Zephira didn’t often speak of her past.
She’d always been the most physically present of us—sword drawn, fists ready, no patience for magic or mysteries.
But when we passed through the Veil Chamber, something inside her broke.
The room reacted only to her.
Ghostly figures formed from memory. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Warriors with her face. Students with her gait. Even enemies who mirrored her eyes.
"I fought them," she said quietly. "Killed them."
"Who?" I asked.
"Versions of me. They forged me by making me kill every mistake I might’ve been."
Lilith reached for her shoulder, but Zephira stepped back.
"I have to finish this alone."
"No," I said.
I stepped into the illusion beside her.
And one by one, we helped her lay her ghosts to rest.