The day after the flame's return, winter arrived early.
Frost spread across Kyomisu's fields overnight, glittering like crushed glass under gray light. But the morning still carried warmth from below; mist rose from the ground in slow drifts, as if the earth itself couldn't decide what season it belonged to.
From the shrine roof, Dylan watched steam curl between patches of ice. "So much for stability," he muttered.
Kris exhaled toward the horizon, forming clouds that didn't fade. "It's like breathing two kinds of air. Hot and cold fighting each other."
Kevin stood quiet beside them, eyes closed. He barely heard their voices—his mind tuned to something else. Every drop of dew vibrated faintly like a low whisper, a rhythm unlike the Heart's beat.
"Do you feel that?" he asked softly.
Both nodded.
"The fire isn't answering us anymore," Kris said. "Something dampened it."
"It isn't gone," Kevin murmured. "It's being muffled—by something older. Colder."
The Still River
By noon the mist condensed into rain—first gentle, then heavier, a rain that rang differently on stone. Every droplet left faint rings glowing pale blue before vanishing.
Lady Ai walked through the courtyard, her umbrella untouched by the falling water. "The river rose three feet overnight," she warned Kelivin. "It hasn't rained long enough for that."
Kelivin didn't look away from the horizon. "It's not rain. Something crosses through it. The water itself is moving with purpose."
Saya approached from the far steps, cloak soaked but eyes sharp. "I've seen shapes in the water's reflection. Faces—not human, not spirit, but clear. When I looked straight at them, the river was still."
Renji laughed dryly, though his voice lacked humor. "Wonderful. So the rain can lie now."
Kelivin finally turned toward the brothers gathered near the shrine. "The Flame Realm's echo is fading from your Ryuma. Whatever comes next, it's a counterweight."
Kevin's stomach knotted. "Water."
The word alone cooled the air several degrees. The rainfall steadied into a slow, rhythmic pour.
The Dream Current
That night, none of the brothers slept easily.
Kevin woke first. His room felt submerged, sound dull and heavy. At the corner of his eye, his shadow rippled like dark water, not behaving as shadow should. When he stood, faint streaks of blue crawled along its edges—symbols not his own.
Kris dreamed of stone corridors filling with water until the very air turned liquid, suffocating yet strangely calm. Each time he tried to surface, he saw Maiko's reflection above him, reaching down only to dissolve into ripples.
Dylan's sleep came shattered. In his mind's eye, lightning fizzled underwater, always dim, unable to escape. He felt hands pulling him deeper, gentle but insistent.
When dawn came, all three woke with the same phrase echoing faintly: "Come see yourself."
The Shrine at Dawn
Kelivin found them already waiting in the courtyard before sunrise. The rain had not stopped; it simply fell slower, each drop leaving circles that pulsed faint blue where they landed.
Something unseen filled the space—neither threat nor peace, just presence.
"The Heart reacts differently," Kevin said quietly. "It isn't warm anymore. It feels like the air stopped breathing."
Kelivin nodded grimly. "Another realm answers. The Water Plane opens through reflection, not by flame or stone. It calls to memory, asking those bound to the Seal what truths they've hidden from themselves."
Kris frowned. "You mean we're about to drown in visions?"
"Only if you resist," their father replied. "Acceptance is how water teaches. Resistance is how it consumes."
When Sky Became a Mirror
Lightning flashed—not from above, but from below.
The rain paused mid‑fall, hanging suspended like a field of glass shards. Reflections filled every droplet—images of Kyomisu from years past, moments frozen in living portraits. Children still playing in streets long since rebuilt, Maiko walking through the shrine gardens, Kelivin in battle armor facing a storm no mortal had recorded.
The brothers stood still, their reflections splitting across dozens of droplets. Each copy of them acted differently—some calm, others afraid, or proud, or furious.
Dylan reached out instinctively toward a floating drop showing his reflection smiling back at him. The instant he touched it, the image rippled and melted away, leaving behind a single drop that bled silver down his palm.
Kelivin's voice was low. "The Realm of Mirrors has found us."
The droplets shivered, every reflection twisting toward the sky. The storm's shape changed—no longer falling rain but rising streams pulling upward into the clouds, forming a spiral of luminous water.
From the center, a figure emerged: silvery robes flowing, eyes calm and endless.
Selin of Water stepped across the air as though walking on quiet seas.
The Envoy of Reflection
Kelivin drew his blade slightly before stopping himself. "I know your kind," he said. "Mirror-Walker. You answer to Ryuzen."
Selin's voice flowed like the rain itself, every word softening its own echo. "I answer to balance. Ryuzen merely remembers its cost."
Her gaze shifted to the brothers. Beneath it, the temperature dropped; fire energy in their marks hissed quietly against the cold.
"You three carry warmth," she said. "Flame within flesh, binding realms that should never touch. Yet even fire reflects light on still waters. The question is—will you see the reflection or mistake it for yourself?"
She extended a hand, and the rain hung still again. Each droplet solidified into mirror‑glass, forming a circle around them.
"Step inside," she said simply. "Your hearts have burned. Now let them see."
The air filled with distant whispers of waves breaking, and beneath their feet, the stone turned to clear water glowing faint blue.
Kevin glanced at his father, but Kelivin only said, "Learning never ends without risk."
And so, together, the brothers stepped forward—into the mirrors, where the line between reflection and reality shattered like calm water under thunder.