E.K. was floating, suspended in a sea of dark, silent nothingness. It felt like drowning in oil; unmoving, calm. Eyes clenched shut, body curled tight in a fetal position.
His metaphysical form pulled out during his fall in the Tower. His soul like a boulder, dragging him down... the pain... an utterly disgusting film coating his insides.
Stripped bare, no Khulain armor hiding the scars on his body, no hood shadowing his face, only flesh, vulnerable and exposed. Like a newborn in its mother's womb, naked, trembling, terrifyingly pure.
His shook violently. The voices he tried to suppress for so long now rampant, a phsycic flood. He clutched himself tighter, knuckled turning white.
Fingernails biting half-moons into his own arms after every venomous word. Trying to shrink, to hide from them. Futile. No hiding from them.
"You did this to me, to us, E.K." A sound resembling bones grinding into dust.
"All of this was in your grasp, and you let it slip like worthless sand." A cold whisper gliding down his spine.
"Why did you survive? Why not Ytetra? Why not Kima? WHY NOT ME!?" Gonk's yell, a physical pressure in his skull.
Then only the hammer blows:
"Why" A thud against his ribs.
"Why" A shard of glass in his stomach.
"Why" A needle in his eyes.
The words weren't just heard; they pierced, seeking to crush his spirit into a raw, crying wound for his own guilt. He curled tighter, impossibly tighter, muscles screaming. Fingernails scraped skin, drawing blobs of crimson-red that vanished into the void-water.
"Please..." The word bubbled around him in the water, "Stop... Please... No more..." Uttered on a dying breath, utterly defeated. He couldn't take it anymore.
A trembling hand rose, towards his own throat. Fingers, cold and shaking, found a hold. Slowly. Deliberately.
They tightened.
...
The sole thought, a desperate prayer: "End it."
...
A sound like a mountain cracking echoed through the suffocating nothingness, shattering the oppressive quiet of the drowning sea. Above, the dark surface broke.
An arm, forged of molten gold and liquid silver, plunged downward. It cut through the viscous despair like a blade through clay.
Warmth, the first sensation beyond pain or cold, radiated from it, a beacon in the freezing void. E.K.'s chokehold on his own throat faltered, fingers slipping. E.K. let go of his throat.
"STAY HERE! STAY!" Gonk's voice screamed, full with fury and hate, vibrating the very setting around him. E.K. flinched, but defiance, a spark long buried, flared.
He reached. His hand, pale and shaking, met the offered one. The grip that closed around his wrist was immovable, yet gentle.
He was pulled upwards. The thick water rushed past, roaring like a torrent suddenly unleashed, parting violently around him like a harpoon finding its mark.
Light, blinding and pure, shattered the darkness above. It grew, swelling from a miniscule point, to an all-consuming radiance, searing his light-deprived eyes.
He burst through the surface. Air; sharp, clean, shockingly cold, hit his lungs like shards of glass. He slammed onto a vast, unending plane of obsidian glass.
Coughs hurt his body, harsh and tearing, expelling phantom water that left his throat. He gasped, dragging in great, shivering lungfuls of air.
Vision blurred, adjusting painfully to the sudden, bright light. The glass field stretched infinitely, broken only by distant, monolithic structures reaching at a featureless sky.
He hadn't sensed it. Hadn't felt its arrival. It simply was. Standing nearby. Watching. A silent, towering guard.
The voices... gone. Vanished like smoke. But the memory of their assault hung like a vile stench, the phantom pain throbbing in his head.
He took another shaky breath, the old reflex rising: "This never hap-", a firm hand landed on his shoulders, heavy, yet gentle.
"No."
One word that carried the weight of a thousand truths, E.K. felt its authority, this presence now felt by him. It weighed more than Kek's authority.
The thought "Impossible!" flickered and died, smothered not by oppression, but by a profound, encompassing warmth... and an understanding that felt terrifyingly vast. It knew.
E.K. pushed himself up. Legs trembled, muscles shaking like plucked wires. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his gaze. A figure stood before him.
A form sculpted from living gold and polished silver, reflecting the grim expanse like a flawless mirror.
Adorned in robes the color of a desert sunset, the deep, burning orange of Truth itself.
-
"Hello there, Knight known as E.K." The voice was calm, understanding, resonating with a faint, metallic hum beneath the words, like bronze gently tapped.
Tyr helped him stand, his touch unnervingly smooth and cool, like living metal. Tyr's gaze remained fixed on E.K.'s face, unwavering.
