THE MIRROR BEACON

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CHAPTER FIVE: THE MIRROR BEACON

Day 7

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The Beacon was waiting for them.

It rose like a wound from the hollow basin—black stone twisted into spirals, each inscribed with glyphs that bled silver light. Unlike the Forge, it didn't breathe. It didn't move. But somehow, it watched.

The Ashbinders stood in a wide circle at the ridge, looking down.

Grin whistled softly. "Looks cozy. Let me guess: the final test?"

Nira nodded without speaking.

Silas stepped forward until the dust licked his boots. His Fragment pulsed with a low, insistent rhythm—not a warning, exactly. Something worse. Anticipation.

Senya crouched, ran her fingers through the ash. "Rift signature's clean. But…"

"But what?" Grin asked.

"There's something underneath," she murmured. "Buried emotion. Grief. Regret. Identity."

Torren's eyes burned. "It's not a fight."

"No," Nira said. "It's a mirror."

---

They entered the Beacon one at a time.

No orders. No structure. The Beacon chose.

It took Grin first.

He touched the glyph, and it pulled him inside.

---

The world warped.

He stood in a hallway of hanging blades. Each one reflected a different face—his face—twisted in a thousand different expressions. None of them real. None of them whole.

Then he saw her.

His sister.

Standing at the end of the corridor, wrapped in white flames. Burning. Beautiful.

"You left me," she said.

"I was a kid," he whispered.

"You ran."

"I—"

"You always laugh to hide it. Even now."

Grin dropped to his knees. The laughter died in his throat.

"I'm trying," he said.

"I know," she said. "So try harder."

The hallway shattered.

He woke in the dust, shivering. Alone.

---

Nira went next.

Inside the Beacon, she was strapped to a surgical table.

Again.

Cold metal against her spine. Bright lights above. Needles. Screams.

A man leaned over her.

"You begged us to make you useful," he said, voice sweet. "And we did."

She thrashed.

Her Remnant activated—her skin glowing faintly, her Boon screaming—but the illusion didn't break.

"You wanted to be loved," the voice cooed.

"No," she whispered. "I wanted to stop being nothing."

She screamed until the straps melted.

The Beacon released her.

---

Torren entered without hesitation.

The moment the light swallowed him, he was back in chains.

Iron wrapped his arms. His mind filled with static. His own voice shouted lies into his ears.

"You were always a weapon."

"No."

"You liked it. When you broke them."

"I didn't."

"You still do."

He saw the people he'd hurt. The ones he didn't remember. Their faces blurred.

One of them wore his face.

"You think this group won't learn to fear you?"

"They already do."

"Good."

He roared.

Iron exploded around him.

The illusion snapped.

The Beacon bent in response.

---

Senya entered quietly.

She faced no vision.

Just silence.

Just her.

Standing alone in a throne room made of glass. Every step cracked the floor beneath her feet.

The other her stood tall, draped in red, crown of broken bone on her brow.

"You will lead them," the mirror whispered. "To death or glory."

"I don't want to lead."

"Yes, you do."

The throne crumbled.

"You already chose," the reflection said. "You chose when you didn't open the door."

Senya turned away.

The mirror cracked.

She didn't flinch.

---

Silas was the last.

The Beacon hesitated as he approached.

It wasn't sure about him.

Neither was he.

When it swallowed him, he didn't land anywhere. He simply was.

Surrounded by infinite shadows.

And all of them were him.

Twisting. Dying. Killing. Hiding. Failing.

One stepped forward.

"You think you're different because you regret it?"

Silas didn't respond.

"You let your brother die."

He flinched.

"You touched the Fragment. You liked what it showed you."

He clenched his fists. The shadows trembled.

"You're not afraid of the dark."

"No," Silas said softly. "I'm afraid of what I'll become in it."

He reached into his chest.

Pulled the Fragment out.

And gave it to the shadow.

The world exploded.

---

They all woke in a ring.

Dust swirling. The Beacon gone.

Not destroyed. Just… finished.

Each of them carried new scars. Not physical. Not visible.

But real.

Senya stood first. "That was the final Trial."

Grin groaned. "Why do I feel like we failed?"

"You didn't," said a voice.

They turned as one.

Ashen Vex stood at the edge of the basin, leaning on her warped rifle. Her long cloak fluttered in the Rift wind, her silver eyes distant.

"You passed," she said. "You just haven't paid the price yet."

---

Later that night, the Ashbinders sat in the ruined vault of Ephra Dusk, watching the storm clouds crawl across the horizon.

Grin tossed a rock into the fire.

"So," he muttered. "We're a team now?"

Senya didn't answer.

Nira didn't look up.

Torren stared into the fire.

Only Silas replied.

"No," he said. "We're the team now."

They didn't speak after that.

But they didn't leave, either.

---

POV: Judicator Velae

"They finished the Trial."

The screen flickered. The feed from Hollowforge was mostly static now, but enough bled through—echoes of Riftlight, the pulse of the Beacon collapsing, biometric data confirming five survived.

The aide hesitated. "Should I update the kill order?"

"No," Velae said.

"Then what?"

"Upgrade the status," she said coldly. "From Heretics... to Assets."

The aide blinked. "You want them protected?"

"No," Velae said.

She smiled.

"I want them broken in."