Chapter 131: The Mirror World

The crystalline veil of Judgment shatters behind her, and the warm glow of the Fragment of Compassion fades. Mayu and her companions step together into the Mirror World. As soon as they cross the shifting threshold, the air feels cold and heavy. Around them stretches an ocean of shimmering shards—an unstable domain where reality splits into a thousand fragments of glass. Each step crunches on bright stones with ominous reflections, while a silver mist rises from the cracks to caress their ankles. The surrounding cold bites the skin like an artificial winter, and Mayu feels the weight of this place seize her breath. The Mirror World appears as a fleeting cathedral: columns of shadow and tortured glass rise toward a sky of shifting darkness, while distant glowing sparks shimmer like frozen stars.

The light bathing this world is a spectral blue, as if filtered through crystal tears suspended in infinity. These glass tears reflect Mayu's fear: with each glance, her azure eyes flicker between shadow and clarity. A scent of silence reigns as the glass leaves tremble soundlessly around them. The trapped reflections take on strange colors—echoes of ancient dusks or painful memories. The contours of space waver, uncertain: the very ground seems fluid, mirrored, shaken by the secret Mayu carries within. Despite her companions' presence, she feels incredibly alone, as if this tentacled world were spelling her doubts aloud.

Amid this crystalline forest, Mayu walks alone though surrounded. Her companions' silhouettes appear frozen in other shards, distant from her. Suddenly, before her, the familiar shadow of a former ally takes shape: a woman with wavy brown hair, reaching out with a sad smile. Mayu recognizes her features despite the mirrors' distortion: it's Arisa, a friend lost in a too-distant past. Her heart clenches at the sight of this face she thought buried. Around the silhouette, the fragments cast dancing glimmers on the glass walls, and a faint murmur rises like a broken song: "Did you miss me…" it whispers into the frozen air. Arisa now appears as an etched reflection: the flickering light of the crystal illuminates her profile, where tenderness and betrayal intertwine. Mayu feels guilt fill her chest at the memory of their last mission together, of the promise she didn't keep. She recalls their shared laughter the night before disaster, the silent pact they made, and the fatal moment when her demons consumed Arisa in flames. A bitter taste of betrayal rises to Mayu's lips, and a chilling breath tears a muffled moan from her.

The unmoving wind suddenly speaks: "Why do you keep going?" The voice, hoarse and familiar, seems to come from nowhere. Perhaps it's the breeze—or the echo of a memory—but it pierces her like a living accusation. Mayu instinctively bows her head. The mirror before her reflects her guilty expression: she sees her own azure eyes shadowed with doubt. The surrounding shards become mute judges, distorting her image into a kaleidoscope of fear. She stays silent, unable to answer the question that has haunted her for so long. Around her, silence weighs—heavier than snow, more bitter than venom.

But reality twists beneath her feet: under each mirror lies an uncertain horizon—or absolute void. The judgment hall left behind has given way to this fractured cathedral that seems to stretch infinitely. Mayu clenches her fists in her gloves, seeking a stable point in the chaos of glass. Her fingers whiten around the hilt of her dagger: violence and compassion are now inextricably linked—just like her will to survive and her regrets. The world trembles around her, and again, memories resurface. She hears her own voice murmuring darkly within the crystal: "I'm sorry… I…" A trembling, hesitant breath. It's addressed to a kneeling man—her forgiven husband, or an innocent she spared—she no longer knows. Then her voice breaks; the words die on her lips, swallowed by shame. The next reflection imitates her: a fragile man, lifeless on the ground, smiles in agony—perhaps the last soul she tried to save. The sight twists her heart.

Suddenly, a low voice breaks the absolute silence: "Are you afraid, Mayu?" Someone stands just outside her field of vision, ignoring her once more—as if this world were both her home and not at all. That simple question, murmured in a flat tone, strikes her deepest chord. "Me?" A shiver runs through her—because yes, fear had been there, hiding behind her determination. The question resonates, relentless. In the sudden cold, her blood freezes. Mayu feels her courage waver, but she clenches her jaw in defiance.