E.K. felt a profound, instinctive recognition, not personal familiarity, but the entity's very essence screamed "TYR" into his being.
"Come." Soft, warm, yet carrying a hint of finality. Tyr turned and began to walk. No footstep disturbed the immense stillness. No whisper of clothing.
Complete, profound silence. E.K. followed. With each step he took, a distinct splash echoed, as if his bare feet displaced thick, invisible water clinging to the glassy plane.
Time held no anchor here; they walked for an endless amount of time, yet none.
They moved past countless mirrors, tall as monoliths, their surfaces dark and depthless. E.K. kept his gaze fixed straight ahead or downward, refusing to meet the glass.
Every time his eyes flickered towards Tyr's broad, metallic back covered by his robes, he caught a fleeting glimpse, not of the god, but of himself.
An image of absolute, undeniable truth... raw, scarred, and utterly vulnerable. An image he recoiled from, bitterness rising faintly in his throat.
"Tell me, Knight..." Tyr's voice cut the silence, Calm. No judgment, no pressure. Just a deadpan question hanging in the void. "why are you here?"
E.K.'s mind raced, he hesitated about what to say; he thought about every answer he could possibly give, yet when his lips parted only one came out, the one he did not mean to say... the truth.
"I don't know."
A small, infinitesimal weight, a single grain of sand, lifted off his being; one truth so small managed to make him feel a tiny bit better.
Tyr walked an impossibly straight line across the infinite plane, his mirrored face utterly neutral.
"That is okay, Knight," the metallic hum softened. "I will help you with that. Do not worry." He stopped moving. Absolute stillness reclaimed the space.
E.K. halted beside him. Tyr pointed downwards, a simple gesture. "Let us sit here."
Tyr lowered himself with impossible grace, a statue settling onto a base. No sound. E.K. sank down beside him, the obsidian-glass cool and unyielding against his bare skin.
Less grace, more exhausted collapse. Tyr's gaze locked onto E.K. again. It wasn't just looking; it was piercing. E.K. felt stripped, cut open.
Tyr saw the fractured man beneath the legend, the loss, the guilt, the suppressed rage, the hollow core. He saw the tapestry of E.K.'s existence: past wounds still weeping, present desolation, future paths shrouded in despair.
Tyr remained motionless, his stoic, mirrored face betraying nothing.
E.K. dared to gaze back into Tyr's eyes, swirling pools of molten gold and mercury. Deep within that reflection, he glimpsed… not his own pain, but a flicker of something else.
A profound sorrow etched into the god's very being? A truth Tyr himself could not accept?
The thought was fleeting. More immediate was the brutal clarity of his own reflection staring back. Recognition flared, the scars, the haunted eyes, the naked vulnerability.
His own gaze shot away, a hot sensation creeping up his neck.
Tyr, Mirror God, Truth, The Mirror, The sole sovereign of The Mirror Realm. The source of all respective concepts regarding truth and reflection.
The titles tumbled through his mind, a shield against the raw exposure. Stories whispered of his power to heal even the most shattered souls.
But the reality before him, this silent, watchful entity of burnished metal, felt alien, far removed from any imagined deity. The silence thickened, becoming a physical pressure.
Tyr's unwavering gaze was a brand. E.K.'s own heartbeat pounded in his ears, a fast thud-thud-thud against the choking quiet.
"Let us start with you introducing yourself."
Tyr's suggestion hung in the air. Not a demand. An open door.
"No."
The word shot out, sharp and fragile. E.K. flinched internally. He hadn't meant that. Yet, it was the only word his throat would release, the absolute barrier his psyche had constructed.
"I don't want to."
As you have noticed," Tyr acknowledged, his tone unchanged, the faint metallic resonance steady,
"you may only speak the absolute truth here. There can be no deceit, no lies. Continue whenever you want."
Calm. Patient. Utterly devoid of expectation or force. E.K. retreated into the silence. Minutes bled into subjective hours, perhaps centuries folded into moments.
The oppressive quiet pressed, broken only by the too loud rhythm of his own pulse. Tyr waited, an immovable monument of patience.
Finally, E.K. scraped together the will to break it, his voice a dry whisper.
"My mortal name is... Sao Ylith."
The name felt foreign, ancient.
"Born in Ilithia, near the coast." The words tasted like salt and long gone shores. A hard swallow clicked in E.K.'s dry throat. Tyr remained silent, a presence radiating quiet reassurance that somehow amplified the discomfort.
Then confusion changed E.K.'s features.
"You already know everything about me," he muttered, a hint of frustration beneath the exhaustion.
