The descent into the Mirror Core was not a walk—it was a fall.
Each step felt like stepping into a ripple of memory. The glass beneath their feet pulsed with old conversations, forgotten glances, moments stolen from time. Murdoch held Ruoqing's hand tightly as the world around them shifted between reality and reflection.
"It's dangerous to look too long," he warned. "The Mirror Core feeds off your past. The moment you hesitate, it tries to rewrite you."
Ruoqing swallowed hard and nodded.
Around them, the architecture transformed. The mirrored garden melted into a hallway of rotating prisms—each a shard of her life: the orphanage, her first day of school, the accident, the night she met Murdoch. These weren't just memories. They were anchors.
"Why does Lysander want to change my past?" she asked.
Murdoch's jaw tightened. "Because your existence threatens the truth of his world."
"What truth?"
"That you were never meant to belong to him."
They reached a chamber at the center of the corridor—a circular hall of endless reflection. A massive mirror throne stood at its heart, black as obsidian, carved with vines that writhed like living things.
Lysander stood before it, arms spread wide.
"You made it," he said, smiling like a snake in moonlight.
Ruoqing stepped forward. "This ends now."
"Not yet," he said. "There's something you need to see first."
He touched the throne.
The chamber trembled.
And before them, a memory played in the mirrors—not hers. Murdoch's.
A boy with silver eyes knelt before a dying woman.
His mother.
"You must protect her," she whispered. "The girl with the mirror-scarred soul. She's the key."
"What key?" the boy asked.
"To ending the fracture," she said. "To stopping Lysander."
The scene twisted.
The boy, now a young man, stood before the Mirror Council, accused of betrayal.
"You erased her memories," the council leader said. "You crossed timelines to hide her."
"I saved her!" he shouted.
They exiled him.
Banished Murdoch to the edge of time, where forgotten warriors and traitors lingered.
And there, in the shadows, Lysander waited.
"You can't protect her forever," he said.
Murdoch raised his blade. "Watch me."
The memory faded.
Ruoqing turned to Murdoch, stunned. "You sacrificed everything for me."
He didn't deny it.
"I didn't want you bound to a life you didn't choose," he said. "So I broke the Mirror Code. I stole your memories. Hid your bond. All so you could grow up free."
Tears blurred her vision.
"But it only led me back here," she said. "Like fate couldn't be cheated."
Murdoch stepped closer. "Then maybe it's time we stop running from fate... and face it head-on."
Lysander clapped slowly. "Beautiful. Really. I almost feel sorry."
He stepped toward the throne.
"But you're both wrong. She doesn't belong to the past. Or to the future. She belongs to the mirror."
He pressed a dagger of light into the throne's heart.
The Mirror Core screamed.
All at once, the chamber began to collapse.
Walls bent. Floors cracked. And from the throne, a figure emerged.
It was Ruoqing—but again, not. This version was regal, adorned in crystal armor, wielding a scepter of broken timelines. Her eyes glowed silver.
"The True Bride," Lysander said. "Born from every possibility. The perfect queen."
She turned to Ruoqing, raising her weapon.
And Ruoqing saw it in her eyes.
Not hate.
Emptiness.
This version had no soul.
"She's a shell," Murdoch whispered. "A mirror with no heart."
"She is what you would have become," Lysander said, "had you embraced me."
Ruoqing stepped forward.
"I'm not her," she said. "I made mistakes. I was scared. But I'm real."
She placed her palm against her counterpart's chest.
And whispered, "Let go."
The True Bride blinked.
And cracked.
Light spilled from her form like dust.
She shattered into starlight.
Lysander screamed.
"NO!"
He lunged toward Ruoqing—but Murdoch intercepted him mid-air, blade clashing with light. Their battle blurred into a storm of shadows and shards.
Ruoqing turned to the throne.
It was open now.
Empty.
Waiting.
"What are you doing?" Murdoch shouted between clashes.
"Ending this," she said.
She stepped onto the throne.
And for the first time, she saw everything.
Not just her past.
But all of them.
Every version. Every path. Every self.
And she chose.
She chose the one where she was free.
Not bound by fear.
Not owned by fate.
But loved.
She raised her hand.
And spoke a name.
"Murdoch."
The chamber responded.
Lysander fell to his knees as power rippled outward—time resetting, reality rewriting itself without him.
And Ruoqing stood tall.
No longer a mirror bride.
But herself.
Whole.
Awake.