Lyra stood alone.
The silence of the Temple pressed against her skin like cold glass. All around her, mirrors shimmered with faint blue light — not reflections, but possibilities.
Each mirror showed a different version of her: some brave, others broken. Some stood triumphant, wielding light like a blade; others lay lifeless, consumed by darkness.
And then there was one — one reflection that stared back with chilling familiarity. It was her, and yet… not.
The mirrored Lyra smiled, tilting her head slightly. “You made it,” she said, her voice echoing softly through the chamber.
Lyra took a cautious step forward. “What are you?”
The reflection chuckled. “I’m you. Or at least… the part you keep pretending doesn’t exist.”
Lyra’s heart pounded. “The Echo,” she whispered.
The reflection’s
