Vencian knelt and pulled Reine into his arms. Her body trembled against his chest. Blood soaked through his sleeve and pooled in his palm as he pressed hard over the wound. Her breathing came shallow and uneven.

He gripped her shoulder and whispered, "Keep breathing, Reine. Don't close your eyes." Then louder, desperate, "Nothing's going to happen to you, do you hear me?"

The blood kept leaking through his fingers.

As he pressed harder, his hands slipped on her wet shirt. She was cold to the touch, her skin clammy beneath his fingers. Thick smoke filled the air, burning his throat as he tried to breathe.

Reine tried to speak. Her voice cracked with each word. "I really… wanted to go to that place… you said… Moonfrost Keep."

Lips trembled as though caught between fear and pleading. Eyes shifted slowly, searching for his in the dim light. Silence held him captive; his mouth parted, but no sound escaped. The warmth drained from her face, leaving only a fragile pallor where life had been moments before.

Her body did not go limp yet. Her breath hitched once more, weak but still there. Vencian looked down, lost, unable to act or think.

Why did you move? I told you to stay.

The shed around them was falling apart. Fire spread across the rafters. Quenya was there with him, but her presence didn't calm him at this moment. Vencian kept holding the girl.

Beside them, the chalice lay on the ground. It was the real one, the one he had given her before the fight began for safekeeping. Blood dripped from her side into it, filling the carved grooves along its edge. The red spread across the inner surface, catching the fire's flicker.

His breath came short. The edges of the room blurred, shrinking around the gleam of that cup. It gave a faint pulse—one, then another, like a heartbeat far too calm for what it contained. He looked down at her face. Eyes half open. Still.

And then the world tilted, as if something had finally decided to collect its due.

Smoke turned into fog. The shed floor dissolved under his knees. The sound of crackling fire was replaced by a low hum that vibrated through his skull.

He was pulled into the gray fray again.

His feet found no ground for a moment. Then a solid surface formed—cold, smooth, endless. Mirrors stretched in every direction, huge and glinting with faint color. Each one showed movement, slow and continuous, as if entire lives were unfolding within them.

He turned slowly. The nearest mirror showed a girl in an old-style dress, carrying a basket of fruit. Her laughter faded as hands seized her from behind. The scene broke into blood and silence. He stepped back.

Another mirror showed a woman in ceremonial robes, crying as a blade descended toward her. Each mirror carried a different story, each the same end.

Vencian moved forward, eyes darting from one reflection to another. Some were blurred, some too vivid. All were different years, different faces, the same pain. Each one showed the same cycle—life, innocence, sacrifice.

His stomach turned. All of them were the same. All of them died the same way.

He stopped before a large mirror with faint scratches across its surface. Inside it played another story, clearer than the rest. Two girls ran across a field. He recognized them at once.

Neine and Reine.

The glass rippled under his hand. It felt alive, warm as skin. Before he could pull back, it gave way and swallowed him whole.

For a second he tumbled through noise and color, a blur of old laughter. Then grass brushed his knees and sunlight stung his eyes.

Two girls darted past him. Their voices bounced across the stream like skipping stones.

He blinked, startled. They didn't see him, though one turned her head as if catching his thought and then forgot it.

Both children played near a stream, their laughter echoing faintly. Neine was a year older. She held a small branch, pretending it was a sword. Reine followed with a flower crown on her head, trying to keep up.

A blink, and the field melted into a small house of clay and timber. Smoke curled from a crooked stove. The smell of stew clung to the walls.

Vencian brushed the table; crumbs stuck to his glove. He could hear the girls laughing in the next room. The air hummed with life too ordinary to last.

Inside were parents, grandparents, and uncles. A large family, all seated around a meal. The girls shared food and jokes. The air was warm with chatter.

Then came the change. The uncles grew pale and weak. A sickness swept through the village. Bodies were carried out, one after another.

The air soured. Vencian stepped back as the sound of coughing filled the lane. The smell of rot climbed the walls. He felt it grip his throat though this world wasn't meant to touch him.

The adults whispered of infection and divine punishment. Within weeks, the family shrank to only the parents and the two daughters.

Vencian's jaw clenched. He knew what this led to, yet he could not look away.

The mirror shifted again. The father stood outside under gray sky, speaking to the mother. His hands shook. Their words came muffled but carried grief.

Vencian stood by the doorway, rain trickling from the roof onto his shoulders. The parents didn't see him. Their words floated like smoke, curling through him, impossible to stop or change.

