Page 128 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

A curse slips through his clenched jaw.

"Fine, but keep up!"

Agreement barely leaves my lips before another round makes an impact between us, gas blooming to obscure already limited sight lines.

Ten long strides separate us from potential safety, but the world tilts dangerously as I process the soaked fabric clinging to my side.

Atlas's shirt is drenched crimson.

Pressing trembling fingers against torn flesh draws involuntary hiss as blood paints my palm. Double vision transforms my surroundings into a kaleidoscope of confusion while a new scent cuts through gas-tainted air –a blend of sandalwood and musk layered with berries and cinnamon that sparks a craving for fresh-baked comfort.

Through the swirling mist, blonde hair catches dim light as a figure races toward my position. Instinct pulls me in the opposite direction, primal awareness of unseen observation prickling across my skin.

Reality fractures further with each labored heartbeat; a world spinning beyond the ability to track or navigate. The strength that carried me this far ebbs like a tide pulling away from shore, leaving only uncertainty in its wake.

Through swirling clouds of emerald and magenta gas, a pair of eyes captures my fading attention. The gaze locks onto mine from perfect concealment among dense trees, a sniper rifle slung with casual grace across black-clad shoulders.

Rather than taking aim to end my escape, those eyes hold me transfixed with haunting familiarity. They mirror my own with uncanny precision – ivory green with hints of teal that I've only ever seen in reflections and fever dreams.

The shadows stir in the depths of my consciousness, their usual silence transforming into harmonic whispers. The melody rises, matching note for note the lullaby that's haunted my fractured memories.

Their song grows stronger as reality begins to blur, numbness creeping through my limbs while black spots dance across my deteriorating vision.

Yet I cannot look away from those eyes –my eyes– staring back from a face that could be my own reflection in some alternate reality where fate chose a different path.

The figure rises from their concealed position with fluid grace, weapon shifting across their back with practiced ease as if carrying such a weapon is second nature.

A tactical mask conceals the lower half of their face, but those eyes betray what fabric attempts to hide. Tears gather in identical irises, emotion bleeding through carefully maintained control. The sight creates a surreal disconnect – watching myself cry through eyes that grow increasingly unfocused.

Why does my reflection weep? What sorrow reaches through the perfect mirror to shed tears for my fall? Does she mourn how close freedom came before slipping away?

Thoughts grow sluggish as blood loss takes a greater toll, yet I notice the subtle difference between us – her hair reversed from mine, magenta roots bleeding into forest green where mine does

The opposite.

Everything else matches with eerie precision – same scattered freckles across identical nose bridges, same lean build carried with similar grace.

Understanding pierces through creeping darkness – not reflection but connection. The twin from my dreams made manifest in this moment between life and death.

Here to ensure I don't face the end alone.

Gratitude surfaces through growing numbness, pulling my lips into an attempted smile. The motion remains incomplete as equilibrium finally fails, sending me drifting backward in a graceful arc that feels suspended in time.

Reality fragments into a slow-motion tableau – a body floating through space as if gravity holds no power. Imagined feathers drift past my vision, black and purple plumes dancing in nonexistent wind while the shadows raise their song to a crescendo. Their harmony carries notes of profound mourning as if nature itself joins their funeral dirge.

The impact of being caught never registers through spreading numbness. My gaze fixes upward, frozen in place as my lungs forget how to draw breath. Muscles lock into perfect stillness, leaving me posed like a discarded doll – lips parted in eternal silence, eyes unable to close against the encroaching dark.

Such bitter irony.

No chance to bid farewell to my newly discovered twin. No opportunity to ensure she claims a better fate than years of torture. No moment to verify Atlas and Vale's safety, to learn if a cure exists for Vale’s affliction, or to discover what role I might have played in their pack's future.

A man's face enters my unblinking vision, features twisted with raw panic that seems excessive for a stranger's death.

But those eyes – those incredible blue eyes that should be familiar though I cannot recall why– they hold me transfixed even as consciousness begins to fade.

Tears track down his cheeks as he cradles my rigid form, grief-etching lines I wish I could smooth away. Such pain seems unwarranted for one he cannot truly know, yet the intensity of his anguish offers strange comfort – at least my passing will be mourned by someone who seems to care deeply, even if I cannot understand why.

I wish I could have learned about them. Even if it was little tidbits of their story. Atlas…Vale…Kieran…and whoever the last one was.

---