The capital moved as one body.
Gates slammed shut in a sequence too precise to be panic. Water channels along the streets brightened, mirror-lattices waking beneath their surfaces. Silver banners snapped taut as if pulled by a single breath.
"Mirror Wardens," Ya Zhen said, already moving. "Forming ranks."
They came down from the rooftops first.
Not falling… descending. Lines of silver armor broke the sky in clean intervals, boots touching stone in perfect unison. Faceless helms turned together. Blades angled the same way. Every step echoed the last, symmetry made into threat.
Ji Ming stepped forward.
His stance settled low, knees flexed, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The twin sabers slid free with a sound like drawn breath.
"Heaven-Stride," he said quietly.
He vanished.
Not upward… sideways, then up, then nowhere at all. The first Warden raised its blade a heartbeat too late as Ji Ming reappeared behind it, sabers crossing once. Armor parted. The body fell without sound.
Sol moved with him.
Silver Thread Needles flashed from her sleeve, not thrown blindly but placed with intent. They sank into joints, meridians, the precise gaps between mirrored plates. Wardens staggered, formations fracturing as redirected force rippled through their ranks.
"Lotus Mirror Hand," she breathed.
A Warden's strike came down like judgment. Sol met it palm-to-blade, qi spiraling inward. The force turned, slid, rebounded… and the Warden was thrown into its own line, symmetry collapsing into chaos.
The Mirrorborn walked between them.
Where it passed, reflections dulled. Water channels clouded. Mirror-lattices along the street sputtered, confused, their readings losing coherence.
"Break their rhythm," Ya Zhen called, fan snapping open. Vermilion sigils cut the air, slicing between Wardens and severing the invisible lines that kept them synchronized. "They fight as one. Make them remember they're many."
Ji Ming landed beside Sol in a rush of displaced air.
"On my count," he said.
She nodded.
He leapt again, Heaven-Stride chaining impossible angles, using falling blades as stepping points. Sol followed not by flight, but by timing… placing her steps where his movement opened space, redirecting attacks into his arcs.
They moved like a single breath.
A Warden lunged for Sol's flank. Ji Ming twisted midair, Star-Rift Howl tearing outward in a compressed wave. Stone fractured. The Warden shattered into fragments of silver and glass.
Another came from behind Ji Ming.
Sol was already there.
Her palm touched the blade's spine. Lotus Mirror Hand caught the intent, not the metal. The strike reversed. Ji Ming turned into it, sabers completing the circle.
Bodies fell.
The capital screamed.
Inquisitors arrived next.
Not armored. Not synchronized.
Human… and far more dangerous.
They moved through the chaos like surgeons through flesh, mirrorcraft folding space around them. One stepped from a reflection that shouldn't have existed, blade aimed for Sol's throat.
Ji Ming felt it before he saw it.
The resonance flared, sharp and urgent.
He crossed the distance in a single impossible step, taking the blade across his shoulder instead. Pain exploded. He did not slow.
Sol's needles found the Inquisitor's neck. The man collapsed, mirrorcraft unraveling as his qi scattered.
"Don't," she said, breath tight. "Don't do that."
Ji Ming bared his teeth in something like a smile. "Then stay where I can see you."
They pushed forward.
Through the outer halls. Across bridges of glass. Past water that reflected everything except their faces.
The palace loomed ahead.
White stone. Silver filigree. Doors carved with laws made visible.
Inside, the Silver Lady watched them approach.
Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, drawing light from the lattice embedded in the palace floor. Qi condensed into her palms, shaping itself into something sharp and crystalline.
"The divine root is close," she murmured. "Hold the line."
The Emperor did not look away from the lattice. "No," he said. "Let them come."
They breached the palace doors in a storm of motion.
Ji Ming tore through the first line of Wardens, Heaven-Stride carrying him over shields and spears alike. Sol followed, healing him mid-motion, redirecting force, keeping him standing by sheer precision.
Ya Zhen slipped past them both, fan carving sigils into the floor. The Emperor's guards fell as their footing vanished, stone turning treacherous beneath their feet.
The palace did not fall all at once.
It resisted.
Mirror Wardens poured in from side halls and elevated galleries, silver armor flashing beneath lattice light. The floor itself fought them… reflective planes rising and folding to redirect movement, turning every step into a calculation.
Ji Ming was already airborne.
Heaven-Stride carried him from pillar to pillar, sabers carving arcs through the air. Each landing sent pain flaring through his ribs. He ignored it. He always did.
Below him, Sol moved in constant motion.
Not retreating. Never retreating.
Redirecting.
Lotus Mirror Hand caught force after force, turning strikes aside, unraveling mirrorcraft mid-formation. Silver Thread Needles flew from her sleeves until her fingers ached and her breath burned thin.
Her healing lagged.
Just slightly.
Ya Zhen's sigils detonated in precise intervals, vermilion light tearing symmetry apart. She moved like a blade through silk, every strike final. But her breathing had grown sharp. Her sleeves were emptying.
The Emperor watched.
He did not intervene.
Above them, the Silver Lady stood perfectly still.
She had not moved since the fighting began.
She was listening.