The path ended at a house.
A small, ordinary house.
White paint peeling, porch swing creaking in a wind that didn't exist.
One light on in the kitchen window.
The smell of bread baking.
The Five stopped ten metres away.
None of them moved.
Because every single one of them had seen this house before.
In dreams they weren't allowed to have.
Laura's hand found Liora's without looking.
Their resonance was gone, but the grip was tighter than steel.
Nysera's wolf growled low, not at the house.
At the smell of home.
Zero stared at the porch like it had personally betrayed him.
Law felt the last shard in his pocket pulse once.
Like a key recognising its lock.
The front door opened by itself.
Warm yellow light spilled out.
A woman stood in the doorway.
She looked exactly like Law's mother.
She looked exactly like Laura's mother.
She looked exactly like every mother they had never been allowed to keep.
She smiled.
It was the saddest smile any of them had ever seen.
"Dinner's ready," she said.
Her voice was every lullaby the Mirror had ever stolen.
Five chairs waited at the kitchen table.
Five plates.
Five glasses of water that reflected nothing.
The woman stepped aside.
The invitation was gentle.
It was final.
Laura took one step forward.
Liora held her back.
"We walk in there," Liora whispered, "we don't walk out."
Laura's eyes were wet.
"I know."
Nysera's claws dug into her own palms.
"I can smell my mother's stew."
Zero laughed, but it cracked in the middle.
"My old man used to burn the toast exactly like that."
Law didn't move.
The woman looked straight at him.
"You kept your promise," she said.
"I don't remember making one," Law answered.
"You will."
She held out her hand.
In her palm: five white flowers.
One for each of them.
They were still warm.
From the blood Law had spilled when he closed the door.
The woman's smile trembled.
"You can rest now," she said.
"All of you."
Laura took another step.
Then another.
Liora followed.
Nysera's wolf whined and lay down.
Zero shrugged like he was walking to his own execution.
Law stayed where he was.
The woman looked at him.
Only him.
"You closed the door," she said softly.
"Now open this one."
Law looked at the house.
At the warm light.
At the four people who had already chosen.
Then at the empty road behind them.
There was no road anymore.
Only white flowers growing backward into nothing.
He understood.
This wasn't a trap.
It was the reward.
The Mirror's final gift.
Peace.
At the price of everything they had fought to become.
Law took one step.
Then stopped.
He looked at the woman who was every mother they had lost.
And smiled.
It wasn't kind.
"I'm not hungry," he said.
The woman's face didn't change.
But something behind her eyes broke.
Law turned around.
Walked back to the edge of the flowers.
Knelt.
And dug his fingers into the dirt.
The others watched.
Silent.
He pulled.
The ground resisted.
Then gave.
A sound like tearing fabric.
The house flickered.
The warm light dimmed.
The smell of bread turned to ash.
Law kept pulling.
Until he held a root.
A black root made of mirror shards and screams.
He looked back at the woman.
At the house.
At the four people who had almost walked away forever.
And spoke with the voice that had killed Ka'thar.
"I choose the path," he said.
"Not the destination."
He snapped the root.
The house screamed.
Not the woman.
The house itself.
Windows shattered outward in perfect circles.
The porch swing fell and rotted in mid-air.
The warm light turned cold and blue.
The woman aged a thousand years in one second.
Her skin cracked like porcelain.
Flowers poured from the cracks.
She reached for them.
One last time.
Her voice was the Mirror's voice.
Small.
Broken.
Grateful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then she crumbled.
The house collapsed inward.
Into a hole.
A hole that filled with white flowers.
Until there was nothing left.
Only the five of them.
Standing on a path that now stretched forward again.
Into darkness.
Into whatever came after peace.
Laura was crying.
Liora was laughing.
Nysera's wolf howled at a moon that wasn't there.
Zero lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
Law stood up.
The root in his hand had become a staff.
Black.
Sharp.
Made of every promise he had just broken.
He looked at the Four.
At the path.
At the darkness ahead.
And started walking.
They followed.
Because that was what they did.
Five heartbeats.
One path.
No home.
No peace.
Only forward.
Behind them, the flowers began to sing again.
But this time,
they sang a different lullaby.
One that had no ending.