The fog curled around Morgan's boots, heavy and unyielding, hiding the ground beneath him. Shapes flickered at the edge of his vision, dissolving before they could take form. It was quiet, too quiet, until the mist stirred and another figure stepped forward. She moved with confidence, each step cutting clean through the haze. Her hair fell dark over her shoulders, her eyes sharp and familiar in a way that made his stomach turn. She was him and yet not him. Where he carried the weight of the badge, she carried herself with the poise of power, every detail of her presence radiating a life opposite to his own. "You are me," Morgan said, though the words felt strange on his tongue. "And you are me," Morgana answered. Her voice was smooth, controlled, with an edge that came from command rather than law. She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Different paths. Different choices. Different worlds." The fog thickened between them, then thinned again, as though the world itself leaned in to hear their words. Morgana folded her arms. "Tell me, who matters most in your life?" The answer was immediate, though heavy. "Lily." Morgan's gaze dropped. "Not because of love, not really. Because of guilt. I failed her once. That guilt has been with me every day since, and it drives me more than anything else." Morgana's eyes softened, though not with pity. "For me, it was Lucian. Love, not guilt. His father was a police officer who gave his life in the line of duty. I should have hated him for that, for the blood on the badge. But I could not. Lucian was light in a world that wanted me buried in shadow. He was my reason." Morgan felt a twinge in his chest, hearing the certainty in her voice. He wondered what it would be like to be defined by love instead of regret. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⟡𝕗𝗂𝗋𝖾⟡𝕟𝕖𝕥 Morgana stepped closer, her gaze unflinching. "And your sibling?" "Jaimie," Morgan said, almost relieved to shift the topic. "Bright, cheerful, always smiling. Sometimes too much. He thinks too highly of himself, but I cannot hold it against him. He makes every room brighter." A small laugh escaped Morgana, though it held no joy. "My Jaimie was not like that. She was quiet, withdrawn. A gloomy girl who kept to herself. There was beauty in her silence, but the world never cared to see it. She faded into the corners, while yours seems to think he belongs at the center." Morgan lifted his eyes to hers. Two lives, the same roots, but everything turned upside down. Where he bore guilt, she carried love. Where his brother was light, her sister was shadow. The fog swirled tighter around them, as though eager to pull them apart. But neither looked away. "We are the same," Morgana said softly. "And yet we are not." Morgan nodded. "Two sides of a coin." The fog deepened, swallowing their words, but the weight of them remained as they began to make comparisons. Morgan drew in a slow breath. "Greg," he began, grounding himself. "He fights with his fists and his body, all raw force and iron will. He's learning to use every part of himself as a weapon." Morgana's expression shifted, her eyes glimmering in the fog. "Mine was Georgina. She never lifted a fist. Her calling was medicine. She healed and mended, carrying salves, herbs, and knowledge in place of weapons. But it broke her, Morgan. Each life she saved became another weight she carried, until nothing was left of her except exhaustion." Morgan pressed his lips together. His Greg was stubborn to a fault, always pushing forward. To see him turned into a woman who bled herself dry for others felt like staring at a reflection warped by pain. "And Aria?" Morgan asked. Morgana's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "Mine was Adrian. His songs could shake hearts and move spirits, but he was no performer. He was a commander. His voice was not meant for stages, but for the battlefield. He turned his music into orders, driving men and women forward into death or glory. The world loved him, but he never sang for them. Only for himself." Morgan thought of Aria's bright laughter, the way she sang to lift her friends when despair crept too close. Adrian sounded colder, harsher, a blade forged out of melody instead of warmth. Morgan moved on. "Crystal." Morgana smiled faintly. "Mine was Christopher. He was cold, calculating, and sharp as broken glass. His beauty was his cunning, not his face. He sought perfection in control, not grace. He became the shadow of every stage he touched, pulling strings instead of shining beneath the lights." Morgan exhaled, tension running down his spine. Crystal might have been competitive, even sharp-tongued, but she was warmth at her core. This Christopher felt like all that warmth had been stripped away. "Peter," Morgana replied at once. "He was no artist. His hands built not clothing or trinkets, but weapons. He was a craftsman of death, forging steel that cut down lives. He admired function more than form, and yet he still believed he was creating beauty. His art was in destruction, not creation." Morgan thought of Penny's wide eyes and quiet excitement when she sketched something new. Peter's reflection felt like a betrayal of everything she held dear. Morgana's gaze flickered. "Rafael. He was not playful. Not mischievous. He was wrath bound in skin. When the world laughed, he silenced it. When it resisted, he broke it. Rafael ruled through fear, not charm, and his chaos left only ruin in its wake." Morgan's stomach knotted. Rachel might have been chaos incarnate, but her laughter was infectious, her chaos strangely full of life. Rafael sounded like laughter burned away until only fury remained. "And Adam," Morgan said, his voice low. Morgana tilted her head. "Eve. She was not a woman that could be trusted. She was a predator. Life bent before her, not out of kindness, but fear. She drank vitality from the living like wine and left them hollow. She did not nurture. She consumed. The world gave, and he took, until there was nothing left but his hunger." Morgan closed his eyes briefly, remembering Lily's trembling hands the night she saved his life, drawing from herself to keep him breathing. Lucian's mirror made his chest ache. Finally, Morgan spoke the name that lingered. "Luna." Morgana's face shifted, her eyes darkening. "Sol. But mine is already dead. Burned alive in the flames of the Demon Incident. His light never had the chance to rise. Where you walk with Luna at your side, I carry only his ashes." The fog between them thickened, heavy with silence. Morgan felt the weight of all these mirrored names pressing on him, a world of what-ifs and losses that never should have been. Luckily for him, they had never become his own reality.