Chapter 21: The Last Secret
The figure—the other Evan—moved with a rustle of decaying fabric, its skeletal fingers flexing against its knees as it rose. The reflections in the seven surrounding mirrors shifted in unison, each now showing the same hollow-cheeked version of Evan's face, their eyes sunken and gleaming with unnatural light.
"You're late," the figure rasped, its voice the scrape of stone on stone. It tilted its head, the movement too fluid, too predatory to be human. "Though I suppose that's to be expected. She always did have a flair for the dramatic."
Evan's hand went instinctively to his chest, where the scar from Selene's dagger still ached. His mouth had gone dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he forced out the words. "What are you?"
The figure laughed, a sound like cracking ice. "What we all become." It gestured to the shrouded mirror behind it with one long, too-jointed finger. "The last one who tried to stop it." The fabric of its robe shifted, revealing glimpses of withered flesh beneath—skin stretched taut over bone, marked with the same branching scars Evan bore from his lightning magic.
Selene pushed past Evan, her silver eyes wide with something akin to recognition. "No. That's impossible. You were—"
"Consumed?" The figure's grin revealed teeth blackened by time. "Not entirely." It turned back to Evan, its movements eerily precise. "There's always a piece left behind. A warning. A lesson." Its gaze flickered to Selene. "Or a punishment."
The ground shook again, harder this time. Dust rained from the ceiling as the mirrors trembled in their frames, their surfaces rippling like disturbed water. The reflections within twisted in agony, their silent screams somehow louder than the rumbling stone.
Aria grabbed Evan's arm, her nails biting through his sleeve. "We need to move. Now."
The figure's hand shot out with unnatural speed, its skeletal fingers clamping around Evan's wrist with surprising strength. The touch burned like dry ice, searing his skin even through his jacket. "You can't run from what's coming," it hissed, its breath smelling of damp earth and rotting parchment. "But you can cheat it." Its free hand tugged at the shroud covering the eighth mirror, the fabric whispering against the floor as it fell away. "Look."
Evan stared into the glass—and saw nothing.
No reflection. No horrors. Just endless, empty black.
Then the darkness blinked.