The mirror shards crunched beneath Lyle's boots as the first Echo stepped forward.
It looked like him.
Moved like him.
But it smiled when it shouldn't have.
"You're the version that hesitated," it said.
"I'm the one who didn't."
The glyphs around its wrists flared—twisted, unstable.
Lyle blinked as his Echo cast a spell through thought alone, without drawing a single sigil.
Juno's voice shot through the mist:
"They're faster than us."
"No," Lyle muttered. "They're freer. They don't care who they become to win."
---
The Echo of Juno moved differently.
No elegance.
No subtlety.
Just cold, brutal efficiency—blade first, questions never.
She struck at her real self with a grim, mechanical fury, no restraint in her swings.
Steel rang out.
Juno countered.
But even her eyes faltered when she saw the scar that cut down her Echo's cheek.
And the name carved into her sword's hilt:
> LYLE
---
Lyle's Echo didn't pause. It struck low and fast, glyphfire curving like liquid.
Lyle barely raised a defense—his hands tracing a sigil as if underwater.
> Why are you slower than me?
Because I still care about what happens after this.
That was the answer.
But it didn't help now.
He went flying backward, skidding across fractured glass that showed him flashes of his worst days—alone, cold, ignored.
He tasted blood.
Then the Codex pulsed.
> [Echo Sync Threshold Approaching – 78%]
Warning: Loss of Identity imminent upon Mirror Victory.
He froze.
> If I beat him too hard… I become him.
---
Across the chamber, Juno had figured it out first.
She stopped attacking.
Just blocked.
Dodged.
Moved with intent.
Then—at the last possible moment—stepped into her Echo's space.
Not with her blade.
With her hand.
She touched her Echo's face.
And said, "I don't hate this version of me."
The Echo wavered.
"You just lost someone."
A beat.
"I'll make sure that never happens."
And with that—
The Echo shattered into a thousand glowing lines.
Juno gasped.
The Codex pulsed:
> [Mirror Cleared – Anchor Preserved]
---
Lyle saw it.
And understood.
"Of course," he muttered. "It's not about winning."
He rose slowly, bleeding.
Faced his Echo—who was now grinning with flame dancing up one arm.
"You're what I could become."
The Echo snarled. "I'm what you will become if she dies."
Lyle lowered his hands.
"I know."
And he walked toward it.
The Echo's attack came—
Lyle didn't raise a defense.
Didn't run.
He just accepted it.
The attack passed through him.
No wound.
No pain.
Just a flash of light.
And his Echo froze.
Stared at him.
And whispered:
"Then don't let her."
Then shattered.
---
The chamber went still.
No more mirrors.
Only a single arch at the far end.
Above it, one final phrase:
> "You've passed the test of what could be."
Now face what already is.
Lyle limped to Juno's side.
She looked at his injuries—then at his eyes.
"You saw it too, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"Yeah. You… gone."
A silence passed between them.
But it wasn't cold.
It was real.
Then Juno reached out, brushed the blood from his cheek, and said quietly:
"Then let's make sure we both walk out."