Azriel explained everything as best he could. The others, still disoriented from waking, simply listened. One by one, they screamed, then fell silent, settling down as the bizarre reality began to make some sense.
"So… you dreamt of yourself last night, and then this thing came to life?" Thorne asked, pointing at the quiet duplicate beside Azriel.
Azriel 2.0 responded with a simple thumbs-up.
Did he just… thumbs up? Everyone thought it at once.
And so began the testing.
Pain test.
Thorne punched the clone. Azriel 2.0 clutched the spot he was hit and looked down, his expression crumpling like he might cry.
Corren attempted to read its mind—nothing. An empty void.
They tried reflexes next. Iro threw a bomb. Brikka launched a blowdart. Azriel 2.0 dodged them all with uncanny precision.
"Looks like he has Azriel's instincts," Gio muttered, standing up and grabbing his axe. "Azriel, mind handing him your sword?"
Azriel stepped forward, about to pass his blade—until a perfect copy of it materialized in Azriel 2.0's hand. Corren's eyes narrowed.
"He's thinking… 'fight,'" he said quietly.
Gio nodded. "Not a fight. Just a test."
At blitzing speed, Gio lunged. Lysara and Renzo scrambled to clear the space as Azriel 2.0 parried the strike, then drove a front kick into the handle of Gio's axe. Corren focused harder.
"He's thinking more now… 'Must survive.'"
Azriel stared at his own clone—same face, same stance—but with empty, soulless eyes.
Then, without warning, the clone appeared in front of him, shielding him like a wall.
"Must protect…" it muttered.
Azriel now understood better. He stepped in front of his clone and murmured, "He's protecting me…"
Corren nodded. "Yep — that's all he's thinking. Over and over."
Azriel turned to face him. "It's okay now. Thank you."
The sword in the clone's hand vanished. Then, in a clear voice, he spoke his first full word:
"Okay."
Gio sheathed his axe with a grin. "Great. We've got another Azriel. He'll be useful — we can put him to—"
WHACK!
Lysara smacked the back of Gio's head. "HE JUST CAME INTO THIS WORLD AND YOU WANNA THROW HIM INTO A WAR?! HE'S PRACTICALLY A BABY!"
Gio just snickered. "HE HELD ME BACK. HE CAN FIGHT."
Corren and Thorne stepped in to separate them as the tension rose. Azriel, meanwhile, looked around and frowned.
"Hey… Corren? Where's the kid?"
Corren's expression shifted. He released Lysara and looked down. "If I'm being honest… ever since that day with Lucia and Archil, he vanished. We even returned to Seight to look for him, but he was gone. We're hoping—maybe—he was truly a druid and returned to the forest."
Azriel nodded slowly. "Well… I'm hoping too."
Hours passed. They spent the day teaching Azriel 2.0 basic words and commands. Azriel also discovered something strange — he could summon the clone through the scar on his hand. A smack to the face recalled him. Saying "Come out," while thinking about him, brought him back.
Eventually, they gave up on calling him "2.0." They named him Leirza, mostly because everyone — including the author — got tired of saying Azriel 2.0.
Kessle returned that evening after an expedition and gathered everyone in the war room.
"They're quick," she reported. "They covered two days' worth of distance in just a day and a half. Right now, they're camped a city away from the valley."
Renzo scratched his head. "So our four-day deadline is now... tomorrow, or the day after?"
Kessle nodded. "Iro—I'll need your help setting up the traps," she added grimly. "They've already destroyed the city of Solue and are heading straight for Nlais."
Everyone nodded solemnly. As much as they wanted to protect those cities, it would be suicide to face ten thousand soldiers alone—especially when those soldiers were no longer men, but conditioned, merciless zombies.
They made their plans and turned in early, all except Iro and Renzo. Just as they were setting up materials, Leirza stepped out voluntarily, surprising everyone—Azriel hadn't even needed to command him.
Another one added to the list. He can go out on his own, Azriel noted.
"I-I can help... Renzo," Leirza stammered, still searching for the right words.
Renzo smiled. "It's fine, kid. It's hard work to—"
But before he could finish, Leirza had already grabbed Renzo's supply box and begun assembling something.
In moments, he had crafted a makeshift Aether Leech Engine.
