Here, in the tunnel, the world still felt unreal, like the memory of a dream Catty hadn't fully woken from. The weight of what she saw clung to her—her parents, their faces both familiar and forgotten, the battle, their sacrifice. The Master watching it all unfold. Her pulse quickened, the images swimming in and out of focus in her mind.
The girl kept moving forward, her body acting on instinct. Every step forward felt heavier as if her past was trying to pull her back. The little dragon shifted in her arms, nuzzling against her, a warm reminder that she wasn't alone. Catty tightened her grip around him.
The bracelet on her wrist gave a faint pulse as if sensing the turmoil inside her, but it offered no answers, no comfort. The girl bit her lip, trying to hold herself together.
Then, the tunnel narrowed, forcing her focus back to the present. Her boots were slipping against the damp stone, and the cold air settled deeper into her skin.
The path suddenly split, veering into two dark passages—one to the left, the other to the right.
Catty stopped, peering into the void.
At first, her attention drifted to the right. A soft glow began to appear from the depths of the passage, spreading through the dark like the first hint of dawn. The shadows were peeling back inch by inch as the light grew stronger. It flowed outward, illuminating the tunnel walls, and invited her to step closer.
In this bright space that opened up before her, Catty saw a girl riding the pink dragon through a sky so vast it seemed endless. They were flying straight towards her over rolling green fields and sparkling rivers. The sun glinted off the shimmering scales when the dragon's mighty wings cut through the clouds.
The girl's hair danced wildly in the wind, her face lit by a carefree smile. No shadows were chasing her, no burdens pressing on her heart. Just the open sky, the dragon, and the promise of adventure with every beat of his wings.
A life without fear or regret, with the sky as her only limit.
Catty lingered at the edge of the passage, her breath catching as the light brightened, revealing more of the scene. The girl in the vision looked so different. Not just freer, but lighter, like she had shed everything that had ever weighed her down. Every gust of wind seemed to lift her higher, carrying her farther from all the things Catty thought she'd never escape.
The dragon's wings stretched wide, cutting smoothly through the sky. With each beat, Catty felt a joy in her heart. It wasn't just the beauty of the flight—it was the idea that maybe, just maybe, this future could have been real. She could almost feel the wind on her skin and hear the rush of air in her ears. For a moment, the sun's warmth in the vision seemed to seep into the cold tunnel, thawing the chill wrapped around her bones.
The girl's fingers brushed over the bracelet on her wrist, the cool metal grounding her in the present. But the glow from the vision whispered promises—freedom, joy, a life without looking back. It was everything she had ever wanted, laid out like a path she could take if only she stepped forward.
Her heart clenched. The girl in the sky didn't carry guilt and didn't struggle to protect anyone. No broken promises, no fear of failing again. Just her and the dragon, soaring through endless possibilities.
Catty blinked, pulling herself back, though the vision tugged at her, coaxing her to stay. It was a future without weight, without the burden she carried now. But deep down, a knot of doubt tightened in her stomach. It felt too easy, too perfect. The kind of dream that slips through your fingers the moment you wake up.
The dragon in her palms stirred, his tiny claws gripping her arm as if reminding her that he was here, not in the sky, and this was the only world that mattered.
At this moment, a voice came from the darkness of the left passage. Although it was quiet and barely audible, a shiver ran down Catty's spine. It couldn't be. She knew that voice, the way it carried a blend of sorrow and hope—fragile as cracked glass.
The voice fell silent, making her doubt what she had heard, but the sound still lingered in the air, pulling her attention toward the darkness. Before she could stop herself, Catty stepped toward the left passage.
Her chest tightened. There was something familiar in that darkness, something she wasn't sure she wanted to see. And yet, she couldn't look away.
"Luli?" Catty whispered. She knew it wasn't possible—but what if it was? What if her best friend was somehow there?
Shadows stirred within the dark, shifting to the edges, and suddenly, instead of the tunnel, Catty saw the familiar outline of a narrow hallway—one she knew all too well. The walls were chipped, the paint peeling away in long, jagged strips.
The orphanage!
And there, standing at the far end, was Luli.
She looked so small in the flickering light, her arms wrapped around herself as if the weight of the world rested on her slim shoulders. Her hair was tangled, her clothes wrinkled, but her eyes struck Catty hardest—wide, desperate, and searching for someone.
An ache spread through Catty's chest as Luli's lips moved.
"Where were you?" Luli whispered, her voice trembling. Her words carried through the silence like a breeze stirring dead leaves. They clung to the air, heavy with the kind of sorrow that burrows deep and never quits.
Catty froze. Her hands instinctively tightened around the little dragon, but the warmth from his body couldn't chase away the chill creeping into her bones.
