The Nightfall construct stood a few feet away, shaped like hunger pretending to be human.
It wore Kai's voice so perfectly that Lina's ribs ached with the reflex to believe it.
"Remember the stairwell," it whispered. "You begged me not to leave you."
Lina's hands shook, flames flickering under her skin—not just heat, but panic, anger, grief. The Mirror Library drank all of it like wine.
Reyon hovered at her shoulder, pale and sweating. "Okay," he muttered. "That thing is officially banned from using emotional blackmail. It has no license."
Seren didn't laugh. Her eyes were glowing brighter than they should, Soul Echoes pulling on her like invisible hooks.
"It's not just mimicry," Seren whispered. "It's… tuning itself to you. Like a radio finding the perfect station."
The construct tilted its head—Kai's gesture. Kai's cadence.
Kai's softness.
"Lina," it said, "you're hurting me."
Lina flinched.
Then she clenched her jaw hard enough to taste blood.
No.
Kai didn't say that. Not like that. Not when he was hurting. He protected. He deflected. He swallowed pain and turned it into a shield.
This thing wanted her to panic.
Wanted her to doubt herself.
Wanted her to let go.
Her bone-tether burned in her ribs—thin gold lines that felt like molten wire fused into her skeleton. Every time she breathed, it pulsed.
And beneath that pulse—faint, distant—
Kai.
Real Kai.
A pressure in her chest like a hand squeezing once.
A silent message:
Still here.
Lina inhaled shakily.
Then lifted her chin.
"Stop," she said to the Nightfall.
It smiled.
"Or what?" it asked gently, in Kai's voice.
Lina's flame surged gold. "Or I'll expose you."
Reyon blinked. "We can expose monsters now? Great. Love this era."
Seren grabbed Lina's sleeve, panic sharpening her whisper. "Lina, careful—truth makes the mirrors react."
"Good," Lina said quietly. "Let them react."
The Nightfall's shadow-fingers twitched, impatient.
"Lina," it murmured. "If you keep holding onto him, you'll break. You'll forget him. You'll become the thing you fear."
It took one slow step forward.
"Let me go. Let him go. It ends the pain."
Lina's throat tightened.
Pain.
Yes.
But letting go wasn't mercy. It was surrender.
She looked at Reyon. "You said my brain is a trauma factory, right?"
Reyon grimaced. "I mean… yes."
"Then you know what this is," Lina said, voice low.
Seren's eyes widened. "Lina…"
Lina stepped forward, facing the construct head-on.
"Say my name," she commanded.
The Nightfall paused.
Reyon blinked. "Oh. Oh that's—kind of hot, actually."
Seren hissed, "Reyon."
Lina didn't look away. "Say it."
The construct's smile returned—too smooth.
"Lina," it said.
"Full name," Lina snapped. "Say my full name."
The Mirror Library shuddered.
Mirrors trembled on the walls, as if the glass didn't like being challenged.
The Nightfall's head tilted again—Kai's habit when he was thinking.
"Lina Veris," it said.
Lina's flame flickered.
Correct.
But her bones didn't steady.
Because the tether didn't respond.
If that had been Kai, something in her would have anchored. Even a fraction. Even a pulse.
Nothing.
Seren's voice shook. "It said it right… but it didn't ring true."
Lina nodded slowly. "Because it's copying the words, not the… weight."
Reyon swallowed. "Okay. So what's next in your very terrifying truth-test?"
Lina stepped closer.
"Say yours," she said, staring at it. "Say your name."
The Nightfall smiled wider. "Kai Rhen."
The words hit her like lightning.
The library whispered.
The mirrors leaned in.
Her flame flared—half gold, half black at the edges—because her heart was a reckless thing.
But Lina didn't step back.
She whispered the rule that formed itself in her mouth like a vow.
"Say my name," Lina said softly, "and stay real."
Seren's breath hitched. Reyon went still.
The Nightfall's smile faltered—just a flicker.
Because it knew the test wasn't about names.
It was about truth under pressure.
Lina lifted her hand, flame hovering just above her palm like a living star.