The original versions of these devices were notoriously difficult to build—complex machines designed to sever magical connections to Signo, a mage's greatest weakness. Creating one with proper materials was hard enough, but to craft one on the spot from scraps?
Renzo stared in disbelief. "No way..."
He almost stopped him—those things were known to be volatile, even deadly. But as Leirza activated it, the engine whirred to life... perfectly.
No sparks. No explosion. Just pure function.
This wasn't normal. Whatever Leirza was, he wasn't just skilled—he was an anomaly among Artificers. Even Renzo had never managed something like this.
He turned to Azriel. "You said you found this guy in Reflection, right? I'm borrowing him for a while."
Then, looking back at the engine, his grin widened. "If those bastards are using black iron armor, these engines can disrupt the resistances and blow them to hell."
By then, Renzo was laughing manically, ruffling Leirza's hair as if he'd just found a treasure chest with legs.
Azriel drifted off to sleep in his room—and soon, he found himself back in Reflection. The same old Reflection.
His corpse still sat in the second chair, arm outstretched as if reaching for the glass shard room again. Azriel stared at it, wondering what else he could do here.
He thought for a moment, then tried to summon Leirza, reasoning that since he'd originally found him in the shard room, maybe he could bring him here. He focused, but nothing happened.
Bummer.
Next, he tried removing the corpses from the chairs, but every attempt only triggered another flood of memories—fragments of their lives, their pain, their deaths. No matter what he did, he couldn't change anything.
At this point, Azriel was getting bored. Reflection offered nothing new—nothing since he hadn't died in a while.
With a sigh, he hugged his own corpse and used it to re-enter the shard room. Familiar. Still strange.
He glanced at the shards around him, each reflecting a different version of himself. A thought crossed his mind: What would happen if I touched a different version of me?
So he tried.
But nothing really happened. Every time he reached for one, the reflection would vanish—shattering or slipping away—almost as if the shards themselves were telling him:
That one isn't you. Don't touch it.
He woke up with a fresh mind, though a bit bored, and headed to the common room. Renzo was nearly passed out, Iro fast asleep, and Leirza still working on bombs and other traps. Another sleepless night, apparently. They let Renzo rest—he'd be vital later for managing the traps. Meanwhile, Kessle had taken Brikka with her to plant the traps the three of them had built in the valley. Everyone else was prepping, training, and eating.
Leirza had also thrown together a makeshift Whisperspike for the two of them. A Whisperspike was a device that connected to every living being on Signo's surface—but was tuned to respond only to the one it was linked with. This way, Kessle could alert the gang the moment they needed to move.
The rest of the day passed in tense silence, like the air was holding its breath. Then, bright and early the next morning, a signal came through Brikka's Whisperspike.
"Kessle spotted them—20 miles out. They just destroyed the city. Come now!"
Everyone scrambled out of the hidden base and sprinted through the city toward the valley.
The black horizon was upon them.
They made it in time. Thorne hauled more traps over his back, while Lysara simply made hers float beside her. They set everything up, then waited.
An hour and thirty minutes passed before they finally arrived—the thunder of synchronized footsteps shaking the valley. Armored zombies. Hundreds, no, thousands.
The moment the undead stepped into the valley, Renzo activated the Aether Leech Engine.
Too late.
The trapline erupted—bombs detonated, boulders tumbled, tornadoes spun wild through the ranks, potions shattered mid-air, and poison darts scattered like angry hornets. The soldiers didn't flinch. They pushed through the chaos and got into formation.
Corren, perched above, muttered through his scope, "Two thousand, three hundred forty-nine down. So far."
Good enough.
The frontliners slid down the valley walls and charged into the fray. Leirza burst from Azriel's hand, sword drawn and grinning.
"YOU GUYS GOT US?!" Gio bellowed.
"YES WE DO! JUST PROTECT US!" came the reply from above.
Thorne was up high with the others, guarding the ridge—leaving only Gio, Azriel, and Leirza at the frontline.
"Looks like it's us two again, kid," Gio said. Then nodded at Leirza. "And you again."
"Quite the Helm way, old man," Azriel snickered.
Iro's bombs and Lysara's storms scattered the enemies—perfect. A battlefield made just for them.
Brikka's twin beasts roared as they charged ahead.
"LET'S GO, KID!"
"I'LL MATCH YOU STEP FOR STEP, OLD MAN!"