The realm they entered was not dead.It was dreaming.
And dreams, as Riven had learned, had teeth.
The light around them twisted like silk underwater, pulsing with hues that defied natural order—vermillion shadows, azure fire, golden void. The sky itself had no single shape. It folded in upon itself like pages turning without a reader.
The first step onto the ground sent a shock through Riven's legs. It wasn't pain. It was recognition—as if the soil remembered him.
Xiyan landed beside him, blades unsheathed, her eyes narrowing at the shifting terrain. Behind them, a thin filament of reality still shimmered—the anchor that connected them to the Spiral Reaches. It would hold. For now.
Riven whispered, "This isn't just an echo. It's a wound."
Xiyan nodded. "And we're walking inside it."
Ahead of them lay the First Fracture—a scar in space where time bled backward for centuries, sealed by those who once wielded memory as blade and balm. The air was thick with the scent of burnt jasmine and rusted metal. Here, sensations clashed—nostalgia and dread braided into every gust of wind.
And waiting at the edge of the fracture was a man who should not exist.
"Riven," Xiyan breathed, stepping forward in instinct.
He raised a hand. "I see him."
The man standing there was not just familiar. He was identical. Same eyes. Same height. Same thread of silver running through black hair.
But his stance was heavier. Weathered. Like someone who had made too many sacrifices—and stopped counting.
"I wondered when you'd arrive," the mirror-Riven said. "You always take the long way."
Riven's breath caught. "Who are you?"
The other smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm you," he said simply. "The version who stayed. Who didn't run when the Spiral fell. Who tried to rebuild it from ashes and was buried beneath them."
Xiyan stepped forward, placing herself slightly between the two. "Another echo?"
The double's gaze flicked to her—and softened, if only slightly.
"You still follow him here?" he asked. "Even in this dead end?"
"I choose to," she replied coldly.
The other Riven chuckled. "Then nothing's changed."
Riven forced his voice steady. "We're here for the shard. The fragment of the Dominion still embedded in this realm."
The echo tilted his head. "And what makes you think I'll hand it over?"
"Because you want the cycle to end," Riven said. "You have to."
The echo took a step forward. "What I want is to know why. Why do you get to move forward, while I rot in this grave of a possibility? Why do you carry the real thread, while I'm left picking up pieces no one will remember?"
His voice was raw. Strained.
"I was you. I still am. But somewhere along the road, the world chose you. And it buried me."
Riven stepped toward him now, ignoring the blade of instinct that told him to stay back.
"You're right," he said softly. "You're me. But if you really were forgotten—if you truly meant nothing—this place would've collapsed already. But it didn't. It endured. Which means your choices mattered. They still do."
For a moment, silence hung between them like a sword held in uncertainty.
Then the echo laughed—a tired, broken sound. "Words like that… You always did know how to cut deeper without drawing a blade."
He reached into his chest—not physically, but with a gesture that split his ribcage like mist—and drew out a crystal sliver. It pulsed with a dull red light, like a heartbeat afraid to beat too loudly.
"This is what's left of the Dominion's breath here," he said, holding it out. "But take heed, Riven. Each realm you step into… you'll lose a piece of yourself. Not just metaphorically. Literally. The echoes are made from you. And they want you back."
Riven hesitated. Then, with a slow breath, he took the shard.
It burned his palm, but he did not flinch.
"I'm sorry," he whispered—not to the echo, but perhaps to himself.
The mirror-Riven gave him a tired smile. "You always say that too late."
And then he faded.
The journey back to the anchor was silent.
Even Xiyan didn't speak.
The realm shivered behind them as they crossed the threshold. The moment their feet touched real ground again, the air changed. Heavy. Charged.
Yanmei was waiting.
"You retrieved it?" she asked.
Riven nodded and opened his palm. The shard floated above his hand, now clearer, less red—almost translucent.
Yanmei's eyes widened. "It's reacting… harmonizing. Not resisting. That's rare."
"Not rare," Xiyan said. "It chose to be given."
Yanmei glanced between them, then frowned. "You look… thinner."
Riven looked down at his hand. The skin did seem… more pale. His aura, too, felt slightly hollowed.
"First echo took something," he said.
Yanmei stiffened. "You let it?"
"I didn't fight," he admitted. "It wasn't hostile. Just tired. It needed… meaning."
Xiyan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "The next one won't be the same."
He nodded. "I know."
That night, dreams came fast and cold.
Riven found himself walking through a forest of glass trees. Their branches whispered names in languages he had never spoken but still somehow understood.
Each step sent echoes rippling through the ground, and with each echo, another version of him emerged.
One wept.One laughed.One bled from a wound that wouldn't heal.
But the last one just stood there—silent. Empty-eyed.
"You're not ready," it said. "You think you are. But readiness doesn't protect you from truth."
Riven stepped forward. "Then show me."
The figure reached out and touched his forehead.
And suddenly, he remembered everything.
He woke gasping.
Sweat-soaked. Breath ragged. Heart pounding.
The shard on his table was glowing—brighter now. Resonating.
Riven rose, walked to the window, and stared at the stars above the Spiral Reaches.
There was a pattern in their dance tonight.
An invitation.
He turned as Xiyan entered, already dressed for travel.
"You felt it too?" she asked.
He nodded.
"They're calling again," he said.
"Where to this time?"
Riven held up the shard. It cast a dim light over his face, illuminating the edges of exhaustion and something else—resolve.
"To the Mirror Lake. The second realm. Where memory doesn't just reflect… it rewrites."
Xiyan looked away, jaw tightening.
"Is it true what the echo said?" she asked. "That each time we go… you lose something?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
"Then we'll just have to fight harder to keep what matters."
Riven reached for her hand—not for comfort, but connection.
"I'm glad it's you with me," he said.
She squeezed once. "I always was."
And as the Spiral Reaches prepared its next gate, and the multiverse stirred with ancient longing, a pair of eyes opened in a place no one remembered. A throne shifted on bones of forgotten gods.
And a voice whispered in a language that smelled of blood and burnt feathers:
"They gather their echoes. But they forget the origin. Let them come. I will welcome them. As memory. As mirror. As mother."