Kenley?

The seer's voice was somber. "Captain, Kenley..."

Irina froze, her hand mid-reach for the mirror. Kenley... what?

Her body turned slowly, with mechanical precision, as her gaze followed the line from Klein to Dunn, and finally landed on Kenley. She took in the blood running from his lips, staining his shirt in dark, red. His eyes were open but vacant, staring past them, hollow and empty as his body lay still against the floor. He looked like—

No... no, no, NO! Irina's thoughts clawed at her mind, a frantic desperation building inside her. He wasn't reflected in the mirror! She told herself, fighting to push back the suffocating wave of panic. He can't be gone—he can't!

Her heart thundered painfully, each beat clashing with the ringing in her ears, unable to hear Klein and Dunn, their voices melting into a blurred, meaningless haze, distant and unreachable. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she could see their worried glances, their hands tinkering with their weapons, the way they moved. But it was all just a haze, a big mass of sounds and motions. The only thing clear was Kenley's face, still and lifeless. I did everything I could, she thought desperately, the words echoing through her mind as if they could somehow shield her from this moment. And yet... here he is, the very thing I fought so hard to prevent.

Why can't I save anyone?

Her mind flashed to Old Neil, to the weight of his cold, almost lifeless form as she held him. To the feel of his cold blood on her hands as she desperately tried to counter his corruption. She'd brushed his hair, using her sealed artifact as a shield as she poured every last drop of her own spirituality into him. Minute after minute, hour after hour, she fought, exhaustion creeping in until her body itself seemed to scream, rebelling against the toll she was demanding from it. She had pushed until her very bones ached, until consciousness slipped from her grasp and darkness swallowed her whole. And for what? A coma. She'd thought, this time, I can make a difference. But he was trapped in some dark void with almost no chance of ever waking up. She'd kept him breathing, but was that really something? It felt like nothing. Like a failure.

She thought of Klein—how he had offered to help, how he might have figured out a better way if only she had let him. If I had just told him, she scolded herself. He might have saved Kenley. He might have saved Old Neil. But she had shouldered it all alone, thinking she had to. Now her efforts felt small, inadequate. Klein already had so much to bear, with the ever-looming weight of his fate hanging over his head. Would I even be able to save him? The question chilled her, an insidious whisper she couldn't silence.

And then there was Dunn... her captain. Her throat tightened, a visceral ache spreading through her chest. Will I fail him too? The one person who had guided her, who had believed in her? He watched her now with a look that chilled her more than any failure ever could—suspicion. To him, she was an unknown, a danger. The trust between them, once solid and steadfast, was fractured ever since that damn interrogation, and she could see the unspoken fear in his eyes, the careful distance he kept. What if he's right? What if I am the danger he fears? What if I end up making everything worse?

A crack echoed within her mind, sharp and sudden, as if something deep inside her had cracked open. She felt it widening, an unseen wall that had shielded her, kept her reality at arm's length, shattering with a force she couldn't control. They aren't just characters... are they? The thought stunned her, leaving her breathless. All this time, she'd told herself they were just characters in a play, of a story she once knew like the back of her hand, something familiar and comforting, something she could enjoy. Yet, here she was, feeling their loss as if it were her own flesh and blood lying lifeless before her. This isn't just a novel anymore...

These people, these faces she once saw as mere images, art on a screen, had become her reality. Their suffering, their deaths... she could change them. She could rewrite their fates. And the weight of that realization pressed down on her, a burden too heavy to share, too consuming to ignore. She was the only one who knew, the only one who could act. It's up to me. Only me. The enormity of it washed over her, cold and merciless.

But she was so tired. She'd been fighting for so long, pushing herself to the breaking point, sacrificing everything she had. And even now, it wasn't enough.

