The other Lucas tilted his head, smirking. "A possibility. A path. A promise."
Lucas stepped back, his breath shallow. "You're not me."
"Oh, but I am." The doppelgänger grinned wider. "The version of you that lets go. That stops pretending this weight doesn't excite you. That stops hiding behind sarcasm and starts burning for real."
The void around them pulsed. The corridor warped—walls stretching, mirrors trembling like ripples on water.
Lucas glanced at the cracked mirror behind the figure. Through the shards, he saw flames… and followers kneeling. Not out of loyalty, but fear.
"No," Lucas muttered. "That's not who I am."
Other-Lucas stepped closer. "Not yet."
He raised a hand, and suddenly, fire burst along the walls, racing in jagged lines like veins across the corridor. The mirrors reflected not images, but futures—war, conquest, worship, betrayal.
