“I am not my father,” Alric said, and he plunged Sunreaver not into the mirror, but into his own cracked breastplate.

Elara rushed to him. “You killed the flame! You’re not a knight anymore!”

Alric had a choice. He could strike the mirror and shatter the illusion, but that would free the Lich-Queen directly. Or he could bargain. Or run.

In the distance, the Wailing Gate collapsed into a quiet arch. The sun, for the first time in a century, touched the Steppe.

Behind Alric, Elara cried out—skeletal hands erupted from the earth, gripping her ankles.

The Wailing Gate screamed open.

When the light faded, the mirror was gone. The bone-trees crumbled to harmless dust. The Lich-Queen’s scream echoed once, then vanished.

The story of the Mighty Knight didn’t end with a hero winning.