction too late,
as though time and space were no longer on speaking terms.
Behind him, the splinter walked.
Not chased.
Not lunged.
Just followed.
Like a shadow that no longer cared about light.
Kael didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He felt it.
The echo of himself—
but not him.
It didn't carry a bottle.
It didn't need one.
It was one.
A failed Witness compressed into a shell of memory and hunger.
The bottle beside him pulsed in warning.
"Reflection unstable."
"Source integrity: compromised."
"Recommend separation."
"No," Kael muttered.
"We face it."
The terrain shifted again.
Lines of glass dust rose like teeth.
And then—
the world snapped inward.
Kael stumbled forward.
Landed on a flat plane—
a mirror.
Beneath him:
His own face.
But not the one he wore now.
Younger.
Unsure.
Before the throne.
Before the bottle had spoken his name.
He stood.
Ahead, the splinter stopped.
Only a few feet away.
It smiled.
"You left me here," it said.
"You cut the memory.
I caught it."
Its voice was wrong.
His voice—
but with the timing of something that had learned language secondhand.
Kael didn't respond.
The splinter tilted its head.
"You think surviving means becoming."
It took a step forward.
"But I remember what we gave up.
What you cut out to move forward.
I kept it."
Kael reached for the bottle.
It hovered higher, as if shielding him.
A faint glow spread outward—
green, blue, gold—
then white.
The mirror beneath his feet fractured.
Cracks radiated from his boots.
Each split reflected a different Kael:
—one crying.
—one screaming.
—one silent, but bleeding from the eyes.
"You're not me," Kael said.
The splinter laughed.
A sound made of teeth grinding on static.
"Not anymore."
Then it charged.
Kael stepped sideways.
The splinter passed like light—
too fast,
too sharp.
Its body rippled as it moved—
memory and weapon forged into shape.
Kael rolled, landed hard.
The bottle surged forward—
emitting a pulse of denial.
The splinter howled as light struck it—
not pain.
Disruption.
"You think that bottle chose you?"
"It chose the cleanest version."
Kael stood again.
"Maybe. But I'm the one still standing."
The mirror beneath them began to shake.
Fractures opened wider.
And below—
Mara.
Lying still.
Wrapped in thread and blood.
Breathing.
Barely.
Kael's heart clenched.
"She's beneath the mirror," he whispered.
The splinter paused.
Looked down.
"She tried to fix what you broke."
"She thought you were worth saving."
It shook its head.
"She's wrong."
Kael reached inward.
To the white strand now pulsing through his mind.
Not memory.
Not command.
Anchor.
He stepped forward.
And spoke a single word:
"Enough."
The bottle flared.
White light exploded outward.
The mirror shattered completely.
The splinter screamed.
And was gone.
Kael fell—
not into space.
Into silence.
He landed beside Mara.
Dust settled around them.
Her chest rose—
shallow.
But real.
Kael touched her shoulder.
"Mara."
She stirred.
Eyes fluttered.
And opened.
She didn't smile.
But her hand found his.
The bottle hovered above them.
And for the first time, projected a single phrase in glyph and sound:
"Two Witnesses. One path left."
Kael looked down at the broken shards.
At the blood.
The glass.
The memory.
"We'll walk it together," he said.
And the Breach began to close behind them.