The corridor felt narrower than before.
Aster walked in silence, the echoes of Chapter 18 still vibrating inside him — the door, the whisper, the memory that wasn't his. His pulse hadn't quite settled. Shadows stretched unnaturally, as if still remembering the presence that had approached him.
Ahead, the faint glow of silver light flickered.
Lyra.
She stood in the alcove at the end of the corridor, her hand resting lightly on the crystalline lantern fixed to the wall. Strands of her silver hair drifted in the cold draft, shimmering like threads of moonlight.
When she heard his steps, she didn't turn.
"I felt it," she said quietly. "The anomaly."
Aster exhaled. "…you shouldn't be here."
Lyra finally faced him. Her eyes were unsteady, not with fear, but with something sharper — worry.
"That's the problem," she said. "I wanted to be."
Aster froze.
The lantern's light flickered between them, painting their shadows in long strokes across the floor. His own shadow twitched — as if annoyed by her presence.
Lyra's gaze flicked downward.
"…It did that again," she whispered.
Aster stiffened.
"My shadow is—"
"Alive," she finished. "Unstable. Hungry. I know."
Her honesty struck like a blade, clean and merciless. But she didn't step back. Instead, she stepped closer — too close — until their breaths almost mingled.
Her voice dropped.
"What happened behind that door, Aster?"
He opened his mouth, but the truth felt too heavy, too raw.
A being without a face.
Calling him "Fragment."
Calling his shadow something that should not exist.
"I saw… something," Aster murmured. "Something that remembers me even when I don't."
Lyra's eyes softened — painfully, gently.
"You don't have to carry that alone."
Aster laughed under his breath, bitter. "I don't think I ever had a choice."
Lyra reached out.
Not a touch —
just a half-gesture, fingers hovering inches from his wrist, trembling slightly.
"Then let me choose for myself," she said. "Let me stand close, even if it's dangerous."
Aster's heart stuttered.
Her sincerity was disarming.
Terrifying.
Unfair.
His shadow twitched again — sharper, angrier — as if threatened.
Lyra noticed, but didn't pull her hand away.
Instead, she whispered, "Does it… hurt? When it moves like that?"
Aster swallowed. "No. But it feels… jealous."
Lyra blinked, startled — then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
A small, warm, breaking-through-the-darkness smile.
"Your shadow can get in line."
Aster's breath caught.
For the first time in hours, the corridor didn't feel suffocating.
For the first time in days, the weight inside his chest shifted.
But before he could reply —
A violent tremor surged through the floor.
The lantern shattered.
And Aster's shadow suddenly rose behind him —
taller, sharper, shaped like a man he did not remember being.
Lyra's smile faded.
Her spell already forming.
"Aster," she whispered, "that's not just your shadow anymore—"
The shadow leaned forward, whispering in Aster's own voice:
"She doesn't belong beside you."
Lyra's eyes widened.
Aster stepped between them instinctively.
"No," he breathed. "Not now."
The shadow's form distorted, the corridor bending around it.
"Then when?"
"When will you let her see what you really are?"
"When will you let anyone?"
Aster grit his teeth.
Lyra touched his shoulder — small, grounding, steady.
"I'm right here," she whispered.
Aster inhaled sharply.
And the corridor split with darkness.