"Why didn't you come?" Luli's voice cracked, a haunting echo that wrapped itself around Catty's heart and squeezed.
The hallway between them stretched longer with each passing second as if the space conspired to keep them apart. Catty tried to move, but her legs felt leaden, her feet rooted in place. She felt the same helplessness she had carried since that day—knowing she hadn't been there when Luli needed her most.
She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but no words came. The shadows along the walls shifted closer, curling around Luli like a veil, and the flickering light dimmed. Luli's eyes met Catty's one last time, filled with regret, and then she whispered again—soft, almost like a secret meant for no one but her.
"I waited."
Catty sprinted into the passage. The little dragon clung tighter to her arm, but she barely noticed, her focus locked on the figure at the far end of the hallway.
"Luli!" Catty called out, her voice echoing off the peeling walls. Each step felt like a desperate fight, her feet slamming against the cold floor as she pushed herself forward. She had to reach Luli—this time, she wouldn't fail.
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But with every step she took, the hallway stretched further, pulling her friend away. The walls warped and twisted as if the space between them was unraveling, shifting endlessly out of reach.
"Wait!" Catty shouted, panic rising in her throat. Luli stood still, arms wrapped around herself, her face a silent plea frozen in the twilight. But the distance between them grew wider with each passing second.
Catty ran harder and faster, but the floor beneath her felt slick, as if this world conspired against her. The hallway tilted, and Catty stumbled, catching herself just in time before she fell.
"Luli, please! I'm here!"
The shadows thickened along the edges of the corridor, curling inward like smoke. Luli's form flickered, fading in and out. Her lips moved, but no sound followed—just the memory of her voice whispering through Catty's mind: I waited.
"No!" Catty's breath hitched, her pulse roaring in her ears. She reached out, arm straining toward the fading figure. But no matter how far she stretched, Luli stayed just out of reach—untouchable, slipping away like a dream she couldn't hold on to.
The harder Catty tried to close the gap, the further Luli seemed to drift, disappearing into the deepening dark.
And then, with a final flicker, she was gone.
Catty stopped, gasping for breath, her heart splintering under the weight of what she couldn't change. The dragon stirred again, his warmth against her chest a faint reminder of the present, but it did little to ease the ache.
She stood alone in the empty hallway, the sudden silence heavy and unyielding. Nothing was left but her heartbeat—and the bitter truth that she couldn't help. Not then. Not now.
Catty pressed forward, frustration gnawing at her with every step. The empty hallway behind her weighed heavier than the darkness ahead, leaving her shaken and spent. Luli was gone like a cruel memory she couldn't change, and no effort had been enough to reach her.
Catty clenched her jaw, trying to push away the ache that lingered in her heart. She had thought she must save Luli and fix what had gone wrong before, but now it all felt like another failure.
Her restless thoughts churned, and the girl wanted to scream. No way to make sense of the mess inside her. All she could do was keep moving, no matter how much it hurt.
The walls around Catty seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as her heartbeat. The tunnel felt endless, a cold and winding path that offered no promise of what lay ahead. Yet she couldn't stop.
Then, up ahead, something shifted—a glimmer of light cutting through the dark. It gleamed cold and sharp. Catty slowed, narrowing her eyes as she caught sight of it.
The girl kept moving slowly until she bumped into it—the mirror barrier rising before her.
Catty stopped. It stretched from floor to ceiling, a smooth, reflective surface gleaming in the dusk. At first, she thought it was ordinary glass—until she saw the figure staring back at her.
It was her reflection—twisted and warped by shadows. The girl in the mirror looked small, hunched under unseen burdens. She was stripped bare, revealing every insecurity and fear she carried deep inside. Her eyes brimmed with doubt, her expression hollow and lost.
The reflection leaned closer, its lips curling into a sneer. The words that followed sliced through the silence like a cold wind.
"You failed Luli. What makes you think you can protect this dragon?"
Catty recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. The dragon in her arms shifted uneasily, but the reflection pressed on, relentless.
"You'll always be the orphan no one wanted."
The voice in the mirror wasn't loud—it didn't need to be. It echoed inside her mind, dredging up every painful thought she had ever buried. She clenched her jaw, her heart pounding against her ribs as the taunts wrapped around her like chains.
"You think you're strong, but you're not."
The reflection's words lingered, not loud but persistent, like a thought she'd tried to push down for too long. You failed Luli. What makes you think you can protect this dragon?
Catty swallowed hard. She didn't have an answer—not one that felt right. That knot of guilt was still there, tied tight in her chest. The fear too. It always would be, she realized. And maybe that was okay.
