Every soul, no matter how changed,
leaves behind a shadow.
And some shadows… never leave.

That night, he heard a voice in the wind.
Not ordinary wind—
but wind that carried an ancient sound,
echoing from the cold stone stairs of the long-fallen Citadel.

“You think you can leave me behind?”

He stepped outside.
The sky was dead silent.
The apple tree stood still, swaying gently.

But behind it—
a figure stood.

Clad in shattered silver armor.
Its eyes were mirrors.
Mirrors that reflected every version of himself he used to be.

“I am you,” the shadow said.
“The roar. The strength. The pride that never bowed.”

“You are the past,” he answered.
“And the past… no longer rules me.”

The shadow laughed.
A laugh that sounded like rock being torn apart.

“Then why can you still hear me?
Because I still live within you.
Every time you feel pride.
Every time you burn with anger.
Every time you want to prove yourself…
I rise again.”

He stayed silent.
He didn’t deny it.
Because the shadow… wasn’t wrong.

Pride hadn’t died.
It had only gone quiet.

But then, he stepped toward it.
Not in fear.
Not in denial.
He looked directly into those mirrored eyes and said:

“If you're still here…
then listen.
I won’t return to you.
But I won’t erase you, either.
I don’t need to destroy the past—
I only need to move beyond it.”

And then the shadow…
vanished.
No roar.
No resistance.
Just dissolved into the wind,
like a weight released from within.

Back inside, he didn’t lock his door.
He didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in centuries,
he was no longer afraid of himself.