The years blurred together, a relentless march of days bleeding into nights. The forest, for all its danger and mystery, remained unchanged—its shadowed canopy and jagged roots a constant, unyielding backdrop. But we didn''t.


    We were pushed beyond our limits every day, growing stronger—individually, and as a team. The grind carved us anew, each scar and callus a testament to the trials we''d survived.


    Alythiel''s daggers had runes carved into their blades, faint etchings that shimmered in torchlight. I asked her once what they meant, curiosity tugging at me. She only smiled, a glint in her moonstone eyes, and said, "A bit more power." Whatever that meant, I hadn''t the slightest clue—some alchemical secret, maybe, or a trick of her craft. But the way she fought now... precise, swift, every strike a whisper of death—she moved like an assassin. If the Shadow Hand had seen her now, they''d have claimed her as one of their own, no questions asked. Later, I''d find out the truth of those runes, but for now, her grace was mystery enough.


    Laboritus could nail an insect at fifty yards with his bow, his arrows slicing the air like they owned it. In hand-to-hand combat, he''d whittled his sparring partners down to two: Alythiel... and me. The hesitation he''d once carried was gone—orders flowed from him now as naturally as blinking, his voice steady, his seven-foot frame a pillar of command we all leaned on.


    Torglel was already a one-dwarf army when we arrived, a force of nature in bronze and beard. Now? He could take on an army and leave it in ruins. His hammer could split the earth to its core, the ground quaking under each blow. His flames weren''t just as hot as the sun—they bent to his will, burning only what he wanted, a precise destruction that left me awestruck every time I saw it dance.


    As for me, my power had grown like a storm at sea—wild, restless, untamed. Lightning quick. Deadly. It crackled under my skin, a restless tide I could barely contain. And the more I pushed, the louder that voice in my head became, its whispers slithering through my thoughts. "One day," it hissed, "you''ll give in." I grew weary of shutting it out, the effort a constant grind against my will, but I wouldn''t let it win—not yet.


    But we were a team through and through. We trusted each other on the battlefield, our movements synced like a single heartbeat. We were stronger. Closer. There was no denying our family bond now, forged in sweat and steel over seven brutal years.


    And now the final test was upon us. One last trial that would push us beyond breaking. But after seven years of being pushed past our limits... what was one more?


    We all gathered on the field where Petrus stood waiting, his presence a quiet storm. As we approached, he looked us over like a warrior inspecting his weapons before heading to war—sharp eyes tracing every scar, every shift in our stance.


    "You''ve been pushed beyond what you once thought yourselves capable of," Petrus said, his voice a low rumble that carried across the clearing. "Seven years. Day in and day out. You''ve bled, sweated, and endured far more than the average person. But you stand here now, stronger than ever."


    He paced before us, boots crunching the dry grass, his tone calm but laced with the weight of command. "We are not guaranteed tomorrow. But you four have made the most of today. You''ve honed your strength beyond what you believed possible—but there''s still more ahead."


    He stopped and faced us, his gaze piercing. "Today, you will be pushed to your limits. You must overcome yourselves... and work together if you hope to succeed."


    A long pause followed, Petrus''s eyes sweeping over us again, lingering as if measuring our resolve. "As long as you have the drive to be better than you were yesterday—and the trust in each other—there''s nothing you won''t be able to achieve as a team." We lived by those words from there on, a creed etched into our bones.


    Then he stepped back. And Seluvia stepped forward. Petrus nodded to her, and she raised her hands, her voice rising in a chant. "Caligo, eos rapias!"


    Her words echoed through the clearing, sharp and ancient. A thick fog rolled across the field, creeping over us like a living thing—cold mist coiling around my boots, damp and heavy against my skin. Then, just as fast as it came, the fog vanished. So did the world we knew.


    We were standing in an arena. Stone walls towered above us, pitted and scarred from battles long past. The ground was cracked and scorched, ash dusting the air with every step. And across from us... stood them.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Darker versions of ourselves.


    My mirror was everything I feared—my evil self, but not some wild, bloodthirsty apparition. It was calculated. Cold. Controlled. A shadow of me with eyes like black ice, every move deliberate. "That''s what you could be," the familiar voice in my head whispered, "if you just gave in." The words sank into me, a chill I couldn''t shake.


    Alythiel''s mirror stood silent, draped in black leather armor that hugged her like a second skin. Her eyes were dead, her face unreadable—a cold-blooded killer stripped of warmth. Laboritus''s mirror looked less alive and more machine—no emotion, only precision, his bow held with mechanical stillness. Torglel''s mirror was clad in blood-red armor, his hammer black as night, hanging heavy in his hands. His eyes gleamed wild and unhinged, flames rolling off his body like a caged beast clawing to break free.


    This felt like a nightmare come to life—a twisted reflection of everything we''d become.


    They waited, perfectly still, like snakes coiled to strike. We didn''t hesitate. We charged.


    Each of us met our mirror directly. And it was like fighting a reflection—every move mirrored, every instinct matched.


