Azerai stood in front of herself.
Or something that wore her face.
The chamber was endless—a dome of fractured glass and hovering mirrors that reflected versions of her she had never lived.
Azerai as a child clutching threads like dolls.
Azerai drowning in a pool of ink.
Azerai seated on a throne built from her own ribs.
Azerai screaming in silent loops, mouth open but void of sound.
Each reflection twitched unnaturally, as if aware they were being watched.
And then—
Her.
The other Azerai stepped forward from between the mirrors.
Identical.
Except for the eyes.
The same amber color, but where Azerai's eyes held that constant weariness of the erased, this one glowed. Lit from the inside. Unapologetic. Dangerous.
"You found me," the other Azerai whispered, voice both silk and venom.
Azerai instinctively stepped back.
"Where am I?"
The other smiled like a knife unsheathing.
"The space where erased things rot."
Her voice echoed unnaturally, repeating behind itself like overlapping echoes in a void.
"This is where they discard all failed possibilities.".....
"Versions of us that didn't fit.".....
"Versions they feared.".....
The mirrors pulsed behind her like breathing hearts.
The reflections watching. Judging.
Azerai swallowed the knot building in her throat.
"Why do you look like me?"
The other Azerai's head tilted, as though studying an insect.
"Because I am you.".....
"Or rather, the you that never got erased."...
"The version that was too unstable to bind, too unpredictable to control.".....
"So they locked me here instead."
Azerai's pulse quickened.
Unwritten.
Forgotten.
Rejected.
The words from the Weaver's Song whispered in the back of her mind.
The other Azerai took a step closer, her footsteps leaving black ripples across the glass floor.
"They tried to erase us both.
But you? They spared you a thread. A mark.
They let you exist.
They let you belong."
Her lip curled with disgust.
"You're their safe version."
The accusation hit harder than Azerai expected.
Because some part of her had always wondered—
Why me?
She was the anomaly.
The blank slate.
The erasure that never fully vanished.
She had never belonged with the others. Not really.
Her mark didn't burn like theirs.
Her past was... missing.
Her future—uncertain.
"Why are you still here?" Azerai finally asked.
The other Azerai's smile cracked wide.
"Because I remember everything."
The mirrors trembled.
Scenes flashed:
The first thread being woven from screaming flesh.
The throne eating its creators.
Failed marked ones being rewritten, broken, scattered across time.
Zeyrox bleeding against the loom.
A child—Azerai herself—watching from behind the threads.
Azerai staggered back, clutching her head as the memories forced themselves into her skull.
"STOP—"
The other Azerai advanced, voice rising:
"No. You came here to know, and you will."
The mirrors pulsed harder. Faster.
Dozens of Azerais screamed in unison, their voices building into a discordant symphony of agony.
The weight of timelines, choices, and possibilities crushed down on her mind.
Versions where she served the throne.
Versions where she led rebellions.
Versions where she destroyed entire threads to escape.
Versions where she died before she ever existed.
"You are not special," the other Azerai hissed.
"You are simply what remains."
Azerai fell to her knees, gasping, trembling as her vision blurred.
The other Azerai knelt in front of her, cupping her chin roughly.
"But now, I offer you a gift."
Her hand opened, revealing a mark.
Not burning.
Not alive.
But void.
A mark that absorbed light rather than emitted it.
A mark of consumption.
"Take it," she whispered.
"Become the one who remembers it all.
Or walk away—and remain their puppet."
Azerai stared at the mark.
It pulsed softly—offering power, yes—but also weight.
The price was clear.
If she took it—
She would never unknow these truths.
Never escape these memories.
Never find peace again.
Her hand trembled…
But she reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the mark, it sank into her skin like ink poured into parchment.
Her veins darkened for a moment.
Her breath caught.
The chamber around her twisted.
And the other Azerai?
She smiled once more—before crumbling into dust.
"Good girl."
Silence returned.
But this time, the silence hummed with voices only she could hear.
Azerai stood, heavier than before.
But for the first time—
Whole.