The mist over Mirror Lake thickened by morning, swallowing sound and light until even the crackle of their fire seemed muffled. The group stirred uneasily, each carrying the weight of yesterday’s revelations and Morrigan’s unsettling confession.

Alaric rose first, walking to the shoreline where the water lay black and still. He could see himself reflected in its glassy surface, but not as he was — in the mirror he bore scars that weren’t his, eyes hollow, a crown of ash resting on his brow. He staggered back, nearly dropping the map.

Morrigan’s voice drifted behind him. “The lake reveals not truth, but possibility. You saw what you could become… if the sword accepts you.”

Alaric turned sharply. “Or what it would destroy me into.”

Her lilac eyes gleamed, cruel but also strangely sorrowful. “Every choice leads to ruin for someone. That is the lesson of the twin blades.”

The others gathered soon after. Elara kept her bow close, scanning the fog as though Ryker’s men might return at any moment. Thomas muttered curses under his breath as he strapped on his armor, though his eyes lingered on the lake with something close to fear.

It was then Elara noticed the pedestal again. The runes glowed faintly now, threads of silver light winding across the stone. She knelt beside it, brushing her fingers carefully across the markings.

“The riddle has awakened,” she murmured. “Something changed overnight.”

Morrigan stepped closer, her presence commanding despite the tension she bred among them. She traced the glowing runes with a single black-veined hand and spoke, her voice echoing unnaturally:

“Two blades, two bearers.
The king commands, the mage consumes.
Together, they unite a kingdom.
Alone, they shatter it.”

The words lingered in the mist like smoke.

Thomas frowned. “So what? We find both swords, give them to the right people, and win the day?”

Morrigan laughed softly, a hollow, humorless sound. “If it were that simple, the blades would have been found centuries ago. No — the blades test their seekers. The Sword of Kings chooses by strength of will, but the Sword of Mages… it feeds on hunger. It chooses the one who craves power most.”

Her gaze lingered on the water, and for the briefest instant, Alaric saw longing etched in her expression — the same hunger that had nearly consumed her once before.

Before he could speak, the ground trembled. Cracks spidered through the shoreline, and from the lake’s depths rose a towering shape of liquid and shadow. Its body twisted as though made of smoke trapped in water, half man, half beast, its face a warped reflection of each of them in turn.

“The lake is testing us,” Morrigan said sharply, voice edged with something between awe and fear. “This is the Mirror’s Guardian.”

The monster struck first. A limb of water lashed out with the speed of a whip, slamming into Thomas and hurling him across the ground. He rolled, coughing blood, but gritted his teeth and pulled himself back to his feet.

“Come on, then!” he roared, charging with sword raised. His blade cut through the Guardian’s torso — but instead of blood, water exploded outward, drenching him and reforming into a tendril that wrapped around his throat.

“Thomas!” Elara’s voice cut sharp as an arrow. She loosed three shots in rapid succession, each arrow piercing the tendril and forcing it to loosen its grip. Thomas collapsed, gasping, before dragging himself upright once more.

Alaric darted in next, steel flashing as he struck at the creature’s chest. His blade sank deep, but the Guardian only laughed — a sound like rushing water and shattering glass — and its other arm came crashing down. Alaric raised his sword just in time, the impact rattling through his bones and nearly driving him to his knees.

“Morrigan!” he shouted, desperation in his tone.

Her eyes burned with violet light, hands trembling as she summoned unstable magic. Black veins spread further up her arm as power gathered at her fingertips, wild and barely restrained. She hurled it forward with a scream, and the explosion lit the fog like lightning.

The Guardian reeled back, half its body vaporized by the impact. But the price was clear — Morrigan staggered, blood running from her nose, her body shaking violently.

“Stay back!” Alaric yelled at her, parrying another watery strike. “If you burn yourself out, there’ll be nothing left to save!”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “Maybe there’s nothing left to save.”

The Guardian shifted then, forming multiple faces — Morgan’s, Alaric’s, Elara’s, Thomas’s — each one screaming silently as it attacked. The sight froze them for a heartbeat, as though they were watching their own deaths played out before them.

But Alaric didn’t falter. He lunged again, blade glowing faintly as though the lake itself recognized his resolve. Elara loosed another arrow, striking the exact moment Alaric’s sword pierced the Guardian’s core. Thomas followed with a bellowing charge, his strike splitting the wound wide.

The Guardian let out a deafening shriek, its form collapsing in on itself, exploding into a torrent of water and mist that rained back into the lake.

Silence followed.

The pedestal glowed brighter, the runes pulsing like a heartbeat.

Morrigan dropped to one knee, trembling but still smirking through the blood on her lips. “The first trial is passed. The Sword of Kings stirs.”

Thomas wiped blood from his brow, his voice grim. “And the Sword of Mages?”

Morrigan’s eyes glittered as she looked at her hands, the black veins still throbbing faintly. “It already knows I’m coming.”