"So why do I need to tell you?"
...
"Because it does not matter if I know who you are." Tyr's mirrored hand lifted, a single finger pointing directly at E.K.'s chest, the gesture imbued with gentle care.
"You,"
the word echoed softly,
"need to know yourself first."
Tyr's hand then drifted to rest lightly over his own metallic heart. He looked down at the glass plane, then back up, meeting E.K.'s averted eyes.
"It all starts within one's self."
A short, humorless chuckle escaped E.K. He knew Tyr was right. The logic was undeniable. Yet, why did the act feel like knifes through his soul?
Why was recounting his own origin story an impossible task? He'd read his own story with Saga, cold facts on a page. Admitting it now, here, felt like surrendering his last shield.
"I had a mother... and a father."
The words were dull.
"Loving they were..." A phantom warmth touched his skin, instantly gone.
"They gave it all... scraped, sacrificed... to ensure I would become better than they ever were..."
He looked up at the featureless sky, a sigh shivering through him. "Then one day... they passed on... I was 19 mortal years..." His jaw tightened.
"It hurt... a deep, biting ache... for some time... But..." He forced the next words out, "I accepted it. As part of the natural cycle. That all must come to an end..." The acceptance felt hollow, recited. Silence. Heavy.
E.K. squirmed under Tyr's unwavering gaze. It wasn't aggression, but the sheer, penetrating attention was unbearable. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers knotting and unknotting without conscious thought.
More silence. Heavy enough to get crushed by.
"I... started to look for something..." he began again, the words slow. "...something I could lose myself in. Hone. Something demanding... absolute attention..." The ghost of cold steel brushed his palm.
"...I chose swordsmanship."
A faint, almost undetectable tremor ran through him.
"...I enrolled in the army..."
The remembered scent of leather, sweat, and ]earth briefly filled his nostrils.
"...here I learned the basics... the roots... of my abilities..."
He attempted a smile, a thin, fake thing that cracked at the edges. "Here I met Ljoran..."
A genuine warmth flickered, fragile but real. "
...my best friend. My brother... until death would take us apart." The final phrase tasted bitter. Silence. A vast, empty expanse. E.K. scratched the back of his head, the sensation unfamiliar without his hood, his fingers catching in unkempt hair.
The vulnerability was severe.
"Then... the Hangelean war started..." The air seemed to grow colder. "...A brutal war..." The phantom clang of steel, the distant screams of men and beasts echoed faintly in his memory's ear.
"The Hangelean Empire... attacked Oltzkan and Omeroa..." His voice hardened slightly.
"...Blaming it on scarcity... a lie..."
Secretly, buried under layers of numbness and pain, a tiny, treacherous part of him liked the act of sharing, of connecting to a past before the void. It was instantly smothered by the familiar, clinging darkness within.
"Two years... dragged by..." Each word felt heavy.
"...until they turned their gaze... to Ilithia. They deemed our lands... perfect for their crops." A spark of old defiance ignited in his dead eyes, a momentary glint of the warrior he once was, fierce and alive.
"So I was called for... to defend it..." His spine straightened almost unnoticeable.
"...and so I did..." The memory of purpose, however grim, lent a flicker of strength.
"...After years... blood, mud, and fire... we finally set foot in their capital... and stopped the war..." The glint held, a tiny fire in the silent windows of his soul.
Silence.
Silence.
A vast, immeasurable stretch of silence, dense as a neutron star. E.K.'s throat tightened. He knew where this path led next. To the doorstep. To the kiss goodbye. To the light. To the void. Tyr knew.
The knowledge was absolute in his silent, mirrored presence.
"Continue."
Still no demand. Only the profound, patient invitation to be heard. To witness himself. E.K. cracked his knuckles, the sharp pops unexpectedly loud in the stillness.
He stared down at the obsidian glass, seeing only the blurred reflection of his own hunched shoulders, his own avoidance.
"You know what happened," he said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to avoid the abyss.
"I don't have to say it." A plea disguised as a statement.
Silence.
Silence.
A crushing weight.
"Let me tell you something about me,"
Tyr offered, his voice a low chime breaking the unbearable quiet.
"Is that okay with you, Knight?"
E.K. looked at him. What? The thought crackled like static in his skull. He has something to tell me? What could that possibly be? He gave a single, stiff nod.
"Go ahead."
The words felt dry, uncertain, like pebbles dropped onto the glass beneath them. Tyr finally broke his unwavering gaze. He hooked his metallic hands together, the movement smooth and silent, and laid them precisely on his lap.
