Chapter 15 — Fragments of the Mirror
The city outside hummed faintly — traffic, wind, and electricity weaving together like distant static. Inside the café, the air was colder, trapped between walls that still remembered voices that shouldn't exist.
Rimuru leaned against the cracked counter, spinning a spoon between her fingers.
"So, Echo," she began, "still haunting mirrors for fun, or have you developed a new hobby?"
Echo crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Says the girl who fractured a dimension just to take a break from people."
Rimuru grinned. "Details, details."
The ceiling light flickered once, and the air rippled faintly. Echo's reflection in the window wavered — for a second, there were two of him, then one.
Rimuru noticed.
"You're fading faster than last time."
He didn't deny it. "This place barely holds me together anymore. You're the one keeping it stable."
Rimuru sighed, eyes softening. "Guess I'm useful after all."
"Don't joke," Echo said quietly. "If the Static's moving again, it's not just after you this time."
She tilted her head. "Then who?"
"The anchor," he said simply. "That girl — Aira."
Rimuru's smile faltered. The spoon in her hand stopped spinning. "She's not involved in this."
Echo's tone was calm, but his eyes weren't. "You brought her close. You made her your balance. You think the Static won't notice the one thing tethering you to the world?"
Rimuru turned away, her reflection in the glass frowning where her real face smiled. "I didn't ask her to save me."
"But she did," Echo replied. "And you know what that means."
Rimuru exhaled softly. "That I'm getting sentimental?"
"That she's your weakness."
Silence stretched. Dust floated lazily in a shaft of dim light. Then — a quiet laugh.
"Funny," Rimuru said. "I thought that's what made me human."
---
She walked toward the window, her reflection following half a beat behind.
"You ever think we were meant to stay broken?" she asked. "That maybe the Static isn't wrong — maybe it's just what's left of us trying to pull everything back to how it used to be."
Echo watched her carefully. "You mean when you were still—"
"Don't," she interrupted sharply, the air rippling around her. "That version of me doesn't exist anymore."
"Tell that to the shadows whispering your name," he murmured.
Rimuru smirked. "They can whisper all they want. I'm busy pretending to be normal."
"Pretending won't save her."
Rimuru's gaze dropped to her reflection. For a moment, her blue-and-red eyes dimmed to a soft gray — tired, quiet, real.
"I know," she whispered. "That's why I can't afford to stop."
---
Outside, the city lights began to flicker. Static crawled faintly across the windows, like invisible frost.
Echo stepped closer to her, voice low. "It's starting again."
"Yeah," Rimuru said, turning toward the door, her grin returning — playful, reckless, brilliant. "Then I guess it's showtime."
She paused, hand on the doorknob, her reflection smirking back at her.
> "You still laugh before every storm," it said.
Rimuru winked. "Laugh first, question later."
And with that, she stepped into the light — the café dissolving into a haze of noise and memory behind her.