Chapter 20 — The Morning That Didn't Wait
The morning light felt wrong.
Too pale. Too quiet.
Aira blinked into the glow spilling through her curtains. For a moment, she just lay there, her head half-buried in the pillow, listening to the stillness. The city usually hummed faintly even at dawn — engines, voices, the soft rhythm of life.
Now, all she heard was the ticking of the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
…ticktickticktick—
The sound glitched for a second, speeding up before stopping altogether.
Aira sat up, breath catching.
Her phone was still on the bedside table. The screen was black, but faint light pulsed beneath it — like a heartbeat under glass.
She reached for it slowly, fingertips brushing the surface.
The screen flared awake.
> "Stay inside tonight."
Same message.
Same faint pulse.
But the timestamp read 7:03 a.m.
Aira's chest tightened. "No, that's not— that can't—"
She threw off the blanket, feet hitting the floor. Her reflection in the mirror by the door looked back at her — eyes wide, hair messy — normal enough. But when she turned away, the reflection didn't.
It smiled half a second too late.
---
Her heart hammered as she backed away from the mirror.
"Okay… okay, breathe. You're fine. You're just—"
Knock knock.
The sound made her jump.
She turned toward the door.
Ren stood in the hallway, uniform jacket slightly wrinkled, expression unreadable as always.
"Morning," he said.
Aira tried to steady her voice. "Did you… sleep at all?"
He shook his head. "Didn't need to."
She frowned. "That's not— what do you mean, didn't need to?"
Ren hesitated, then met her eyes. "You're seeing the overlap now, aren't you?"
Her throat went dry. "Overlap?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Between here… and wherever she's standing."
The room flickered — just slightly — and for a split second, the light outside shifted from gold to a deep, unnatural blue.
"Rimuru," Aira whispered.
Ren nodded. "She's fighting to keep the distortion out. But it's spreading faster than before. Something's drawing it toward you."
Aira took a step back, shaking her head. "Me? Why me?"
Ren's eyes flickered silver again.
"Because you remember her too clearly."
---
Somewhere Else — At the Edge of the Static
The skyline trembled.
Glass towers shimmered like liquid.
Rimuru stood on the border between reality and reflection — the "thin place," as she called it — where the two worlds brushed shoulders but never fully merged.
Before her, the air folded into itself, creating a swirling sphere of light and shadow. Then, a figure stepped out — tall, slender, wrapped in transparent fabric that moved like smoke.
Echo.
Their voice was both soft and sharp — like multiple tones speaking as one.
"You broke the pattern again, Rimuru."
Rimuru smirked. "Good morning to you too, glitch ghost."
Echo tilted their head. "You warned the anchor. That was not part of the sequence."
"I don't follow sequences," Rimuru said, brushing dust off her coat. "Especially ones that get people I care about erased."
A pause — then a faint chuckle echoed through the air.
"She means more to you than the world you protect."
Rimuru didn't answer. Her fingers twitched slightly, the faint glow of her aura leaking through her skin.
Echo's eyes, or what passed for them, dimmed to a cold grey.
"You can't keep both stable. The human… and the construct. One will have to fade."
Rimuru looked up at the fractured skyline — two suns flickering faintly, overlapping like misaligned frames.
"Then I'll rewrite the rules," she said quietly.
Echo smiled faintly, as if amused. "You tried that before."
"And I'll keep trying," Rimuru replied, voice firm now. "Until laughing hurts less than losing."
The air rippled. The faint hum of the city — both real and mirrored — throbbed like a heartbeat beneath their feet.
Echo's tone softened.
"You can't protect her forever, Rimuru. Anchors eventually remember what they are."
Rimuru's smile returned — but it was thinner this time.
"Then I'll remind her why she stayed human in the first place."
---
Back to Aira
Ren was saying something — words that came and went like echoes.
But Aira's gaze was fixed on her reflection again.
It wasn't smiling anymore.
It was crying.
And faintly — beneath the tears — she heard Rimuru's voice whisper:
> "Don't believe everything the mirror shows you."