She follows the echo of the voice, turning her head, and discovers the vaporous silhouette of her shadow double. This Mayu from another reflection stares at her—the same assassin's face with azure eyes, but twisted by rage and grief. This being resembles her like a shadow mirrors the sunset: recognizable, yet painfully deformed. "Who are you?" she chokes out, throat tight. The creature at her left smiles, a cold grimace stretching its pale lips. It takes a step forward, and the world wavers again. "You believe in the compassion you carry, do you? Look at your actions." The voice of this double is her own—but deeper, slightly cracked. It towers over her, immense, with shoulders forged of shadow and glass, while the fragments of the cathedral tremble around them.

Gradually, the room dissolves. The world, the mirrors—everything fades, leaving only Mayu and this immense reflection of herself. The clearing becomes void, as if the universe staged one final confrontation. Her double bears the scars she tried to forget: the long silver gash across her face, the wounds of past mistakes, and eyes hollowed by resentment and lack of forgiveness. Through the tolling of her tears, Mayu understands that this isn't merely an adversary—it's the mirror of all her faults. A brutal tension grips her heart.

Mayu's breathing quickens: each beat echoes in the alabaster silence. Dizziness strikes. Anger wells up in her—a deep, black rage like the core of a volcano—as she stares into the other's eyes. She will not disappear from this reality. With a trembling gesture, the glass entity points to a floating shard: within swirl scenes past and future, a life painted in shattered images. Around the fragment, the air crackles with light and shadow—a reel of memories plays before her. "Look. You think you act out of kindness, out of salvation…" The voice, low and mocking, crushes her. "But you spit on those you've hurt. And your pain is mere entertainment for the ones you've lost." Each word is an arrow in her heart. The projected fragment glows, revealing the disaster of a life: the girl she was, alone in the rain, her hands red with blood, the innocent bodies she fled. A chilling shadow blankets her soul.

A familiar voice then rises from the chaos: her own, speaking for the first time in response, strangely soft. "I'm not you…" Whispered, her phrase betrays faltering bravery. The words land like a timid defiance. Her double smiles, cold and scornful. "Really?" it scoffs. Now it points to another floating shard: this time, it shows the faces of those she betrayed. This internal mirror reveals the suffering of those she thought she was saving. "You always think you're in control, until it slips and devours everything around you, doesn't it?" The accusation lingers in the frozen air. "You think you're pure, untouched, with your compassion… But your guilt is far more amusing to me."

Mayu is overwhelmed by memories. A foggy afternoon surfaces: she sees herself as a child, barefoot in the mud, clutching a bloodied dagger. A hand touches her small head—Arisa's hand, firmly commanding her to let go. In the distance, cries echo. The images collapse into one scream: that of an unknown young woman crying out "I'm sorry… I…" The cry becomes a lament and merges with the flames burning everything in their path. Behind Mayu emerges a scene of pleading eyes, lips forming a final plea. The shards of the cathedral become fire—an oppressive embrace.

The other Mayu's eyes blaze with black light. In a resigned tone, she delivers the sentence Mayu feared: "You won't allow yourself forgiveness until you make peace with yourself." Each word resounds in her skull—echoes of an unbearable truth. Her own reflection accuses her of contradiction: there will be no peace as long as her heart screams vengeance and regret.

Mayu finally lifts her head, defying this alloy of shadow and glass. Her hands tremble, but her voice cracks with strength: "I don't refuse forgiveness. You're the one who refuses to understand it." Her jaw tightens, her tone firmer. "I don't live to forget—but to rebuild." Each word is a vow. She feels the warmth of her azure eyes shining to the steel of her soul. It is the first time she says these words aloud in this world of reflections.

Her double laughs—a dry chuckle that shakes the silence. An invisible weight crushes the air. "Your fine words mean nothing next to the fear I feel. Fear of becoming that lost girl again." The glass voice slices deeper. She remembers that void—when her doubts dressed in shadow and attacked. The scars on her wrists sting—memories of false starts, of tears shed, of unspoken words. The Mirror World quakes around them in vengeful resonance.