    Laboritus traded blows with his mirror, staff against bow, neither giving an inch—wood cracked, metal rang, a deadlock of precision. Alythiel''s daggers flashed in a graceful yet deadly ballet with her mirror, steel singing as they clashed, her runes glowing faintly with each strike. Torglel clashed with his mirror in a storm of fire and fury—flames erupted, licking across the arena, the heat searing my skin even from a distance.


    I fought my mirror with blades and lightning, our strikes identical, blocks timed to the second. Every move I made—he made. Every strategy I thought of—he knew. We were deadlocked, steel clanging in a rhythm that echoed off the stone walls. My arms burned, sweat stung my eyes, but he didn''t falter—neither did I.


    I needed to break the stalemate.


    I leapt onto a stone pillar, boots scraping the rough surface, and drew in a deep breath. This wasn''t something I wanted to do—it clawed at me, a risk I hated taking—but I was out of options.


    "VEL''ZARAK KOR''THUL!" I shouted, my voice raw and commanding.


    Runes seared across my arms, glowing molten red, the heat of them sinking into my flesh. Crimson and ashen grey lightning erupted from the sky, slamming into the arena with violent, deafening cracks. The power surged through me like a flash flood—sudden, violent, threatening to tear everything apart. My vision blurred, my heartbeat thundered, and I was losing control fast, the storm inside me spiraling wild.


    Alythiel saw it. She dodged between strikes, moving swiftly up the pillar—her boots silent, her form a blur. Her voice came next—words I didn''t understand, soft and melodic—her magic wove around me like a tether, calming the chaos inside. Her spell anchored me, a lifeline in the tempest, and I seized back control, my breath steadying.


    And that''s when Petrus''s words hit me, sharp and clear. "You must overcome yourselves... and work together if you hope to succeed."


    I''d been trying to take this on alone. We all had. But this wasn''t a battle of individuals—it was a test of us. We weren''t meant to fight our mirrors one-on-one. We were stronger together. Without them, I would''ve lost to myself a long time ago—swallowed by that voice, that power.


    I cast lightning, jagged chains of energy snapping through the air, binding Torglel''s mirror in place—his wild flames flickering against the restraint. Torglel didn''t waste the chance. He roared, a sound that rattled my bones, and brought his hammer down in a single earth-shaking blow. The mirror''s head shattered like glass, fragments glinting as they fell.


    Alythiel broke away and sprinted to Laboritus, her daggers a whirlwind as she attacked his mirror in tandem. Laboritus, reading her move like a book, stepped back and loosed an arrow—swift and true, it drove through his mirror''s throat. Another shattering burst, shards scattering across the scorched ground.


    Two mirrors remained. Mine—and Alythiel''s.


    Torglel barreled forward, flames pouring from his hammer as he kept both enemies pinned down, the air thick with heat and smoke. Alythiel vaulted over him in a smooth, acrobatic flip—graceful as ever—landing squarely on her mirror. Her daggers plunged deep into its chest, runes flaring bright. The mirror shattered in a burst of glass and light, the sound sharp in the chaos.


    Just one left. My mirror.


    He blurred around the arena at terrifying speed—faster than before, a shadow I couldn''t pin. The others worked in unison: Torglel cutting off his escape with sweeping arcs of fire, Laboritus and Alythiel forcing him toward me with relentless pressure—arrows and daggers herding him like wolves.


    I waited. I watched, muscles coiled, breath steady. When I saw the opening—a split-second falter—I struck. Lightning lashed out, wrapping around my mirror in crackling chains. He gave me a slight smile. I clenched my fist, and the energy surged—tightening until his form erupted into glittering red fragments, scattering like embers before fading into the dark.


    For the first time since we all came together, we truly felt like a team—not just fighters, but a unit, unbreakable. This victory was only the first in a long journey, but it burned in us, a fire we''d carry forward.


    I jumped down from the pillar, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud, and joined the others. For a moment, we stood in silence—breath heaving, sweat dripping—then it broke. Torglel let out a booming cheer, his voice echoing off the stone. Alythiel laughed, bright and free, her silver hair catching the faint light. And then Laboritus did something I still don''t believe to this day—he stepped forward, wrapped his long arms around Torglel, and picked him up in a tight, fierce hug, spinning him in a circle like a kid with a toy.


    Torglel roared with laughter, flailing in the air. "Well, if this isn''t a fine turn! Put me down before you break me in half, lad!"


    And Alythiel smiled—no trace of the cautious hopefulness I''d seen before. This was something else—pure, unbridled joy, lighting her face like dawn after a long night. I''d never forget that smile, or Laboritus''s hug—moments carved into me deeper than any rune.


    I looked down at my arms. The runes that had glowed molten red moments ago were gone, faded back into my skin. But I still felt them—warmth lingering, a pulse beneath the surface. "It begins," my darker self whispered, its voice curling through my mind like smoke. I clenched my jaw and shoved it aside, the effort familiar but heavier now.


    And then, the arena around us began to melt away—stone walls dissolving, scorched ground softening into grass. We found ourselves standing once more on the training field, the forest''s familiar scent washing over us. Seluvia and Petrus stood waiting, unchanged—as if they''d never left.