Nkosana stared into the mirror, heart hammering, throat dry. His reflection blinked—*out of sync*. The him inside the glass smirked while he did not. It raised a hand before he could, twisted it, claws forming from fingers.
"No... this isn't me…"
*"You keep saying that,"* the demon rasped, amused. *"But deep down, you enjoy the fear in their eyes. You crave the power."*
Nkosana clenched his fists. "I'm nothing like you."
The mirror laughed—his reflection laughed—but the sound didn't come from the glass. It echoed from all around him, like the walls themselves were taunting him.
Suddenly, chains shot out from the stone floor, binding his limbs. The mirror shimmered, and from it stepped a shadow—*his demonic self*, grinning, breathing, *real*.
"I'm not your enemy," the demon said, circling him. "I'm your *birthright*."
With one fluid motion, the doppelgänger pressed its hand to Nkosana's chest. His body convulsed. Visions exploded behind his eyes: blood rituals, a throne of bones, a name whispered in every tongue—*Nkosana, the Split Flame*.
And then silence.
He was alone again. Chains gone. Mirror cracked.
But now… now he felt it.
A heartbeat that wasn't entirely his.