Mayu staggers before this reflection of rage and doubt. Her head spins, but her gaze softens. "Forgive me…" she whispers into the void. Her own plea dissolves among the glass walls. It's the first time she dares say those words. The breath that carries them is heavy, as though all her sorrow condenses into this cry. She closes her eyes for a moment, resigned—already shaken by what she's heard. In this frozen silence, every part of her waits for the Mirror World's response.

A breeze of air ripples through the icy atmosphere, crossing the glass world from end to end. All around, the silence breaks: echoes of familiar voices slowly rise. The echo of a friend, the shy laughter of a sister-in-arms, the reassuring voice of a stern mentor—they rise in a fragile, broken melody. These memories of voices, distant yet sincere, wrap Mayu in unexpected warmth. A tender blend of love and pain, this choir of compassion seems to emerge from the cracks themselves, covering the ashes of despair. In the flickering shadows, ethereal silhouettes appear: Arisa smiles tenderly, the mentor places a comforting hand on her shoulder, her companions nod with encouragement. The world of glass grows gentler.

Mayu's raw cry still resonates, refracting across the mirrors in silent waves. The Mirror World trembles under the force of her emotion. Each shard gleams again, as if lit from within. The oppressive shell of her despair begins to crack.

Then, as if engulfed by an invisible blade, the space begins to collapse. The ground slips away—her world dissolves into a rain of silver ashes. Mayu fights to remain conscious, teetering at the edge of a bottomless abyss. Yet in this imminent fall, her false reflection suddenly seems clearer—almost radiant. The light of the Fragment of Compassion, glowing at her chest, floods her being: a soft glow pierces the heavy darkness. In that halo, something fragile is reborn.

"I see you now…" she whispers, her voice trembling. It's not just a word to her double—but to every broken part of herself. In speaking it, she sees clearly who she has become. "I accept the part of me you embody." Her tears mix with the crystalline mist—a blend of acceptance and release. In that suspended moment, she realizes she is not guilty for existing, that she doesn't deserve this hatred. The fragments of her past no longer control her, but show her who she can become.

Mayu's double finally wavers—its contours dissolving like a thread of smoke carrying shadow. For an instant, its expression turns human—pleading—as if hatred had become regret. Then it crumbles into a swirl of sparkling ashes, carried away by an unseen wind. Every particle of black glass vanishes, taking anger and remorse with it. Mayu holds her breath, overwhelmed and relieved: a feeling of peace floods her as her wretched reflection disappears. The Mirror World slowly transforms into dust, its wounded echo fading with a sigh.

As the first rays of the real world pierce the vanishing mist, her azure eyes meet the worried faces of her gathered companions. The clear light of morning spills through broken glass and brushes the floor. The Mirror World has vanished—replaced by a quiet glade bathed in gentle twilight. The faces around her—those of the humans who remain—are there, intact and real. She sees the tender worry in their eyes: from Soren, whose hand still holds hers; from Lira, whose smile soothes; from Jorin, watching over her like a friend.

A friend steps closer and murmurs, "Mayu… are you okay?" His voice cracks slightly, whispering. Beneath the question lies the fear he felt when she faltered. A light wind sweeps the last ashes away, revealing the rising sun on the horizon. Mayu gives a faint smile, despite the veil of fatigue under her eyes. She wipes her trembling hands on her satin thigh-highs, as if brushing away the final grains of glass. "Yes," she answers, her voice barely trembling. "This… taught me who I truly am." In her words now rings the calm conviction she has finally reclaimed.

Around her, the last shards of glass melt into the air like fragile fireflies, falling on her skin as luminous dust—a delicate promise of a new day. The world that opens before Mayu is now free of ice and fire, of drama and guilt. As she breathes the warm breath of dawn, she knows it is with the compassion she chose that she can now rebuild her identity. Standing in the midst of this once-silent glass sanctuary, Mayu finds a new peace. Her companions smile gently at her: she is no longer alone before her ashes and reflections.