I carry it because I care. The thought came quietly, almost like a whisper. It didn't erase the guilt but softened it somehow, making it easier to accept.
Her reflection waited, patient and familiar. There was no malice in its gaze, just the weight of everything she carried—every mistake, every regret, and all the things she feared. It was overwhelming, yes, but it was hers.
And suddenly, she felt tired—so tired of fighting everything.
Catty hugged the dragon tighter to her chest. He needs me. I can't let him down too. That mattered more than anything—more than being perfect or getting everything right. Just being there, trying, even when it hurt.
The reflection shifted slightly, mirroring her hesitation, her doubt, and her quiet resolve. I don't need to fight. I just need to keep going.
Her breath steadied. She glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist, its pulse calm and steady, matching the rhythm of her heart. The reflection smiled—just a flicker at the edges, but enough.
Catty felt the smallest hint of a smile rise in return. Not because everything was fixed but because she understood now. I'm not perfect, but I'm enough. I've always been enough.
The girl stepped forward. The reflection tilted slightly as if meeting her halfway. And as she reached out, she felt the weight of her doubts settle into place—not gone, but no longer something to fear.
Their hands touched—cool glass against warm skin—and the barrier dissolved. It wasn't broken. The reflection merged into her. And she became whole.
Catty stood still for a moment, breathing slowly. She felt lighter—the past stopped dragging her back. The little dragon stirred in her arms and squeaked, reminding her she wasn't alone. She had to keep moving forward.
She glanced at the space where the barrier had been, now just air, and stepped through. There was no need to look back.
When Catty stepped out of the tunnel, the night air brushed her face like a quiet welcome. It was cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of distant rain. For a moment, she stood still, letting the breeze carry away the weight that had clung to her inside the tunnel.
Eterna stretched before her, familiar yet changed. The streets, bathed in soft moonlight, looked just as the girl remembered—cobbled sidewalks between tall buildings that rose into the night sky. Yet something was different, something she couldn't quite name.
Catty glanced down at the little dragon, his warm breath rising and falling steadily. He yawned cutely as if sensing the shift in the air. A quiet determination settled over her. "We'll do better," she whispered, her voice low but certain. "Together."
The night around her was still, the kind of calm that came just before the world began to stir again. Streetlamps flickered at the edges of her vision, casting pools of dim light across the cobblestones. Somewhere far off, footsteps echoed faintly, adding to the quiet rhythm of the sleeping city.
The dragon jerked impatiently, and Catty took a step forward. She was walking home. The streets of Eterna stretched ahead—well-known but waiting, like a book she hadn't yet finished reading. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel afraid of what came next.
She tightened her grip on the dragon, drawing strength from his warmth, and kept walking. The night welcomed her, wrapping her in its quiet promise that whatever lay ahead, she wasn't facing it alone.
The night became cooler when Catty turned onto her street. The familiar shapes of buildings rose in the soft glow of the street lamps. The little dragon nestled in her arms had been quiet all the way home until they got to Catty's house, but when they neared the front steps, he began to twitch and scrape.
"Hey, what's up with you?" Catty whispered, tightening her grip to keep him from slipping. The dragon wriggled harder, a soft squeak bubbling from his throat.
"Easy now." She rocked him gently, trying to calm him like a baby. "We're almost there."
It didn't work. The dragon's movements grew frantic, his wings fluttering in short bursts as if something unseen was pulling at him.
"Okay, okay, let's just get in," she muttered, hurrying up the steps, but the dragon wasn't having it. His claws dug into her sleeve, and he let out a worried chirp, craning his neck to look at the wall.
"What's wrong?" Catty became alarmed and glanced around but didn't see anything dangerous. Just the same old quiet street she used to live. The air carried the scent of damp stone and smoke, with a slight breeze stirring the leaves scattered across the curb. A cat darted into an alley, its silhouette vanishing between trash bins. Above, clouds drifted slowly, veiling parts of the moon, making the night feel even more still, as though the world was holding its breath.
The girl didn't see a symbol that appeared on the wall of her house. It was a lock with an eye instead of the keyhole.
First, a soft pulse ran across the wall as light seeped through cracks in reality. Then, the lock emerged slowly, and at its center, the eye gleamed, its gaze deep as though it could see far beyond time.
It was the Multiverse Gatekeeper's mark. Wherever it appeared, the boundaries between worlds weakened. It signaled a place where transitions could happen—a doorway that responded to arcane energy.
The glow held for a breath. Then, without a sound, the light dimmed, the symbol dissolving back into the night, leaving the wall bare again.
The dragon twitched harder, wings fluttering, his distress growing. Catty, unaware of the silent warning, stepped toward the door.
And not only the pink dragon had seen this mark.