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Artemisia’s gaze locked onto the glass, trapped in a cycle of haunting memories. She sat in the stifling silence beneath the mirrored floor. Tears blurred her vision; a heavy ache clawed at her throat, mirroring the leaden weight in her chest.
​Before her, reflections of a past self flickered—a version of Artemisia drenched in blood she hadn't shed. She wrapped her arms around an unmoving body, shaking him with a desperation that bordered on madness, as if her sheer will could spark life back into his cold limbs.
​"P-Please wake up... you promised," she whispered, her voice fracturing. She pressed his limp hand against her cheek, heedless of the crimson smears staining her skin. She gripped his fingers until her knuckles turned white. 
"Please..." she begged. Her tears splashed onto his pale face, but he remained still. Silence offered the only answer: the brutal truth of his death.
​Artemisia gritted her teeth and pulled his lifeless form into a final embrace. She screamed. The tears refused to stop. Suddenly, her body surged, erupting with a violent wave of mana that forced the spectating nymphs back. Deep purple scales rippled across her skin. A single horn tore through her forehead.
​The present Artemisia, watching this endless loop, wept. Though a century had passed, the wound in her heart bled as if fresh. She could still feel the phantom chill of his skin against hers.
Everything was her fault.  Everything she had crumbled down because of her.  
It was regrets that haunted her,  never leaving—clutching her very soul. 
​"No... please..." she choked out, her fingers clawing at the crystal floor until the surface spider-webbed with cracks. These memories served only as a bitter reminder: she would carry this burden until her very existence ceased.
​The mirror shifted. It revealed a mountain of the dead—the souls she had failed to protect. Among them lay a woman. A young girl hovered over the body, wailing, begging for a sign of life. 
Artemisia felt the old familiar sting of uselessness. The girl’s refusal to leave her mother’s side haunted Artemisia’s soul. Guilt festered within her. She watched a nymph drag the child away. She watched those tear-stricken eyes search for her, pleading for intervention that never came. Fear had anchored Artemisia to the spot. She hadn't moved.
If only she was strong enough to help her then.  Aimee wouldn't be faced to a choice where she needs to suffer from the brutality of the nymph elders. 
​"I am sorry... I am sorry..." she chanted, a hollow prayer for a repentance she didn't believe she deserved.
​The scene flickered again. Now, she saw the girl’s brother. He wore the same tears, the same agony. Now, she could only guard him from the shadows, knowing full well she could never heal the gaping void in his spirit. She stood in the darkness, honoring a promise to his sister while the guilt etched itself deeper into her heart.
​The final scene unfolded—an image of that same boy, now a man with piercing golden eyes. This vision felt foreign, a memory not yet lived. He gripped his weapons—two shears wreathed in hissing blue fire. A dark, predatory rage masked his face. Blood dripped from the blades, marking a path of slaughter.
​The man, Anthony, suddenly froze. The world slowed, turning into a nightmare he never asked to witness. Artemisia shrieked, reaching for the glass as the image turned gruesome. Aegir’s head rolled across the bloody pavement. Hale’s manic laughter filled the air as the headless corpse slumped to its knees. Even in death, Aegir’s severed head stared at Anthony with lingering tears.
Artemisia's body ran cold.  She tried to call Anthony's name but it fell on a deaf's ear. 
​Anthony broke. A suffocating dark aura exploded from him. A towering skeleton materialized amidst the croaking of red-eyed ravens. The sheer pressure of the vision made it impossible to breathe.
​Artemisia gasped, clutching her chest. 
She screamed, "No... this cannot happen! No!" She crawled toward the image, her hands frantic.
​Suddenly, the vision glitched. The images swirled and distorted into a new location: Mount Carion. At the heart of the mountain stood the dreadful tree, the evil protector gorging itself on stolen souls.
​She saw Anthony and Aegir—miraculously alive, but battered and broken. They stood near the tree’s core. Anthony brandished a white jade knife. Aegir sobbed, reaching out to stay Anthony's hand.
​"Leave now, please," Anthony pleaded. Aegir shook his head, his hand closing over Anthony’s on the hilt of the jade blade. With a tearful smile, Aegir braced the knife. "If supporting you means dying, I’d rather die than live without you. I cannot do it, Master."
​Artemisia lunged at the images, trying to tear them away, but they gathered back like mist. "I won't let this happen! These are lies!" she roared, her voice trembling with a mix of terror and forged courage. "I won't yield! This will not happen!" Even if it's a lie... she needs to get out of here. 
No one will die again.  No one will suffer because of her again... 
​If it required her life, she would pay it. They deserved happiness; she deserved only the debt she owed.
​"It started with me," she whispered. "If I had been stronger, Hale would have no power. No deaths. No revenge."
​With one final tear, she coiled her strength into her fist. With a guttural scream, she punched the mirror. The glass shattered instantly. Shards sliced through her skin, but she ignored the sting. A blinding light erupted from the breach. She reached into the glow.
​Seconds later, the world shifted. She stood in a new chamber, still surrounded by mirrors, but at the center sat the white jade knife.
​Artemisia lunged for the weapon, her breath coming in ragged gasps. As her fingers closed around the hilt, an inscription glowed along the blade:
​”Di jazchi la sedephon...” — One life to end one.
Artemisia held the knife close to her chest. Her face filled with determination.
She'll be the one to end everything instead.
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