The Fractured Self

The twisted reflections lunged.

Their movements were unnatural, jerking forward in fits and starts. Their hollow eyes glowed faintly in the dim corridor, and their mouths stretched wide in silent screams.

Raiyan's grip on the sword tightened. His breath was steady now, his fear dulled—not gone, but controlled. He had nowhere to run. This was his fight.

The first reflection struck. Its arms were longer than they should have been, fingers clawing toward his throat. Raiyan twisted his body, barely dodging. Too slow. The second came at him from behind.

He turned, swinging. The sword felt heavy, but not in a way that hindered him. The moment the blade met the creature's flesh, it resisted—like cutting through something not entirely real.

The reflection screeched.

Not a sound, but something deeper—a vibration in the air, in his bones, inside his own mind. He staggered, gripping his head as the voices in the corridor grew louder.

"You do not belong."

"You are a mistake."

"You should never have existed."

Raiyan clenched his jaw. No.

The whispers wanted him to doubt. To break. But he wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Another reflection lunged. This time, he moved first. His sword carved through its chest, shattering it like glass. Another stepped forward, but he didn't hesitate—strike, cut, shatter.

Each time he destroyed one, something changed.

The reflections didn't just vanish. They bled into him.

Faint memories. Moments that weren't his. Yet… they felt familiar.

A child, beaten in an empty alley.

A boy staring at a blade, too afraid to pick it up.

A figure, alone in the dark, whispering to something unseen.

Who were these?

The whispers twisted around him. The last reflection—the first one that had smiled—stood at the end of the corridor.

Unmoving. Watching.

Raiyan stepped forward, sword raised.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The reflection tilted its head.

Then—it spoke.

"I am what you were meant to be."

His blood ran cold.

"I am what you lost."

---

The Chain of Memory

The corridor pulsed. The walls flickered—mirrors reforming, shifting. A new reflection emerged.

This one wasn't twisted. Wasn't monstrous.

It was him.

But different.

His clothes were cleaner, undamaged. His posture was straight, confident. And in his hand—he held a sword that was whole.

Unlike the weapon Raiyan carried now, cracked and broken, his reflection's blade was perfect.

A realization struck him.

His sword—this sword—wasn't complete.

It had been broken.

By someone.

Or something.

"Do you remember?" the reflection asked.

Raiyan's grip tightened. He didn't. But the moment he looked at the blade in his reflection's hands, something stirred deep inside him.

The whispers had changed. They no longer mocked him. Now… they waited.

"Take it."

His reflection stepped forward, extending the unbroken sword.

Raiyan hesitated.

His instincts screamed no.

But something inside him—the same pull that had led him here—whispered yes.

He reached out—

The corridor shattered.

A force slammed into him, knocking him backward. Darkness swallowed the space, consuming the mirrors, the whispers—everything.

And then—

A voice. Not the whispers. Not his reflection. Something else.

"Not yet."

And then—

Pain.

A searing, burning pain in his chest. Like something was being ripped out.

And then—

Nothing.

---

To Be Continued…