He looked down, his mirrored face reflecting the endless, dark water shimmering beneath the glass-like surface. The faint, distant ding of a phantom droplet echoed.
"I have suffered too..." His eyes, molten gold and mercury, flared with that same hidden pain E.K. had glimpsed before, a deep, ancient ache radiating through the flawless reflection.
Tyr's posture remained rigid, his face an unemotional mask. No tremor in his voice, no flicker of expression. Just the cold, hard delivery of absolute truth.
"...I have been searching for my true self... for a time so vast, it would appear primordial even to your ancient eyes..." A low, deep hum vibrated beneath his words.
"...I have yet to find myself-"
"Bullshit."
The word shot from E.K.'s mouth like a bullet, sharp and involuntary. It hung in the air, a harsh crack in the realm's profound silence. It visibly caught Tyr off guard. His mirrored head snapped up, a fraction too fast.
The stoic mask remained, but his eyes; those swirling pools of metal, widened infinitesimally. For the first time, raw emotion flickered within them: shock, confusion, a spark of wounded pride.
"What?"
Tyr asked, the metallic hum in his voice laced with genuine, uncomprehending confusiob.
"I can only speak the truth... I would never lie."
His tone held a rare note of puzzlement, almost hurt. Tyr stood up in one fluid, soundless motion.
"If you cannot accept the truth I tell you," his voice gained a harder tone, the deep hum deepening more, "then you must see it for yourself."
Before E.K. could even think, let alone react or call upon his infinite adaptability, Tyr moved. Too fast. A blur of gold and silver. Not a sound of breaking glass, but the sensation of reality fracturing emerged.
Suddenly, E.K. sat amidst countless versions of Tyr. Thousands. Millions. A crows of identical mirrored figures, all staring at E.K. with that same, unnerving focus.
Their voices merged into a haunting, multi-layered chorus, vibrating the air itself:
"I hear a billion thoughts every second..." A whisper like wind through wires
"I feel a trillion emotions every time my heart beats..." A deep, pulsing pinch against E.K.'s skin
"I hear a quadrillion voices every breath I take..." A deafening, whispered nooise filling his skull
"I do not know who I am..." The chorus softening, with a hint sorrow
"I do not know what I am..." A profound emptiness echoing
"All I know is that I must help those who need it..." The voices strengthen, finding a sliver of purpose
"...so that they will never end up like me. Lost inside... a state of eternal confusion." The final words a chilling whisper that faded into the void
Slowly, seamlessly, the countless figures flowed back into one. The oppressive chorus ceased, leaving a ringing silence that pressed on E.K.'s eardrums.
He sat utterly still.
Paralyzed.
Simply staring, his mind reeling from the sheer, overwhelming scale of the god's inner chaos.
Tyr sat back down, the obsidian glass accepting his weight without a sound. His gaze remained fixed on E.K., fierce now, yet burning with a profound light.
"You seem to forget," his voice was quiet but carried immense weight, the metallic sound sharp, "there are entities who suffered a thousand times worse fates than what you went through."
The words struck E.K. like a physical blow, cracking something deep within his hardened core. A shield burst. Tyr... was right. A wave of profound relief washed over him, unexpected and immense. It felt like shedding armor he hadn't realized was crushing him.
Cool air seemed to fill lungs that had been starved for millennia.
"Please,"
Tyr said, his tone softening back to its calm, patient baseline, the fierce light in his eyes dimming to understanding. No trace of animosity, only the ever-present, unjudgmental stillness.
"Continue where you left off."
E.K. stopped fidgeting. His hands lay still in his lap. He took a deep, shaking breath, the air cool and clean in his throat.
"After the war..." he began, his voice low but steady.
"The first day... I got home..." He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet.
"I... I left my family... to get something to drink." A heavy stone of shame lodged itself in his throat, making the next words painful and difficult.
Silence pressed in, thick and awaiting.
"I..." A tremor ran through him.
"...I swore to never drink... Yet..." He closed his eyes briefly. "...I did..." The admission tasted like betrayal.
Silence.
A vast, aching emptiness.
"I... I drank..." His voice dropped to a worn whisper.
"...as much as... as my body would allow..." He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, seeing the phantom tavern, the too-bright lights, Ljoran's laugh.
"...I went home..." A phantom chill swept over his skin.
"...I felt it... a wrongness... cold... in the air..." Tears welled, hot and stinging, tracing paths down his cheeks.
"...I came home... and..." A sob choked him. "...and they were dead... gone..."