Hazily, she saw Dunn turn, his lips moving, saying something to her, but the fog in her mind was too dense. She couldn't hear anything over the loud noise in her head. Her vision blurred, images from her past life bleeding over reality, overlapping over Dunn's concerned face. She saw him as she remembered him from the novel, standing with a pale smile, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his chest, forming a dark, crimson pool at his feet. In his hands, he held a box—a box that held his very own still-beating heart, torn from his body to power the cursed artifact. Her chest tightened, and her breath hitched as his warm, kind gaze dulled into something colorless, empty, lifeless.

She felt the chill of it spread through her, a dread so profound it nearly tore her heart. He's going to die. Panic surged, drowning her in a suffocating wave of terror. And I... I can't do anything.

Dark spots clouded her vision as the room spun and tilted, her legs giving way beneath her. The last thing she saw was Klein and Dunn rushing toward her, their faces frantic. Why are they even bothering? The thought echoed through the void that spread through her mind, hollow and hopeless. I can't save anyone...

And then, all was silence.

When she woke up, everything was quiet. The air was damp and cool, and the dim glow told her immediately where she was—underground, in one of the recovery rooms of the Blackthorn Security Company. For the Nighthawks, her mind filled in numbly. But that was the only clarity she got before her memories came back, raw and relentless, filling her with panic and guilt so intense it felt like fire in her veins.

Kenley. The thought jolted her upright, tearing her from the bed. She stumbled forward, not caring that her vision blurred with the sudden movement, her heart pounding with a burning desperation. She needed to find someone, anyone who could tell her what had happened. She moved without direction, charging down the cold, stone corridors that seemed to close in on her with each step. Shadows twisted around her, and her mind screamed of failure, of weakness, of lives slipping through her fingers again.

She turned a corner sharply, and in her panic, crashed into someone. She staggered back, barely catching herself, her vision still spinning, her mind a chaotic mess of images—Kenley's vacant eyes, the blood trailing from his lips, her own failure staring back at her like an accusation.

"Irina?" The voice was cautious, uncertain.

But she didn't register who it was. All she knew was that she had failed, and the weight of that truth pressed down on her until she could barely breathe. "It's my fault," she choked out, words tumbling over each other, faster than her mind could even process. "I should have noticed... his reflection... I should have done something. I should have saved him." Her voice broke as the words tore from her, grief thick in her throat. Her body shook with the intensity of the sobs. "I was too late, I was too weak, and now... Kenley—he..."

"Hey, hey, slow down." The stranger's hands gripped her shoulders, gently but firmly, anchoring her in place. She barely noticed as he guided her down to sit on the cold, cracked floor, his voice calm as he spoke. "Listen to me, Irina." He waited until she looked up, her eyes wide and filled with terror. "Kenley is alive."

The words sliced through her panic, and she blinked, stunned. "Alive?"

"Yes, he's alive. Just unconscious." The stranger's voice was firm, unwavering, grounding her in that single truth. "You managed to stop him in time." His words were a gentle balm, steadying the frantic beat of her heart. "You did everything you could with the mirror, you managed it perfectly as a custodian. Even though he was hurt, it was only because of you that he's still here. You protected him."

Finally, her vision cleared enough to see who it was, and recognition settled in her mind. Green eyes and long dark hair, Leonard.

But even as the relief sank in, the feeling twisted into something sharper, something unbearable. She stared at him, his words slowly sinking in, fighting the chaos still storming within her. I saved him? But the ache in her chest didn't ease. She could still see Kenley lying there, lifeless in her mind, his blood staining the floor, and she couldn't silence the thought that if she'd been just a little faster, a little stronger, things could have been different.

Leonard's hand didn't leave her shoulder, his expression calm but intent. "Irina," he said softly, "you don't have to carry all this weight alone. Klein, me, the Nighthawks—we're all here. We're with you. You don't have to do everything by yourself."

