Chapter 6: The Broken Mirror
The rain fell soft now. Like the sky was tired of crying.
Kael sat on the church steps. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. The blood was gone—washed away by rain—but he still felt it. Sticky. Warm. Wrong.
Lira stood nearby, sharpening her dagger. The sound of metal on stone made his teeth hurt. She hadn't spoken since the fight.
"You hate me now," Kael said. Not a question.
Lira stopped sharpening. Looked at him. Really looked. "No," she said. "I hate that sword."
The sword lay between them, wrapped in its leather cord. It hummed quietly. Like it was laughing.
"She doesn't understand," it whispered. "You did what you had to do."
Kael pressed his hands to his ears. It didn't help. The voice was inside him now.
The Dream That Wasn't
That night, Kael dreamed of Lyss.
She stood in their tiny room, back to him. When she turned—
Her eyes were black. Full of shadows.
"Big brother," she said, but it wasn't her voice. It was the sword's voice. "This is what happens if you fail."
She coughed. Black blood dripped down her chin.
Kael reached for her—too late. The room cracked like glass.
He woke up gasping.
Lira was already awake. Watching him. The firelight made her scar glow.
"Bad dream?" she asked.
Kael wiped his face. His hands came away wet. "I have to go home," he said. "Just for one night. I have to see her."
Lira opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded.
The Return
The slums smelled like always—piss and smoke and too many people.
Kael moved like a ghost through the alleys. Lira followed, silent as shadow.
His house looked smaller. The door hung crooked. Inside, a candle burned.
Through the window, he saw her.
Lyss.
Alive. Not coughing. Not bleeding. Just sitting at the table, mending clothes. Her hair was messy. She was humming.
Kael's chest hurt.
He reached for the door.
Lira grabbed his wrist. "If you go in," she said softly, "you might not leave."
The sword at his hip pulsed. "She looks healthy today. But tomorrow? Next week?"
Kael stared at the door. Then at his sister. Her face lit by candlelight, humming the song their mother used to sing.
He imagined stepping inside. Holding her. Telling her everything.
But the sword was warm now. Waiting.
His hand dropped.
He memorized her face. Every detail. Then turned away.
Lyss never knew he was there.