(POV: Lucian, Nareth, Irian, Daelen)

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POV: Lucian Mareis

Sleep came in fragments.

Every time Lucian’s eyes closed, he saw Irian.

Not the way he remembered him — but the way he felt him. A heartbeat away. A whisper under his skin. A memory pressing against the edge of his mind.

When he woke, his body didn’t feel like his own. His fingers twitched in unfamiliar rhythm, his lungs pulled air too sharply, and behind his eyelids, someone else’s sorrow bled through.

Nareth noticed immediately.

He was standing by the window, shirt rumpled, phone in hand. “You were calling a name in your sleep,” he said quietly. “Irian.”

Lucian froze. “I—I don’t remember.”

But he did.

He remembered a boy standing by a river. A laugh, light and familiar. Then—glass shattering, a scream, and silence.

Nareth came closer, eyes soft but searching. “Lucian… who is Irian to you?”

Lucian looked up at him — the man who had stayed, who had held him through every nightmare — and yet, at that moment, he couldn’t answer. Because he didn’t know if the answer belonged to him or to the soul inside him.

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POV: Irian Thal

The rain hadn’t reached his city yet.

But Irian couldn’t shake the chill. It had been days since the accident, since waking in a hospital bed and realizing his world had tilted sideways. His dreams were filled with strange fragments — a face he didn’t know, a voice whispering his own name in fear.

Daelen sat at his bedside, looking half-exhausted, half-relieved. “You zoned out again,” he murmured, brushing Irian’s hair out of his face. “You okay?”

Irian blinked. “I saw something.”

Daelen’s tone softened. “What kind of something?”

“A mirror,” Irian said, his voice trembling. “And a man who looks like me — but isn’t me. He said my name like he owned it.”

Daelen’s fingers tightened on the blanket. “You’ve been through trauma, Irian. Maybe it’s just—”

“No.” Irian’s eyes met his, fierce and haunted. “It felt real. Like he’s out there. Like part of me is missing.”

The air between them went still.

Then Daelen reached for his hand — slow, steady, anchoring. “Then we’ll find out who he is.”

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POV: Nareth Sol

He couldn’t stop thinking about that name.

Irian Thal.

When Taviel left, he’d gone through Lucian’s things, searching for any connection — a letter, a photo, anything. What he found instead was a painting.

It was half-finished.

A river under moonlight. Two figures standing side by side — one with Lucian’s features, the other a stranger’s.

Nareth traced the brushstrokes with his thumb.

The colors bled together, as if the canvas itself couldn’t decide which soul belonged where.

“What if the mirror isn’t haunting him?” Taviel’s words echoed in his head. “What if it’s correcting a mistake?”

Nareth looked back at Lucian, asleep on the couch, his expression soft and vulnerable.

If the universe made a mistake — if the wrong soul was trapped in the wrong body — then he was falling in love with someone who was never meant to exist.

And he didn’t care.

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POV: Daelen Pryce

He stayed with Irian long after visiting hours ended, watching the faint light of the monitors dance against his skin. Irian’s pulse was steady, but Daelen could see something else flickering beneath the calm — something unspoken, wild, and lost.

When Irian stirred, Daelen leaned closer.

“You’re safe,” he whispered.

Irian opened his eyes, dazed. “Then why do I feel like someone’s watching me from the other side of the glass?”

Daelen’s chest tightened. He brushed his thumb against Irian’s wrist. “Then I’ll stand on this side until they stop looking.”

The lights dimmed. Somewhere in the distance, a mirror cracked.

Two souls shuddered — one in Lucian’s body, one in Irian’s dream — as if they had recognized each other again across the veil.