I swallowed. Nodded.
He led me toward the chamber's center, where the pyre had collapsed into a bed of smoldering embers. Heat radiated from it in waves, warring with the cold that pressed in from the stone walls. Nothing like training in a room that can't decide if it wants to freeze you or cook you. Very motivating.
"Fusing Shadow and Light doesn't start as harmony," he said. "It's a war. You'll train until one stops flinching."
"How do I stop flinching?"
He turned to face me, close enough that his presence pressed against my senses. "You have to stop denying what it shows you."
I felt him open his Mark. The Mirrorheart stretched and woke, sending a prickle across my skin as the air went thin.
"Breathe," he said. "Let it surface. What does it show you this time?"
Not again. Not like before.
Everything constricted. My lungs forgot how to work. I could feel the walls slamming up before I'd even consciously decided to build them.
"It doesn't matter," I snapped. "I'm not here to dissect my shadows. I'm here to command them."
A slow smirk spread across his face.
On anyone else, it might have been reassuring. On Dreadscale, it was terrifying.
"One does not command what one fears."
Holy hell.Something about the way he said it—patient, certain, completely unbothered by my deflection—made heat creep up the back of my neck. Focus.Focus.
"Again," he said. "I'll only hold the mirror for five seconds. One goal for the first step." He tapped my Marks. "When you feel that constricting in your chest? When you hold your breath? You're blocking success before you've begun. One step at a time."
I looked at the floor. Shame crawled up my throat—I was supposed to be the sundered soul, the key to healing the Veil, and here I was needing baby steps just to stop running from my own shadow.
His finger caught my chin. Lifted until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"One goal," he repeated. "Don't put up a wall for five seconds. That's success."
My throat locked. Every coherent thought had vacated my skull.
His smirk returned.
"Okay," I managed.
I stepped back. Put distance between us. Waited for my brain to start working again.
"Ready?"
I nodded before I could talk myself out of it.
The Mirrorheart reached for me. Soft this time—the lowest volume, like he'd turned down a dial I couldn't see. But even muted, it found its targets.
Pain first. Then heartache. Shame. Guilt. All of it crashing in at once, a wave that wanted to drag me under.
And there it was—the constriction. My lungs locked. The walls slammed up to protect me from myself.
Don't.
I forced my lungs to expand. Forced my shoulders to drop. It felt like free-falling off a cliff, nothing beneath me but dark and the certainty of impact.
But also—