Something deep inside her cracked at his words. She hadn't even known it was there, this wall she'd built up to keep her emotions at bay, to keep herself numb to the truth that these people weren't just words on a page. But now, as the crack widened, it was as if every suppressed feeling rushed forward, raw and unfiltered, reminding her of the weight she'd been trying to ignore. They aren't just characters, are they? She felt a quiet, painful shock as the realization hit her, as she understood, perhaps for the first time for real, that this wasn't just a story she was rewriting. These were people—lives that could end in tragedy if she wasn't enough. She was the only one who knew what lay ahead. The only one who could change it. This is my reality now, she thought, as the full weight of it pressed down on her.

The responsibility clawed at her, crushing, relentless. She was supposed to be strong, supposed to be the one to save them. But she was so tired. She'd been fighting so hard for so long, sacrificing everything, and still, it felt like she'd barely made a difference. Could she truly keep this up? Could she save them all? Or would she just keep failing, time after time, condemned to watch them fall one by one, powerless to stop it?

Leonard's voice was soft, pulling her back to the present. "You've done more than anyone else could have," he murmured. "You saved us. And you're still here, which is enough."

She wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered, the fear eating her, insidious and unrelenting. She felt the pressure in her chest release just slightly, her breathing beginning to steady, but the ache remained, lingering in the space where that wall had stood. She wasn't sure she could bear it, wasn't sure she could keep carrying this burden, knowing the reality she was fighting against, knowing that these were real lives in her hands.

Leonard's presence was solid, reassuring. He didn't push, didn't demand anything of her. He just stayed by her side, offering his quiet strength, his steady gaze a reminder that, for now at least, she wasn't alone. Bit by bit, his words started to sink in, and the weight on her chest loosened, even if just a little. She could breathe, could feel the painful tightness in her throat begin to ease.

But even as her tears slowed, even as her breaths evened, she knew she couldn't escape the burden she carried. She'd already given so much, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Yet, for now, in Leonard's quiet, steady presence, she let herself feel the faintest spark of hope.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step getting closer. Irina heard them, but the weight of exhaustion pinned her in place. Her head hung low, her breath still catching now and then as she tried to calm herself. She felt her face, damp and warm, smeared with the remnants of her tears and makeup, and almost laughed. She must look awful—like she'd gone through a storm. Well, that's fitting, she thought bitterly. It was a storm. Just not one she could navigate.

Leonard tilted his head, a small grin breaking through the worry in his eyes. He nudged her lightly, playful as always. "Well, if you're going to keep crying on the job, you might want to invest in waterproof makeup, Irina. Otherwise, you're gonna look like a clown every time."

The words managed to pull a small, tired smile from her. Typical Leonard. Even now, he could still see the light in such events, pulling her back just enough that she didn't feel so alone in her mess. "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, swiping at the smeared makeup, but her hand dropped halfway, too tired to care.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dunn standing there, just a few feet away. His gaze was a complicated mix of concern and something else—something heavier that twisted her insides. She could feel his unease, the remnants of the suspicion that had been planted since the Deacon's interrogation. He doesn't trust me anymore, the thought slipped through, raw and unfiltered, tearing open something she'd tried to keep buried. This man, who'd once treated her like family, who'd been a guiding force, now looked at her like she was a stranger.

The Captain took a measured breath as he looked down at her. "Go home, Irina. Get some rest. Your shift starts tomorrow. Kenley's fine, and Klein is too." Something flickered in his eyes as he added. "It's morning now—you've been out for a few hours."

She managed a faint nod, barely able to lift her gaze to meet his. He watched her, his expression unreadable, but she could sense the doubt. Her stomach twisted, the emptiness creeping back in. She'd saved Kenley from the mirror, but even that victory felt hollow with Dunn's cold gaze lingering on her.

Leonard's eyes followed her as she finally turned to leave, a flicker of worry darkening his features. She could almost hear his sigh, the silent concern he didn't voice aloud.

