The mirror didn't ripple—it breathed.
Zyren stood at the threshold of the glade, his breath caught between awe and dread. The Wildlights pulsed around him—trees grown like skeletal arms, bark etched with ancient scars. Moonlight slanted through the branches in fractured beams, casting angular shadows across a circular basin of moss-covered stone. In the center: the reflection.
A silver-eyed girl, hovering just beneath the surface.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Watching.
"Zyren," came Lysia's voice behind him—quiet, roughened by fear. "That's not just a mirror."
He didn't take his eyes off the surface. "No. It's her."
Lyrin moved beside him, slow and careful. Her breath curled in the cold air, and her eyes were wide, luminous in the dim. "This is the place from your dreams," she murmured.
He nodded, unable to speak.
Behind them, Mira slid into a defensive crouch, twin daggers glinting. Alaric stepped forward with his blade drawn, body coiled like a spring. Corwin held up a rune-torch, the golden light flickering against his grim face. Leona stood further back, already tracing glyphs into the air.
"Not enchanted," she said, her tone shifting to alarm. "This isn't even glass. It's a veil-tethered conduit. A static anchor to something on the other side."
Alaric turned. "In common, Leona."
"If it's watching us," she said, swallowing, "it can cross over."
A wind stirred—sourceless and cold.
Then the reflection moved.
The girl tilted her head.
Her lips formed a word—but no sound escaped.
Zyren stepped forward. "She's trying to say something—"
The basin pulsed.
A shockwave rippled outward, like reality folding in on itself. Time itself seemed to stutter. The magic inverted.
No light. No thunder.
Only silence.
Cracks split the mirror surface like veins of frost—and behind them, a voice:
"Hello, old friend."
---
He emerged from the trees like a shadow cast backward—Kael, cloaked in obsidian veils, glyphs glowing faintly along his forearms like old scars reawakened. Shadows slithered at his boots, twisting like snakes that had tasted blood.
Alaric raised his sword instantly. "How?"
Kael smiled, slow and cruel. "You brought the moonstone into the Wildlights. That's like ringing a bell in the Hollow."
Mira didn't flinch. "Step back from the basin."
"I would," Kael said mildly, "but I'm not alone."
The forest shifted. The air twisted like heat above fire.
Echoes stepped between the trees—dozens of them. Imperfect reflections. Distorted mimics. Each shimmered with unstable light, flickering like broken illusions. Some bore Zyren's face. Others mirrored Lyrin's stance, Lysia's defiance, Alaric's wrath.
But all shared silver eyes.
"You brought them," Zyren said, horror creeping in. "You used the mirror to call the Echoes."
Kael raised a hand in mock protest. "I didn't summon them. You did. You brought her into resonance. The Veil responded."
Zyren's heart pounded. He looked back to the mirror—the girl now leaned forward, her reflection flickering rapidly.
"She's real," he said. "I can feel her."
"She's a shadow," Kael spat. "Your mother carved her from your soul and gave her shape. She's not a person—she's a scar."
"Then she's my scar," Zyren said, stepping toward the basin.
Kael's expression curdled.
He raised his hand.
The Echoes attacked.
---
Battle erupted like a storm without thunder.
Corwin hurled a flashbomb of radiant dust. It burst into searing light—two Echoes staggered back, shrieking without sound, their forms unraveling like thread. Corwin ducked behind a fallen root, panting, his hand already fumbling for another rune-bomb.
Alaric clashed with a version of himself—an Echo with scorched eyes and bleeding shadows. Their swords rang with the sound of steel and entropy. Each strike left behind trails of ash in the air.
Mira vanished into mist and reappeared behind an Echo shaped like her. The mimic tried to match her spin. Too slow. Her dagger slid across its throat.
"Try harder," she muttered.
Lysia chanted, glyphs of cutting wind spinning around her arms like halos. She hurled one into the chest of an Echo charging Corwin—it shattered on contact, disintegrating the creature in a burst of light.
Zyren stood at the mirror, energy building inside him like a dam about to break. The moonstone in his satchel vibrated violently, and the reflection reached toward him.
"Zyren!" Lysia shouted. "The mirror's drawing her back! Sever the link or we'll lose her!"
"I can't let her vanish again!"
He pressed his palm to the surface.
The Wildlights vanished.
---
Inside the Mirror
Everything was still. Cool. Grey.
Zyren stood on a flat plane of mirrorstone, skyless, endless. A horizon made of whispers.
The girl stood before him—her eyes silver, bright with something ancient and kind.
"You came," she said softly.
"I didn't know how," he whispered.
"You always did. You just needed to remember."
Her presence wasn't cold. It was familiar. Like breath. Like blood. Like home.
"They'll try to erase me," she said. "Because I remember. Because I carry everything you lost."
"You're part of me."
"Yes."
"Then come back. Anchor here."
She reached out. He took her hand—and this time, it was warm.
She was real.
Behind them, thunder cracked across the glass. The sky shivered.
Kael's voice pierced the air.
"Time's up."
---
Back in the Wildlights
The ground buckled beneath them.
Kael raised a glyph-spear—ink-black and silver-tipped—and hurled it with a shout of fury.
Lyrin moved.
She slammed into Zyren, knocking him aside as the spear struck the basin.
It didn't shatter.
It imploded.
A burst of pressure knocked everyone off their feet—stones screamed, trees bent, air turned inside out.
Zyren blinked.
Cold earth.
Ringing ears.
Pain in his ribs.
The basin—gone.
So was the silver-eyed girl.
So was Kael.
Lysia stumbled over. "Zyren—say something!"
He sat up slowly. "She's not gone. I touched her. She's real."
Lyrin crouched beside him, lip split and bloodied. "The Order's closing the border. We've got minutes—maybe less."
Corwin limped over. "We can't fight another round."
Mira cleaned her blades. "So what now?"
Alaric's voice was flat. "We run?"
Zyren shook his head. "No."
He looked at each of them.
"We hide. Then we plan."
---
That night, beneath a tree shaped like an hourglass, the companions gathered in a hollow sunken deep into the Wildlights. A small fire glowed in the crook of roots. The air was quiet—too quiet.
Zyren sat alone, staring at the stars.
Lyrin approached and sat across from him, close enough for the silence between them to matter.
"You threw yourself between me and the spear," he said.
"I wasn't letting him destroy her."
He studied her face. "You believe she's real?"
"I believe you believe. That's enough for now."
Zyren offered a small nod. "Thank you."
Lysia watched them from a distance, quiet. Her hands trembled faintly as she inscribed calming runes along her sleeves.
In the distance, frost drifted from the trees like ash.
And far, far away—back in the Hollow's ruins—Kael stood beside a second mirror basin.
Not destroyed.
Prepared.
The surface shimmered once.
The silver-eyed girl flickered into view—trapped again, dimmer now, but still watching.
Still waiting.
She whispered, barely audible across the Veil:
"Hurry."
---
**End of Chapter Twenty-Three**