Ekchron had been laughing to himself for quite a while.

  Moonlight slipped in through the window. He was sprawled across the sofa like an indolent king on a stolen throne: one leg hanging over the backrest, the other bent, arms spread, head tilted as if he were listening to the best anecdote in the world. The house smelled of expensive wood, spilled wine, and something metallic that refused to fade completely. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “No, no, no,” he said between laughs, staring at the empty space to his right. “You should have seen his face when he realized no one was coming to save him.”

  He tilted his head, listening to a reply only he could hear, and pressed a hand to his stomach, laughing harder.

  “He asked me if I knew who he was,” he added. “As if that mattered when you’re already dead and just don’t know it yet.”

  Ekchron fell silent for a few seconds. Then he nodded, as though his invisible interlocutor had said something worth considering.

  He got up lazily. The floor creaked beneath his bare feet as he wandered through the living room without any hurry, stepping past torn paintings, displaced furniture, half-swept shards of glass…

  Every mirror in the house was broken. Every single one. That’s why he stopped. There was one intact. Small and vertical, propped against the hallway wall as if it had always been there.

  “No…” he murmured.

  For an instant, he saw only his own reflection: the messy orange hair, the tired expression.

  He took a step back, but it was too late. The reflection in the mirror was no longer his. A face stared back from the other side of the glass, serene, eyes unblinking.

  Eresha.

  The pain came without warning—deep, internal. Ekchron doubled over with a low growl, fingers digging into the wall as his world warped.

  “No,” he spat through clenched teeth. “You’re dead.”

  Eresha’s reflection didn’t change.

  “You break mirrors,” the reflection said without emotion. “You run. You kill. You laugh.”

  The pain intensified.

  “But you will never be free,” she continued calmly. “Not from time. Not from me. Not from everything you’ve done.”

  Ekchron looked up, eyes burning with pure hatred.

  “I survived,” he muttered with difficulty. “I’m free. That means I won.”

  “No,” she replied flatly. “It means the punishment isn’t over yet.”

  The pain exploded again. Ekchron dropped to his knees, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling against the floor.

  “The punishment is you. Your eternity. Your inability to escape what you are.”

  Eresha watched him one last time with immutable calm.

  “The curse will break the day a human loves you knowing exactly what you are,” she said without mockery, like someone delivering a sentence. “Knowing how many you’ve killed. Knowing there is no redemption for you.”

  The mirror cracked.

  “But that will never happen,” she added. “And this punishment will not end.”

  The mirror shattered into pieces, fragments scattering across the floor. None of them reflected his face anymore.

  Ekchron stayed on his knees for a few seconds longer. The pain withdrew slowly, leaving behind a residual tremor in his muscles. Humiliating.

  He rose to his feet at last.

  “That’s impossible,” he whispered, a broken laugh escaping him.

  The laugh caught in his throat, faded… and then returned, louder.

  “Impossible,” he repeated, this time aloud.

  He stepped back and threw his first punch into the wall. The impact made the house tremble. The second tore away a chunk of plaster.

  “There was never a way to break it,” he spat between laughs.

  He overturned the table with a shove. Wood cracked as it hit the floor. An armchair went flying into the bookshelf; books spilled everywhere.

  “Love me?” he laughed. “This?”

  He kicked the remains of the mirror.

  “No one loves a monster,” he went on, his voice rising. “No one loves a murderer. No one looks at something broken and decides to stay.”

  He grabbed a lamp and hurled it against the wall.

  “There was never an exit!” he shouted. “You just wanted me to know.”

  His sick laughter slowly died away until everything fell silent.

  And then the voices in his head turned up the volume.

  “Well,” a voice laughed, far too close to his ear. “Looks like the monster’s lost his temper.”

  Ekchron spun around. The living room was full—figures leaning against the walls, sitting on the floor, standing by the windows. Some blurry. Others sharp. All of them watching him with obscene attention, smiling.

  “Look at you,” another said, pointing at him. “So proud. So eternal. And still… shaking.”

  A louder laugh echoed from behind the sofa. Ekchron clenched his teeth.

  “Don’t start,” he warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

  The laughter grew. One figure stepped forward.

  “Does it hurt?” it asked. “Of course it does. Fire always burns.”

