Lyra stood in a chamber of forgotten reflections. Each mirror showed a Damien—heroic, monstrous, broken, divine.
She saw the Damien that never made the deal. The one who walked away.
He looked happier. Greyer. A farmer, not a king.
"Would you have loved me?" she asked.
He turned, smiled.
"Always. But you loved the war."
She touched the glass. It cracked.
And from the shards, the real Damien stepped through.
Eyes burning. Heart beating the seconds of every death he'd undone.
"There's no going back."
She nodded. "Then let's go forward."