"You're trembling," the man said softly. "You still haven't accepted me."
Ruo Qing yanked her hand back, stepping away with instinctual revulsion.
"I never will," she said, voice shaking. "Even if you're part of Murdoch... you are not him."
His head tilted. A tender smile bloomed on his lips—so perfectly familiar it was chilling.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
Her heart hammered. "I'll go back to him. No matter what it costs."
He sighed.
"You saw the time rupture. You felt what happens if you try to return. Murdoch—your Murdoch—will shatter."
"Then let him," she said through clenched teeth. "I'd rather fight for him than live with a shadow."
The ground trembled.
Suddenly, the space around her shifted—the gray void morphed into walls of silver. One by one, massive mirrors rose from the floor, surrounding her. The reflections glinted cold and unforgiving.
They formed a cathedral.
A temple of time.
The Mirror Cathedral.
She stood at its center, on a raised platform. The man stood between mirrored pillars, his expression carved like a statue of memory.
"In the timeline you forgot," he said, "you walked willingly into this place. You chose the ring. You said the vow."
She turned.
Each mirror reflected a different version of herself—one in a gown soaked with blood, another wearing a gold ring alone in a ruined castle, one with empty eyes, standing in silence.
It hit her like a tidal wave.
This wasn't just a choice.
This was a resurrection of forgotten memory.
"You're trying to trap me," she whispered. "Using what I lost."
"No." He stepped closer. "I'm asking if you still want to rewrite it."
The air trembled. The mirrors began to hum.
Her heart raced.
Then came the question.
"If I am not Murdoch," he asked, voice trembling slightly now, "would you still love me?"
She froze.
She thought.
And finally—shook her head.
"I love Murdoch," she said. "Not a shadow. Not a version. Not the future carved to replace what was lost."
A crack appeared in his perfect facade.
His smile wavered.
"So that's your answer."
At that moment—the sky shattered.
From the far edge of the cathedral, a figure burst through the mirrored wall.
Murdoch.
Bleeding.
Burning with fractured glass and night-fire.
"RUO QING!" he roared. "Don't trust him! You are NOT his bride!"
Ruo Qing turned.
The groom—the future—stood still.
But black flames now curled around his fingers, the air thick with temporal fire.
"I see," he said.
"So it will be settled by power after all."