Chapter 51 The Mirror Of The End

Fynn POV The black rift is a void of my own making, a screaming abyss where light drowns and time fractures, my red-gold-white-silver light a fading ember against the crushing weight of the black flicker, now a roaring inferno in my chest, not chained, not controlled, but me, my fear, my failure, my end. I’m falling, not through space but through myself, memories and nightmares colliding—Morgan’s silver eyes, Elena’s snarl, Jake’s grin, Mira’s courage—shattering like glass, each shard a blade that cuts deeper, and the voice, my voice, twisted, dark, laughs, echoing in the dark: “You are the end, Warden.”