The Scar behind him was still pulsing.
But the echo it gave off no longer belonged to Kael alone.
He could feel the difference.
A slight distortion in the rhythm.
Like a song sung twice—
once in truth,
once in imitation.
He walked east.
Not fast.
Not for escape.
But for answer.
Mara trailed behind him.
Silent.
Alert.
The bottle floated between them, no longer pulsing with clear glyphs,
but with reflective waves—
broadcasting nothing,
but absorbing everything.
They passed through a stretch of terrain where no structure stood.
No ruins.
No trees.
Only brittle strands of cracked glass veining through gray dust.
A wasteland that felt… watched.
Kael stopped.
"There," he said.
Before them, the ground rose into a soft curve.
At its crest stood a frame.
Not a gate.
Not a doorway.
Just two upright shards—
mirror-edged.
Humming.
Between them:
nothing.
But it shimmered like a lie about to confess itself.
Mara drew her blade.
But Kael raised a hand.
"No.
This isn't a battlefield."
He stepped closer.
The bottle glowed faintly—silver-blue.
And projected:
"Confluence Detected: Bloom Reflection Point."
"Probability Thread: Unstable.
Source: Fractured Sovereign Signature."
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"A mirror… of me?"
Then the air shifted.
A figure stepped forward from between the mirror shards.
Not Kael.
But built from him.
A silhouette matching his every detail.
Skin.
Eyes.
Even the rhythm of his walk.
But wrong.
Too smooth.
Too still.
It stopped five feet away.
Spoke with Kael's voice.
"You made a law.
I made its reflection."
Kael didn't react.
"You're not real."
The mirror-Kael tilted its head.
"I'm not stable.
That doesn't mean I'm not real."
Mara circled slightly to the side.
Her presence grounding.
Watching.
Kael took one step forward.
The mirror took the same step back.
Perfect symmetry.
Kael raised a hand.
"So what is this?"
"A choice," said the reflection.
"To remain singular.
Or admit you're not the only bloom."
Kael frowned.
"You think you're me."
The reflection smiled—Kael's exact smile.
"I think I'm the part of you that wants to be understood
without risk."
That struck something deep.
Kael paused.
Let the wind settle between them.
Then:
"No," he said.
"You're the part of me that wants control.
Not understanding."
The mirror dimmed.
Its form faltered for a moment.
Kael saw flashes of its core—
—a construct,
—a mimic,
—a fear that refused to decay.
"You think blooming means everyone gets to wear my voice," Kael said.
"You're wrong."
He stepped into the space between the mirror shards.
The air froze.
The reflection raised its hand.
"Stop."
Kael looked at it one last time.
"I'm not the only bloom."
He reached into the air—
and the mirror around him shattered into threads.
"But I'm the only one who chose to grow."
Light flared.
The mirror collapsed into static.
The reflection screamed—
not with pain,
but failure.
Kael stood in the empty frame.
Behind him, Mara approached.
The bottle pulsed a single glyph.
"Bloom Mirror neutralized.
Core intent fragment harvested."
"New shard available: 'Volition.'"
Kael looked down at his palm.
A small flicker hovered there—
a sliver of reflective logic.
It carried no voice.
No demand.
Only potential.
He closed his fingers around it.
Not as a weapon.
As a lesson.
Mara spoke softly.
"What did you see?"
Kael turned to her.
"Me," he said.
Then looked away.
"Or the version of me that's afraid of what I'm becoming."
They left the frame behind.
It didn't close.
It folded.
Back into the world like a question unanswered.
Kael whispered to the wind:
"Next time…
they won't send a reflection."
Far away, in the heart of a dead root system,
the rootless woman looked up.
Smiled.
Her hand touched a bloom that hadn't opened yet.
"He's starting to understand."
She turned toward the black bloom.
"Let's show him what happens
when something chooses to grow
without limit."