The Sanctum wasn't marked on any conventional map.
It didn't exist in the way most places did.
Sometimes it appeared only at dusk, a massive spiraled dome of obsidian and crystal jutting from a ruined field. Sometimes it manifested only in the dreams of seers who couldn't wake. But this time, as Syra followed the hand-drawn map left in the Author's journal, it was there—silent, real, waiting.
It stood in the Vale of Refraction.
A land where light bent unnaturally and voices echoed too long.
Even their reflections shimmered oddly in the pools they passed—delayed, like memory lagging behind reality.
"I hate this place," Riven muttered, hand resting on his dagger. "It feels like walking through someone else's dream."
Syra didn't disagree. But her resolve was set.
"The Mirror God holds the next clue. Maybe more than that," she said.
"Or maybe it just wants to show you what you could become," Riven replied darkly.
She said nothing to that.
A City of Mirrors
As the pair reached the Sanctum, the outer gate opened without force. Inside was a fractured city—buildings made entirely of polished glass, angled to reflect sunlight in chaotic, dancing beams. They stepped cautiously, each movement mirrored thousands of times over.
They were being watched—by their own pasts.
Images flickered on the walls: Syra as a child, her hand in Ares's. Syra training alone. Syra kneeling over her father's body, tears mixing with blood.
None of them were illusions.
These were truths.
"What kind of place shows your worst memories like paintings?" Riven asked.
"One that doesn't want lies," Syra said.
And that's when the Mirror God appeared.
The Deity of Reflection
It didn't walk. It folded into reality—stepping out from one of the mirror walls, tall and genderless, wearing a robe of shattered light.
Its face was a thousand shifting masks. One moment it was Syra's. The next, Riven's. Then Ares's. Then… the Author's.
Mirror God: "You seek a truth. But truth requires a cost."
Syra: "I've paid."
Mirror God: "Not enough."
It extended a hand, palm facing up.
Mirror God: "You carry the shard. And with it, a question buried in your blood."
Syra: "Then give me an answer."
Mirror God: "First… see."
The chamber darkened, and the mirrors surrounded them. Syra's reflection multiplied. Each began to move independently—showing alternate versions of herself:
A Syra who joined Lucian.
A Syra who killed Riven.
A Syra who never broke the Heaven Key.
"These are not futures," the deity whispered. "They are temptations."
Riven's Revelation
Suddenly, one mirror showed Riven—standing over Syra's body, crown of thorns on his head.
Riven stepped back, horrified.
"What the hell is this?"
Mirror God: "What you hide from yourself."
Riven clenched his jaw.
But Syra stepped forward. "These are reflections. Not prophecy."
She took her dagger and shattered the nearest mirror.
"We don't need a reflection," she said. "We need a path."
The deity bowed, mask melting back into featureless light.
"Then you're ready."
The Path Forward
The Mirror God vanished, leaving behind a corridor of silver light.
Inside, etched on its walls, was an ancient star map—one showing the real alignment of the Heaven Keys. Seven points, circling one central flame.
But the final shard—the heart shard—was nowhere on it.
"Where's the last one?" Syra asked.
A new line appeared, glowing brighter than the others.
"It has not been created yet."
Syra stepped back.
Riven stared. "Created?"
The inscription pulsed.
"The final key… is a choice."
Syra remembered the words from the paper she never picked up.
The first draft is never the final one.
Beyond the Sanctum
As they left the Sanctum, the land behind them rippled—returning to broken stone and dead fields. Whatever magic preserved that place faded with their departure.
Syra now held a clearer map of the remaining shards. But something else had changed in her:
She was no longer seeking power.
She was seeking authorship.
Of her own fate.
"Where to now?" Riven asked.
"Where the next rewrite begins," Syra replied.
And the sky above them shimmered—as if watching.