Althar stepped into the Shattered Realm.
The world behind him twisted, and the canyon vanished. There was no sand, no sky—only a vast field of broken memories floating on unseen winds. Time here did not move forward. It unraveled.
Each step brought whispers.
Each breath tasted like the past.
Ariya, Seris, and Rorek followed closely, their forms flickering under the realm's weight. They'd prepared spells, enchantments, talismans—but none of them could truly protect against the force of this place.
It was not magic.
It was remorse.
And in the center of it all, surrounded by floating fragments of forgotten worlds, was the Crown of Echoes—resting atop a pedestal of stone etched with a thousand names.
Many of which belonged to people Althar had once loved… or killed.
"You feel it, don't you?" a voice whispered.
Althar turned.
Standing before him was a man draped in regal silver, a perfect reflection—identical in form, stature, and even expression.
But his eyes were different.
Cold.
Lifeless.
Unchanging.
"The king who once ruled all," the reflection said. "The man who burned nations to protect peace. Who sealed gods in chains to silence their madness."
Althar frowned. "You're not real."
"I'm more real than you," the figure said, stepping forward. "You… are unfinished. Soft. Incomplete."
Ariya stepped forward, drawing her blade. "Back away from him."
The reflection laughed. "You brought her here? The little priestess who still believes you can change?"
"She's not a priestess anymore," Althar said.
The reflection's smile twisted. "No. But she still worships something. You."
A sudden pulse of pressure made the realm tremble. Ghosts swirled around them—some weeping, some screaming, some laughing.
The past had teeth here.
"I don't want your crown," Althar said, voice firm.
The reflection tilted its head. "You misunderstand. You already claimed it. You claimed it the moment you stepped back into this realm. The moment you remembered who you were."
Seris muttered, "It's binding to him. Because this is the last piece."
"What piece?" Rorek asked, eyes darting between shadows.
"His soul."
The Mirror King stepped down from the pedestal. As he moved, memories flowed through the air—images of Althar standing over piles of bodies, of cities burning under twin moons, of a queen crying in chains.
The reflection's voice echoed.
"You can lie to yourself, but not to me. I am you. The part that never stopped wanting to rule. The part that never cared."
Althar stood still.
But inside, something cracked.
He remembered the moment he first ordered the slaughter of an entire bloodline to prevent rebellion. He remembered watching his brother's execution without blinking. He remembered choosing power over mercy.
And the Mirror King smiled.
"Accept me," he said. "Let go of your guilt. Let go of the pain. You don't need emotions. You need strength."
Ariya stepped between them.
"No."
The Mirror King's expression soured. "You would die for him?"
"No," she said, trembling. "I would live for him. And remind him every day who he's becoming."
She reached for Althar's hand.
"Feel it," she whispered. "Not pain. Not power. Just being alive."
Althar's hand trembled.
And he did feel it.
Not the burden of kingship.
But the warmth of her fingers.
The quiet strength in her voice.
The storm inside him began to slow.
The Mirror King roared. "Then die together!"
He lunged.
Blades of light and shadow collided.
Rorek and Seris rushed in. Spells and steel rained upon the ghosts and illusions, tearing through the screaming memories. The realm itself writhed—cracks opening in the air, time warping around them.
Althar met his reflection head-on.
And for the first time…
He fought not with rage.
Not with cold efficiency.
But with resolve.
Their blades clashed again and again, but Althar's grew brighter with each strike. The Mirror King faltered—his smirk fading. His form began to flicker.
"You were nothing without me," he hissed.
"No," Althar said.
"I was nothing because of you."
With one final strike, he drove his sword through the reflection's heart.
Light burst through the Shattered Realm.
The Mirror King shattered—glass scattering into the void.
And the Crown of Echoes rose from the pedestal, floating toward Althar.
He caught it.
There was no pain this time.
Only silence.
And in that silence…
A peace he had never known.
As the others gathered around him, the sky above stitched itself together. The Shattered Realm began to fade.
Ariya touched his shoulder. "You alright?"
Althar looked up at the stars—whole again.
"No," he said.
"But I'm becoming."