  Something twisted in Ekchron’s stomach.

  “Look at him. The great Seventh. The untouchable. The one who only knows how to burn.”

  Several hands rose, pointing at him.

  “Since the day you were born, everything started to go wrong.”

  “The crops.”

  “The deaths.”

  Ekchron stepped back without realizing it. The laughter dropped in volume, becoming denser, more intimate.

  “You’ll never be anything else,” they whispered. “No matter how many names you take.”

  “No matter how many masks you wear.”

  Heat rose in his chest. Those memories. Those words still echoed in his mind after five millennia. Bad omen. Demon.

  “You’re only good for burning,” the voices continued with contempt. “For destroying whatever you touch.”

  Ekchron squeezed his eyes shut. He clenched his fist in his jacket, gripping the leather. It wasn’t the curse. They were in his head. Deep down, he knew they weren’t real. But he couldn’t silence them.

  “Quiet,” he murmured, exhausted.

  The voices didn’t stop.

  “You’re not real,” he said, doubt seeping into his voice. “You’re not.”

  Some figures leaned closer, curious. Others just smiled wider.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You always say that.”

  “And we always come back.”

  A sound cut through the laughter—footsteps, close, steady, real. Ekchron’s eyes snapped open.

  “Ekchron.”

  The voice came from the living room doorway. Nikandros was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, frowning at him.

  “You’ve been talking to yourself for a while.”

  The laughter lingered for a few seconds more… then began to dissolve. It never vanished completely. It never did. It settled into the background, like background noise you eventually learn to live with.

  Ekchron dragged a hand down his face.

  “Perfect timing,” he muttered. “We were having a deep conversation.”

  Nikandros took in the destroyed room: overturned furniture, splintered wood, glass everywhere. He approached slowly.

  “I thought there were no mirrors left,” he said quietly, ignoring the rest of the chaos. “And the voices…”

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  He didn’t finish. Ekchron hesitated for a second.

  “They turned the volume down,” he said at last. “You know how it goes.”

  Nikandros sighed, running a hand through his hair.

  “Ekchron—”

  “Don’t start,” Ekchron cut in immediately. “It’s not that bad. Just a coincidence.”

  He lifted a hand dismissively.

  “The curse did its thing… and the voices took the chance to laugh at me.”

  He looked up at Nikandros with a tired smile.

  “One thing trying to destroy me… and the other is me, already broken,” he shrugged. “The full package.”

  Nikandros didn’t reply. He clicked his tongue, gaze drifting aside, and crossed his arms.

  “I’m going out,” Ekchron added suddenly, like he was announcing a walk. “I need a distraction.”

  Nikandros’s eyes swept the room again, taking in the mess Ekchron had left behind. He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his fingers to his forehead, as if the whole thing gave him a migraine.

  “Sure,” he murmured. “Poor bastard who runs into you tonight.”

  Ekchron just smiled and left without another word.

  He didn’t choose him for any particular reason. Just a man—middle-aged, worn suit, tired eyes. Walking alone, distracted, thinking about something that would never matter again.

  Ekchron appeared at his side without a sound.

  “Excuse me,” he said politely. “Do you have a moment?”

  The man startled, turning, uneasy at the sudden closeness.

  “What—? Look, I—”

  Ekchron smiled, conciliatory.

  “It’ll be quick.”

  There was a second of confusion. Ekchron placed a hand on his arm, careful, almost gentle. The pressure was minimal; the strength absolute. The man tried to pull away and couldn’t. Fear followed.

  “Wait… what are you doing?” he stammered, breath quickening.

  “I’m going to explain how this is going to work,” Ekchron said calmly. “You’re going to stay conscious the whole time. That’s important to me.”

  He brought his mouth close to his ear, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

  “Your body will try to protect you… pass out, shut down, die quickly,” he smiled kindly. “I won’t let it.”

  He pulled back again, without letting go.

  “Every time your mind tries to escape, I’ll drag it back to the same second. Right before.”

  The man was openly sobbing now, his body trembling.

  Ekchron tilted his head slightly, listening to something only he could hear.

  “Don’t be impatient,” he murmured to the air, smiling. “You always want to jump straight to the end.”

