The remnants of the shattered mirror still pulsed faintly behind them, light fading like embers scattered by wind. Chen stood first, steadying Ye Yue and Lanmei as the floor of the chamber shifted beneath them. The Vault no longer resisted their presence—instead, it beckoned.
"Did we break it? Or..." Lanmei whispered, her voice rough with awe and exhaustion.
"No," Chen said, eyes narrowing as he gazed at the obsidian threshold that had appeared. "We opened it."
Beyond the threshold, a staircase of light descended into an abyss that was paradoxically silent and humming with power. The group moved cautiously. Every step felt like memory made manifest—echoes of choices, regrets, and moments of joy flickered at the edges of their awareness. It was a place not meant to hold time, but reflections of it.
At the base, a vast chamber unfolded. Ethereal panels floated in the air, each etched with scenes from forgotten eras. One showed a radiant woman with eyes like starlight offering a flame to a kneeling mortal. Another depicted Lysaria, young and defiant, turning her back on the divine courts.
Chen reached out to one panel, and as his fingers brushed its surface, the room responded. The air shimmered, and a projection of the past sprang forth—a divine conclave, Lysaria standing trial.
"Your compassion threatens the order," the Matriarch of the Flame Court said.
"No," Lysaria replied. "Your order has forgotten its purpose. I would rather be cast out than become a tyrant of purity."
Ye Yue's hand found Chen's. "She chose exile... for mercy."
Lanmei clenched her fists. "And they feared her for it."
The chamber pulsed, sensing their unity. In its core, a relic rose from a pedestal of mirrored stone—a flame suspended in crystal, neither hot nor cold, yet radiating an undeniable truth. The Mirrorflame.
"This... this isn't just power," Chen murmured. "It's understanding."
As his hand closed around it, visions flooded him. Lysaria's hidden teachings. Forbidden pathways of cultivation. Trials of balance, love, and strength. A hidden path between destruction and salvation.
The Mirrorflame burned into his palm, and a mark appeared over his heart—a sigil of reflection. Of duality. Of choice.
Behind them, the chamber rumbled. The Vault was closing.
"We have what we came for," Chen said, voice firm now. "But what comes next... we write ourselves."
As they ascended the staircase, the Mirror's Gate vanished. Not as a warning. But a gift spent.
Far above, in realms both divine and decaying, a new ripple spread.
And the Choir stirred.