He had been running away from two reader fragments, but more importantly, from illusions. But how was it able to make them resist for so long? It made no sense. How were there two? How did it last so long? Where was it now? It was no sense...

He sighed, looking at how, after this, his mark had dimmed ever further, which didn't make much of a difference, but people still reacted to it, so he covered it with his back; that way, people didn't run away from him whenever they saw him.

It was nice, though, not having to live any longer in this world where everything was perfect. He could finally say something was wrong and someone would listen. But, he had no idea what to do next. Did he want to stay, protect the necklace? If so... then why?

But his mind was preoccupied with what he should do next, now that he knows the truth and has someone trying to kill him, where is he going to go? Is he going to face him, or is he going to run away?

He stayed still for a moment, eyes half-lidded, breathing unevenly. The air around him felt heavier now that the illusions had faded, as if the world itself was holding its breath, watching him. The sky looked the same as before, bright and washed clean, but he could tell something was off. The light didn't touch him anymore. It only grazed the edges of things, never quite landing. Maybe it had always been like that, and he was only now noticing.

The streets were emptier than they should've been. The few people who walked by never made eye contact; they smiled too much, their laughter carried for too long before cutting off like a broken instrument. He could hear faint, unreal whispers between them. The kind of sound you'd hear when you press your ear to a seashell and pretend it's the ocean.

He pulled the sleeve of his coat further, trying to hide the mark from view even more. It still pulsed faintly against his skin, dim and cold, but it was better than watching their faces twist in disgust. It wasn't fear anymore. It was something else, pity, maybe. Or worse, recognition.

His thoughts kept circling back to the two priests. They weren't supposed to be there, at least not together. Clones can't coexist. They devoured each other until only one remained. So how did two of them last this long without consuming the other? It wasn't just wrong, it was impossible. Which meant something was keeping them alive. Just like in Frozen Crown, it wasn't the word of whoever, but one of the strongest beings alive. And while he didn't know if the original priest was on the same level as being able to hold so many clones. Even going beyond one at a time was hard.

He leaned against a stone wall, feeling the faint hum beneath it. Even the ground was alive here, too alive. Every surface breathed softly, like the skin of something vast and sleeping. He didn't want to stay. Every instinct screamed to leave, to find somewhere darker, quieter, where the light didn't reach so greedily.

But where would he go?

The earring around his ear felt heavier than before, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his mark. The two were linked, somehow. But it was to be expected, since both of them are related to the mind, and trying to control it. It was strange; he used to be the one controlling others, yet now the others around him were being controlled.

He thought about the others, the ones who had come with him to help the rebellion, who had wanted to fight beside him. He wondered how many of them would still remember his name now. The thought burned more than he wanted to admit. He hated losing, so losing in this game of control infuriated him.

A wind swept through the street, carrying faint echoes of laughter, too clean, too bright. It made his skin crawl. Somewhere above, the light flickered, as though the world itself had blinked. He could almost see it again, the outline of the castle floating far above, its shape flickering like a dying star.

That was the place where the truth of the world was hidden, yet ironically, everyone chose not to see it. This whole world was ironic; the less you knew, the brighter your light was, the better person you were.

A better pet.

He pushed himself off the wall, forcing his legs to move. His body ached, but his mind was louder, restless, searching. He didn't know if he was running away or walking toward something. Maybe both.

As he stepped forward, he felt it, that same gaze from before, distant yet sharp. Watching. Waiting. He didn't turn to look. He just whispered under his breath, almost like a prayer he didn't believe in.

"Keep watching, then. Let's see who breaks first."

If they came after him again, he was just going to kill them again. If they just continue watching to try and learn about him, he won't show them anything. And if the one after him now was the original, he was just going to have to kill him, too.

It wasn't the first time he fought against someone much stronger than him. And neither would it be his last. He knew that with this rebellion, he opened himself to battles with opponents much stronger than him. And while he has killed people who may be stronger, that didn't mean that in the real world, he could even kill a Seeker. The only reason he was able to do so in Frozen Crown was because his blade was stronger due to fighting someone with a god's influence. And while it might also work in this world.

Against a Knight of the Blue Rose, it was useless.

Aether stopped in his tracks, as if front of him appeared two priest. Two clones, two illusions. He frowned, turning back and trying to flee. But there were two more behind him. Making that four clones that the original priest could hold. An impressive number. Not comparable to the King, but he could be less than a Seeker.

From what he knew, clones worked like this.

They were being made out of essence, eating through it constantly. The reason a Reader can't hold two is that one of them would be attracted to the essence burning in the other, since it is the essence they are eating from you. Seekers and stronger classes can have more, but they also have their limits.

But that is why, for a Reader, it's impossible to have more than one clone. But it also depends on what kind of affinity you have. Most affinities related to clones work on that principle, but there are some that work differently.

He didn't panic. Panic was for people who still believed the world made sense. He counted, two ahead, two behind, a neat ambush. They had him boxed like an animal, but animals could bite back.

He moved as if he meant to run.

Not far off was a small square where the vendors had polished their stalls into mirrors; the city loved reflections. He let his feet carry him there, aching with every limp step. He slipped between a pair of glass jars and let one of the clones brush past, teeth of bone whispering in the air. It turned to face a reflection of him in a merchant's brass, hesitated, and for a heartbeat, the double looked more real than the man. The clone reached for the image, and Aether watched its shoulders slump as if a current had passed through it.

That was the trick: force commitment.

He darted out and scored the first one with a clean, practiced stroke. No theatrics, a slash to the throat, a muttered word, Voidpiercer singing coldly as it slid. The clone melted like wax, its face folding inward, and a sweet, metallic taste filled the air as the city's light seemed to swallow the remains.

The remaining three echoed, rushing in panic to reassert the link. They were sloppy now; confusion cost them steadiness. He ducked under a hanging banner, baiting another clone into grappling with a statue reflection, then Aether struck again, swift, surgical. Two down.

He kept moving, never letting them form their pattern. The plaza's mirrors multiplied him until they attacked ghosts; each miss was a tax on their core. The third collapsed at his feet like a puppet cut loose. Only one remained, the one that felt like the original's shadow: smarter, slower, watching for his exhaustion.

He slowed, breathing measured, voided his eyes of any invitation. The last clone advanced carefully; it didn't rush. That patience was its weakness. Aether let it approach until it had to decide: commit, or risk losing contact. When it lunged to draw from him, he let it, drew its focus inward, then struck through the center of its will with Voidpiercer. The blade hummed like a verdict.

By the time the light settled, four shapes melted into nothing. His heart thudded like a tired drum. He had done it; he had killed four clones at once.

...

[You have killed a Reader Fragment, Clone.]

[You have killed a Reader Fragment, Clone.]

[You have killed a Reader Fragment, Clone.]

[You have killed a Reader Fragment, Clone.]

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