  The man gasped, confused, terror mixing with something worse: the cold certainty of being at the mercy of someone profoundly unwell.

  He didn’t have time to think about it.

  The man screamed—a long, broken, desperate scream—as Ekchron plunged his hand into his abdomen and began his work, exploring inside with unnatural serenity. The pain was immediate, unbearable, and still he didn’t let him go. Every spasm, every attempt to fade out, was rejected with cruel precision. The body failed little by little; the voice dwindled to a wet thread and then to nothing.

  When it was over, Ekchron stepped back and observed in silence. Under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, his work hung there—grotesque and unmistakable—swaying gently in the breeze. He smiled, satisfied, like someone reviewing a job well done, and walked away without looking back.

  The city woke up as if nothing had happened.

  Lyciah reached the kitchen with her mind halfway between sleep and waking. It smelled of fresh coffee, warm bread, and something sweet she couldn’t immediately place. Momoru stood by the counter, focused; making breakfast was a sacred ritual for him. Seliane was already seated, a steaming cup in her hands.

  “Morning,” Lyciah murmured, sitting across from her.

  “Morning until Ekchron shows up in the schedule,” Seliane replied without looking away from the TV.

  Lyciah frowned slightly and glanced at the screen. A news anchor appeared with a serious expression, blue background, red ticker along the bottom.

  Momoru set a plate in front of Lyciah. Golden toast, fruit cut with artistic precision, eggs still steaming.

  “Eat,” he said. “Before it gets cold.”

  Lyciah gave him a small, grateful smile and looked up just as the anchor continued.

  “Authorities confirmed this morning the discovery of a body in the city center,” she said firmly. “The body was found at dawn, suspended from a streetlamp, using parts of the victim’s own body as means of support. Officials have classified the incident as an act of extreme violence.”

  Lyciah froze, toast halfway to her mouth.

  “According to police sources,” the anchor went on, “the crime displays all the traits associated with the Seventh Ancestral. The positioning of the body and the level of violence fully match his signature.”

  Blurred images appeared: cordoned-off areas, officers at work.

  “However,” the voice added, “authorities have not confirmed his direct involvement at this time. The possibility of a copycat has not been ruled out.”

  Seliane let out a dry laugh.

  “Of course,” she muttered. “Because there are always copycats of millennia-old psychopaths. Very popular hobby.”

  A knot formed in Lyciah’s stomach.

  “What has raised particular concern,” the broadcast continued, “is the location of the crime. If confirmed to be the work of the Seventh Ancestral, this would mark the first recorded instance of his presence on Spanish soil.”

  It wasn’t a surprise. Still, hearing it said out loud, in that neutral news tone, left a bitter aftertaste.

  “Law enforcement advises the public to exercise extreme caution,” the anchor concluded, “and avoid poorly lit or isolated areas at night while the investigation continues.”

  Momoru set the coffee pot down with a soft clink.

  “It’s going to get cold,” he said.

  Lyciah finally looked away from the TV, down at her untouched breakfast. She began to eat, but the weight in her chest didn’t ease.

  For Ekchron, however, Spain had nothing left to offer. The Dawnbringer had never been the solution.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, holding back the urge to break something. He’d wasted his time. Worse, he’d had to endure the presence of the Second—Caelan’s stone-cold calm, his impassive gaze, that silence that always felt like judgment.

  Nothing there deserved further attention. Games, however, were never abandoned halfway. He’d never done that. Leaving loose ends was an invitation to chaos—and chaos was only fun when he was the one causing it.

  He thought of her. Her voice. Her flour-dusted hands. The way she’d taken part in the game without knowing it.

  Lorena.

  It was time to end the game. And the only way to do that was by breaking the toy.

  The bell above the door rang.

  Lorena looked up, wiped her hands on her apron, and smiled at him.

  “Good morning, Azul.”

  Ekchron entered without answering. He let the door close behind him and stared at her.

  “I’ve come to end this.”

  Lorena tilted her head, confused.

  “End…?”

  “The game,” he added calmly. “There’s no point in continuing.”

  “Azul, I don’t know what game you’re talking about.”

  Ekchron stepped toward the counter.

  “I’ve come to break you.”

  He said it without emphasis, like he was stating a fact.