Within him, Pallez observed her with a cool, detached curiosity. In the back of the poet's mind, 'He' murmured, "Her aura has shifted. It's laced with something... heavier than usual. Grief, perhaps. Regret." Leonard's jaw tightened. He wanted to say something more, to offer her a hand. But she was already moving, her steps fast and unsteady, leaving only the faint echoes of her footsteps in the hallway.

Outside, the morning air hit her, cool and crisp, but she barely registered it as she shuffled home, a quiet numbness settling over her. I'm doing the best I can, she told herself, but the words felt hollow, like something fragile and paper-thin. She could feel her own doubt, wrapping around her like a shroud, drowning out the comfort Leonard had tried to give.

The door to her place clicked shut softly behind her, and she let her jacket drop to the floor. She could feel her legs giving way, every muscle screaming in protest. She stumbled to the bed and sank onto it, barely able to pull her shoes off before collapsing, head sinking into the pillow, mind blissfully empty for the first time in what felt like days.

She didn't even have time to change her clothes before sleep claimed her.

Irina awoke in the late afternoon, her body heavy with fatigue, still dressed in that morning's clothes. She lay motionless, staring at the plain ceiling above, her gaze catching on the bare walls and simple furniture around her. The room felt as lifeless as she did. She'd never bothered to add a single decoration or personal touch, leaving the apartment an empty shell. It struck her then. Deep down, she'd never fully accepted this as her life. She'd always held hope of returning to her old reality, her old world. But this isn't temporary, is it? She thought, feeling a heaviness settle in her chest. This is... forever.

The memories of last night came back—Kenley's vacant eyes, the blood, the scramble to keep everyone safe. It's real. And I'm trapped here, she thought bitterly. She clenched her fists as a swell of frustration rose in her, but her hands were just as weak as her resolve felt. She was exhausted, in every sense of the word. Yet, through this emptiness, a spark flickered. Her eyes brightened with a sudden thought.

Irina shot upright, breath coming fast as she waved her hand, writing the word in the air, 'Alexandria'. Her room vanished, replaced by the vast but familiar library, towering shelves filled with endless knowledge. She collapsed into a nearby sofa, her gaze trailing up to the strange, ever-swirling, and twisting dark mass replacing the ceiling.

She sank into the cushions, stretching a weary hand upward. The faces of her friends flashed before her closed eyes—Leonard's calm, steadying presence that morning, his words that had finally made something clear to her. Being a 'custodian', he'd said, didn't mean keeping everything perfect. It was about preventing disaster, ensuring that things reached the outcome they needed to. It had felt like a revelation, yet also a harsh reminder of her limits.

Irina remembered the very first days she woke up in this accursed word. A young woman, freshly 18, filled with excitement, even glee, at finding herself inside a beloved story, even though she knew the horrors that lay beneath the surface. She had laughed with her coworkers, made new friends, enjoying the fun of having new unusual, and unknown powers. How naive, she thought, the smile fading from her lips. Back then, she'd brushed off the risks, thinking that she could save everyone with ease. She hadn't felt the weight of her actions. It's just a novel, she'd thought. Nothing can truly go wrong.

But now, she knew better. She'd watched as Old Neil's life slowly faded in her hands. She had barely saved Kenley from the edge of death. She wasn't strong enough to save them, not like some invincible hero in fairytales. The world she lived in was real, as real as the blood she'd seen, as the breaths she now took.

Her hand trembled, but she kept it stretched toward the endless dark above. Just good intentions and careful planning didn't get the intended results. But I did it. I've gotten this far, she reminded herself, gripping onto that small victory.

Irina's pale fingers stretched slowly. A soft, glowing ring formed above her palm. It was slightly bigger than her hand, a glowing symbol of all she'd pushed herself to achieve. Her eyes softened, and a tired, faint smile crossed her lips.

I did it, she thought, almost in disbelief. I finally reached Sequence 6... Forgotten Mage.

She closed her eyes, savoring the new powers the sequence granted her. Three days. She reminded herself bitterly, three days before Megose will show up.