The words ripped out, raw and agonized. His heart hammered against his chest, a wild drumbeat threatening to burst his chest. His head throbbed, pressure building as if his skull might explode.
And yet... beneath the agony... his soul... felt... lighter. As if a mountain got lifted from it.
Tyr... smiled.
A subtle, almost unseen curve of the mirrored lips, filled with infinite compassion and sorrow.
"You see lateness..." Tyr murmured, his voice a soft chime. "...You see lack of responsibility... No?"
E.K. nodded mutely, tears flowing freely now, dripping onto the cool glass below.
"Now," Tyr said gently. With a silent gesture, he summoned a mirror in front of E.K. Its surface swirled, then cleared, showing not his reflection, but a scene: the cozy room bathed in firelight, shadows dancing.
"See the assassin already inside..." Tyr's voice was a soft, guide. "...hiding in the shadows." The image focused, sharpening on a cloaked figure pressed deep into the darkness behind a heavy curtain, blade drawn, eyes fixed on the unsuspecting family.
E.K.'s eyes widened in horror. A choked gasp escaped him. He lunged forward, grabbing the mirror frame with trembling hands, pulling it closer, his face inches from the unbearable truth.
His knuckles turned white. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. His heart felt like it was being crushed in a squeeze, a deep, physical ache spreading through his chest.
"No!"
The scream tore from his raw throat, ragged and desperate. "Th-That can't be! It was I who shouldn't have gone for a drink! If I did not do that, then they wouldn't have died!"
He was screaming at his own reflection lying over the horrific scene, raging against the lie he'd clung to for so long. Tyr allowed it. Let the storm rage. Let the final, desperate denial tear itself from E.K.'s soul.
"Eternal Knight..."
Tyr's voice cut through the anguish, calm and absolute. He forged another mirror, placing it beside the first. This one showed a vast, star-adorned scroll unfolding in a realm of light, names etched in cosmic absolutes.
"...If you had been there, they would still have died." The image shifted, showing the assassin's blade falling regardless of E.K.'s imagined presence.
"It was your destiny... your fate..." The scroll focused on three names: Sao Ylith's wife, his children. "...It was their fate..." The image zoomed out to show the immense, indifferent size of the Order Throne.
"...An order of the Order Throne... You could never have defied it..."
The finality in Tyr's voice was the closing of a heavy door. E.K. fell silent. The scream died. The rage evaporated, leaving hollow numbness. He stared at the second mirror, the cosmic decree burning into his eyes.
He felt it. A... coolness, spreading where the fire of that specific guilt had burned for so long. Not joy, not freedom, but absence. The ancient rot of blame for them, was scoured away, leaving a clean, cold scar.
But the deeper rot, the one tied to the screams of comrades and the scent of cosmic decay... that still festered. The cleansing fire Tyr promised felt like a distant spark, not a blaze.
"It..." His voice was a broken whisper, struggling past the tightness in his throat. He took a shuddering breath, the fire burning brighter.
...I couldn't have stopped them..." The words, spoken not in defeat, but in dawning, agonizing understanding. A colossal weight, carried for eons, shifted... but didn't vanish.
The knowledge settled, cold and clear, like a stone dropped into a deep, still water. But the pain... the raw, gaping hole where his heart used to be... remained.
He felt hollowed out by the truth, not freed. The deeper wound, the one that truly defined his despair, pulsed beneath the surface.
He felt almost weightless, adrift. Tyr smiled again. A true smile now, warm and full of sorrowful understanding. He nodded once, a slow, deep acknowledgment.
He raised his arms, slowly widening them in a gesture that encompassed the infinite realm, a silent blessing.
"Until we meet again, Knight..." His voice was a soft, echoing bell tolling across the void.
"...I am always open..." A pause, filled with profound knowing.
"...Oh, the child... He is just like us... broken..." The final words held infinite sadness. "Knowing the truth is the first step, Knight. Feeling its freedom... that fire... it burns brightest when you witness your own innocence. Your heavier burden still awaits its dawn."
Clap. The sound was impossibly loud, sharp, and final, like the universe itself closing shut. Light, sound, sensation, everything vanished in an instant.
E.K. gasped, eyes flying open. Dried tears on his face. Disorientation slammed into him. Rough stone pressed against his back. Warm, humid air replaced the sterile chill of the Mirror Realm.
The lingering scent of ozone and ancient stone filled his nostrils. A face loomed over him, blocking the dim light. Two eyes, wide with innocent curiosity, peered down.
"Oh, Hello there mister!" The voice was high-pitched, unnervingly cheerful. Too happy.