The mirror did not speak, not in the usual cryptic murmurs or searing symbols. This time, it simply... watched. Like a parent waiting for their child to admit they broke something. Elias stood barefoot on cracked obsidian, the air thick with static, heatless fire flickering along the mirrored walls. His chest throbbed, not with pain, but with something older. Recognition.
He turned to Rae, or rather the Rae-like ghost who had started appearing between time jumps like a glitch with perfect timing. She sat cross-legged in the air, arms folded, one eyebrow arched.
"Let me guess," she said, voice dry. "You touched it again."
"You mean the mirror that keeps ruining my life? No, Rae. I caressed it," Elias muttered, walking toward the floating relic. "Because that's what sane people do."
It had become harder to tell if this version of Rae was real. Sometimes she responded too quickly, like a script. Other times, she made sarcastic jokes about dying repeatedly in the past. Not the kind of thing you'd expect from an AI assistant. Not unless she'd been watching him for too long.
The mirror pulsed red. Not glowing, throbbing. Like a heartbeat.
"Why does it feel alive now?" Elias asked.
"Because," Rae said, hopping down and following behind, "you gave it something alive. And now it wants more."
Elias grimaced. He had thought leaping through time would come with dramatic violin music and historical insight, not half-burned skin and a magic mirror with abandonment issues.
The red pulse stuttered, then surged.
A new symbol shimmered across the mirror's glass: not a letter this time, but a face.
His.
Not the face of Kéon, or Louvier, or any other vessel he'd worn. Elias's original face. Tired, scorched, bleeding slightly at the temple, looking out at him like a brother from behind glass. And then another face appeared behind it.
Rae.
But not this Rae. A different one. Older, softer, draped in what looked like ceremonial armor made of mirror shards. She looked at him, no, through him.
"Elias..." she whispered, her voice stretching across the void. "The heart must leap willingly."
"Tell her thanks for the motivational poster," Elias muttered, even as his own heart tightened. "Why is it always some mystical phrase like 'the heart must leap'? Why not just 'press this button and duck'?"
The mirror shuddered. Behind its surface, more faces flickered in and out: Roe, Marise, even Darwish. All of them etched in refracted light, as if trapped in a prison made of memories and light.
"They're not dead," Rae said quietly. "They're cached. Echoes. Maybe even pieces of future selves."
"So, basically: my friends are apps."
Rae didn't laugh. Which made Elias nervous.
Then, a warmth crept up his spine, subtle and sharp. He looked down to find a new mark burning itself into his chest, directly above the heart.
A symbol, a glyph unlike the others. A combination of past cipher letters. They all merged into this one, central form, something like a spiral folding into itself.
"The cipher isn't language," Rae said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's decision. Every jump you made, every person you became, brought you closer to this."
"Closer to what?"
"The truth."
Elias swallowed hard. "That I'm a magical history-hopping parasite?"
"No," Rae said softly. "That you were never alone."
The Watcher's voice, for once, spoke without flair:
"This time, Elias... you must leap without dying."
He blinked. "That's, what? Impossible. How do I leap without dying? Isn't that the deal?"
A chuckle echoed through the obsidian chamber. Not from Rae. Not from the Watcher. From... himself.
Behind the mirror, Elias's own reflection leaned in.
"Ask the heart," the reflection whispered, tapping his chest. "Not the mirror."
Then the reflection vanished.
Rae's voice shook. "Elias, this might be your last chance to turn back."
But he didn't move.
Because something inside him had finally clicked into place.
The mirror wasn't just a relic. The cipher wasn't just a puzzle. He wasn't just a leaper.
He was the constant. The knot where threads converged. The question every age had asked and feared to answer.
"What happens," he murmured, stepping closer, "when the mirror doesn't choose you... but you choose it?"
And with that, Elias touched the mirror, not with hesitation, but with intent.
No leap. No collapse.
Just light.
And then—