"We have to choose," the father said.

"We can't," the mother replied, eyes swollen.

"If we refuse, the curse will fall on all of us."

"They are children."

"If we don't, everyone dies. It's the rule. The Seer made it law."

She covered her face. He stepped closer, helpless. The reflection offered no escape.

That night, the parents brought a small tiara to their daughters. It was not made of gold, but it glimmered with beads. They smiled too much as they spoke.

"Tomorrow is harvest," the father said. "Whoever's bundle of grain is picked first will win this."

Both girls nodded with excitement. They had no idea.

The next day came fast. The girls ran through the field, gathering stalks into small piles. Reine worked with fierce energy. Neine tried to keep up but fell behind. The mother watched, her face stiff. The father stared into the distance.

By afternoon, Reine won. She shouted in joy, holding up her bundle. The parents forced a smile. Neine sulked in silence, eyes red.

That evening, Reine kept turning the tiara in her hands. She admired it, smiling softly to herself. Neine sat near the door, still upset.

Later that night, Reine woke to whispers outside. She crept to the doorway and saw two figures standing with her parents in the yard—the Seer and his son, dark shapes against the moonlight.

"Tomorrow then," the Seer said. His voice carried like wind through a crack.

"The one wearing the tiara," her father replied. His words came hoarse, broken at the edges.

"That's the agreement." The Seer's son shifted his weight. "No changing it after dawn."

The mother made a small sound, half sob, half breath. "She won it fairly."

"Then it's settled." The Seer turned to leave. "We come at first light."

Reine's hands shook.

The smile froze on her lips. The tiara slid from her fingers and hit the floor with a sound too loud for something so small.

Vencian flinched.

The scene changed again. Morning sunlight filled the room. Neine still pouted over losing. Reine approached her with the tiara and placed it on her sister's head.

"You can have it," Reine said.

Vencian's chest felt tight.

Neine's eyes lit up. She hugged her sister, jumping with joy unaware what that piece of jewelry actually means.

Their mother entered, saw the tiara, and froze. Then she slapped Reine. The sound echoed through the small room.

Reine fell to the floor, confused. Her mother shouted something about foolishness, about ruining everything. The father dragged her away.

That day, the Seer came with his son. They took Neine by the hand and led her toward the cave at Dalgough Hill. The parents followed, heads low.

Reine stood alone by the doorway, holding the spot on her cheek. She did not cry. She looked at the empty field and whispered something too soft for him to hear.

The day passed in the reflection. She woke up early next day. While her parents were away at the field, she cleaned the house, cooked, waited. She tried to do everything her parents used to praise.

She waited longer than usual for their return, the quiet stretching thin around her. Still, anticipation flickered within—an eager hope that they would come home and see what she had done, that they would praise her efforts. She would be their only daughter, yet love them enough for two, giving all the warmth her small heart could hold.

But instead of them, a messenger came, shouting that her parents had been bitten by a poisonous snake while working at the farm and were dead. Reine overheard from the window and froze in place.

She ran outside, towards the field. She saw the dead bodies of her parents, foam at their mouth. She screamed for answers. No one answered.

That night she packed coins and food into a cloth and ran toward the hill.

The mirror trembled. Vencian watched her climb the rocky path barefoot. She reached the cave entrance and saw faint torchlight inside.

"Please," she cried. "Take the money. Give her back."

The Seer's son stepped out. His face was blank. He grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. The reflection blurred again.

Reine was thrown into a small cell. Neine was there—thin, pale, tied at the wrists. She turned her head weakly.

"Don't cry," Neine whispered. "I will protect you."

The door closed. Time in the mirror sped up. Torches went out. The room grew darker.

The next morning, the ritual began. Vencian saw the circle, the chalice, the same symbols he had seen before. Neine was lifted to the altar. The butcher stepped forward.

Vencian reached out to intervene, but his hands passed straight through. It was almost mocking—he could only watch, powerless to change a thing.

He watched Neine died, the most brutal way he ever saw a child dying. Reine screamed for her. The villagers made her watch.

When Neine stopped moving, Reine was pulled away, struggling. They kept her alive, fed her in silence, until the next year when they brought her to the same altar.

Vencian's breath caught.

The world folded back into gray. He staggered, heart thudding, hands red with someone else's years.

The cave, the laughter, the scream—all tangled in his head. He pressed a palm to his chest and waited for the silence to bite.

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