A storm brewed on the western skies of Therion. Thick, unnatural clouds swirled in slow defiance of wind, casting long shadows over the forest of Witherwood. Villagers nearby whispered of an omen. The seers called it a "Hollow Eclipse." But Grey knew what it was — Wale's veil thickening.
He stood now at the edge of the Witherwood, his senses sharp. Since the Mirror Nexus, time no longer held him the same way. He could hear echoes in the wind — thoughts, memories not his own. It wasn't madness. It was clarity sharpened by consequence.
Chris watched him with guarded concern. She had known warriors, prophets, tyrants. But Grey — this new version of him — frightened her in ways she couldn't yet name.
"We shouldn't linger here," she said, tightening the wrappings on her forearm. "The forest's bleeding. I saw bark melt like wax ten minutes ago."
Grey didn't reply at first. He stared deep into the woods.
"It's not just bleeding," he said. "It's remembering."
Chris frowned. "Remembering what?"
Grey turned his gaze to her, and for a flicker of a second, she saw something ancient behind his eyes — grief, fury, and knowing.
"Wale," he said simply. "He was here once."
The deeper they ventured into Witherwood, the more unstable the world became. The laws of nature bent around them — stones floated, gravity pulsed like a heartbeat, and color drifted in pools rather than staying still.
In the heart of the forest, they found it: a broken obelisk half-swallowed by roots and time. Runes across its surface glowed faintly — not with magic, but memory.
Grey approached it slowly. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, he was somewhere else.
He stood in the past.
The forest was whole, vibrant, untouched. And there — in the center clearing — stood a younger Wale.
He was laughing, surrounded by children, teaching them how to shape wind into songs.
His face was pure. Kind.
But it changed.
The sky cracked.
Darkness poured from the heavens like ink in water.
And the children began to vanish — one by one, not screaming, not fighting — just forgotten.
Wale reached for them, sobbing.
And then… he turned.
His face hollowed. His eyes no longer wept.
He spoke a word.
The trees bent. The sky sealed. The memory ended.
Grey staggered back, breath stolen.
Chris caught him. "What did you see?"
"Wale didn't just choose to become what he is," Grey said, voice ragged. "He was… remade. By the world's grief. By forgetting."
Chris hesitated. "Then maybe he's not beyond saving."
Grey looked at her, and for once, his voice held no certainty. "Or maybe he never existed to begin with. Just a vessel for belief."
Suddenly, a sound echoed through the trees — a slow, heavy tolling of a bell. Not metal. Not real. But it vibrated in their bones.
Chris gripped her blade. "That's no signal I know."
Grey's eyes narrowed. "It's Wale's summons. He's calling his followers."
All around them, the forest responded. Roots snapped. Branches writhed. And from the shadows emerged mirrorborn — warped creatures, shaped like people but lacking faces. Not illusions. Not dreams.
They were fragments of memory. Lost souls devoured by Wale and now used as weapons.
Chris drew her sword. "We can't fight them all."
"We don't need to," Grey said, lifting his hand.
Light flared.
Not magic — memory, rewritten by will.
The first wave charged. Grey stepped forward, and the ground itself denied the creatures' existence. They blinked out of sight, erased before they struck.
Chris gaped. "You're… undoing them."
Grey's eyes burned gold. "They're not real. Just echoes."
More came. Too many.
Chris yelled, leaping into the fray.
Steel clashed with formless bodies. Screams echoed, swallowed by silence.
Grey fought not with his sword, but with truth. Each step he took shattered lies. But each use of this new power left a mark — a flicker of his past self fading.
Hours later, the forest was quiet.
The mirrorborn were gone.
Chris leaned against a fallen trunk, bleeding but alive.
Grey stood over the shattered obelisk.
"They're coming faster," Chris said. "Wale's tightening the leash."
Grey nodded. "He knows I saw what he buried. He'll act soon."
"What do we do?"
"We change the plan," Grey said. "No more reacting. It's time we strike first."
Chris blinked. "You want to bring the fight to him?"
Grey turned to her.
"No. Not yet."
He knelt and placed his hand on the earth.
A pulse of memory flowed outward — awakening old places, old names.
"I want to remind the world what Wale made it forget."
Far away, Wale sat on his throne of golden light.
He felt it — the ripple of truth spreading.
And for the first time in centuries, he frowned.
He whispered to himself.
"He remembers too much."
Then he turned to the mirror beside him, which now cracked at its center.
"Let's fix that."