  “Break me?” she repeated. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  Ekchron thought for a few seconds. She rested a finger against her chin, waiting.

  “What happens to humans when you stop working,” he replied. “When you stop moving.”

  Lorena didn’t step back. She studied him… and then she understood.

  She remembered the times she’d seen him stop mid-sentence. Turn his head for no reason. Smile at no one. Murmur answers not meant for her. All of that, combined with what he’d just said… it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like disconnection.

  “What you just said,” she said slowly, “isn’t normal.”

  There was no fear in her voice. Only concern.

  Ekchron held her gaze, but inside his head the noise was unbearable.

  “Break her.“

  “Don’t be an idiot again.“

  “The first time you were going to do it too.“

  He muttered something under his breath. Lorena didn’t understand.

  She sighed and calmly stepped around the counter, stopping in front of him.

  “Your hair’s a mess,” she said suddenly.

  Ekchron blinked.

  “What?”

  She lifted her hand on reflex… then stopped halfway.

  “May I?”

  “No.”

  The word came out sharp. Too fast.

  Lorena lowered her hand without making a fuss. She looked at him for another second and smiled—soft, warm, without judgment.

  “That’s a shame,” she said. “It’s a beautiful color.”

  Ekchron went still. In his mind, other voices slipped in uninvited.

  ”It’s the color of fire.”

  ”It brings death.”

  ”Bad omen.”

  He clenched his jaw, opened his mouth to say something—but she spoke first.

  “Look at your hands,” she added, just as calmly. “They’re shaking. You won’t do anything properly like that.”

  He looked at her.

  He didn’t remember a face, or a name, or a specific time. He remembered a feeling—the sense of not having to defend himself. He remembered a low, patient voice, speaking gently even when everything was burning around him.

  And what he felt now was the same.

  Something in his chest loosened. The voices lost strength. He stood there for a few more seconds, unaware that, once again, he’d forgotten why he’d come.

  “Come,” Lorena said. “If you’re staying, sit down.”

  That suggestion again—and he looked at her like she’d just rewritten the laws of the world without warning.

  “I’ve just made coffee,” she added. “If I don’t drink it now, it’ll go cold.”

  He hesitated… then followed her to the table. She poured two cups and sat across from him.

  “We had fewer customers today,” she said. “With this cold, people prefer to stay home. I get it. But sadly, bread doesn’t make itself.”

  Ekchron lowered his gaze to the coffee he wasn’t going to drink. He nudged the cup a couple of centimeters, lining up the handle before replying.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I had to throw out two trays this morning. Lost track of time with the oven.”

  “Hm.”

  He was still tense, but no longer on guard. His fingers wrapped around the cup without pressure. The tremor was almost gone.

  “It happens when you don’t sleep well,” she added. “Your body’s here, but your head’s somewhere else.”

  Ekchron looked up for a second—just long enough to meet her eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get any sleep?”

  He ran his thumb along the rim of the cup before answering.

  “Not much.”

  This time his voice was clearer.

  “It shows.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  But he was already leaning back in the chair. His shoulders had dropped. Lorena took the opportunity to get up and tidy a few things behind the counter, turning her back to him while she kept talking.

  “They mentioned something on the radio this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “They found a man dead. Hanging from a streetlamp.”

  A green flash crossed Ekchron’s eyes for an instant.

  “Wow.”

  “They say it follows a pattern. That it might be the Seventh Ancestral.”

  Ekchron smiled for the first time.

  “That’s what they’re saying?”

  “Yes. That he might be in Spain. That people should be careful.”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked back at him, waiting for his answer.

  “Of course,” he nodded. “An immortal monster on the loose. I’d be very worried too.”

  Lorena noticed he wasn’t rigid anymore. His gaze, tired, had lost its edge.

  And without either of them pointing it out, the conversation went on. About the cold. About how bread rises worse with humidity. About how uncomfortable old chairs are.

  And Ekchron, without knowing how or when, stopped thinking about breaking something.

  “Nik. We’re changing strategy,“ he thought.

  He looked at her. Vulnerable. Open. Trusting.

  “’ll break her later. I’ll make her fall in love with me and then—“

  “My husband says I take everything too calmly.”

  The words landed like a stone in still water. Ekchron’s smile froze on his face.

  “Your what?”