"Tell me," Lina said, voice trembling but steady, "what did you call me the first time you stopped pretending you hated me?"
The Nightfall froze.
Reyon's eyes widened. "Oh… oh that's good."
Seren's gaze snapped to Lina. "That's—"
"That's a private detail," Lina whispered. "Only Kai knows."
The Nightfall's mouth opened—
Closed—
Then it tried.
Its voice softened, perfect.
"I called you—"
Lina's flame hissed.
Seren suddenly grabbed Lina's wrist. "Lina—wait. I can hear it. The lie frequency—"
Seren's eyes flared with Soul Echo light.
She stared at the Nightfall like she could hear the spaces between its words.
"It's layering," Seren whispered. "It's building the answer from what you want to hear."
The Nightfall's smile returned, sharper now.
"Trouble," it said.
Lina went still.
Her stomach dropped.
Because that was close.
Too close.
Kai had called her trouble once. Smirking. Quiet. Annoyingly amused.
But—
Not the first time.
The first time he'd stopped pretending?
He hadn't called her trouble.
He'd called her—
Lina swallowed hard, voice shaking.
"No," she whispered. "Wrong."
The Nightfall's eyes—void—narrowed.
Reyon exhaled. "YES. Wrong answer, demon Kai."
Lina stepped forward until she was inches away from it.
"Say it again," she demanded. "Say what you called me."
The Nightfall's voice turned colder.
"Trouble."
The Mirror Library reacted.
Cracks spidered across a dozen mirrors at once.
Seren stumbled back, clutching her head. "It hates truth—Lina, stop pushing—"
But Lina couldn't stop.
Not when Kai was on the other side of glass and lies were wearing his mouth.
Lina's flame surged, lighting the Nightfall's warped face.
She whispered, voice breaking:
"You called me 'brave'."
Reyon's breath caught.
Seren froze.
The Mirror Library screamed—glass shrieking like a living thing.
The Nightfall recoiled as if burned.
"Brave," Lina whispered again, shaking. "You said it like it was an insult. Like you didn't want me to hear it. But you said it."
The Nightfall trembled.
Its voice cracked.
"Lina—"
"Don't," Lina snapped. "Not with his voice."
Her bone-tether pulsed hard—painful, urgent—
And for the first time since Kai vanished, his real voice broke through, faint as breath through water:
"Below."
Lina froze.
"What?" she whispered, clutching her ribs.
The tether pulsed again, like a heartbeat.
"Below," Kai's voice repeated—ragged, strained. "Not… mirrors. Below the… cage."
Seren's eyes widened in terror.
"He's warning us," Seren whispered. "Something below the academy is—"
The Nightfall's head snapped toward Lina like it had heard Kai too.
Its voice changed—sharp, furious.
"How?" it hissed. "How are you hearing him?"
Lina's flame flared brighter.
"Because you're not him," she said, trembling. "And you never will be."
The Nightfall screamed—a sound of glass and grief.
Its body shuddered violently.
Reyon backed up, hands up. "Okay, okay, we won the argument, can we now not die—"
The Nightfall's form tore like cloth.
Its shadow skin split down the center.
Not collapsing.
Not retreating.
Splitting.
One half kept Kai's voice—soft, pleading.
"Lina… please."
The other half became something else—deeper, older, layered with mirror static.
"Good," it whispered, voice like cracked stone. "Now you know the truth."
Lina's breath stopped.
Seren's eyes went wide.
"That's… not Nightfall anymore," Seren whispered. "That's Veilbound."
Reyon's voice cracked. "We just upgraded the horror level. Fantastic."
The two halves stepped apart.
Two Kai voices.
One begging.
One commanding.
And the mirrors—every single one—turned toward Lina at once, showing her face… with no eyes.
The commanding half whispered:
"Say his name again."
Lina's heart slammed.
The tether burned.
Because she knew what it wanted.
If she said his name the wrong way—
If she said it with fear, with surrender—
The mirror would lock.
And Kai would be lost.
Forever.
To be Continued© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.