The chamber they entered was unlike the previous ones—wider, darker, and silent in a way that made breath itself feel intrusive. The ceiling was impossibly high, vanishing into a black haze. Along the curved walls stood statues of faceless figures cloaked in stone, each bearing a cracked mirror upon their chest. A great circular dais stood at the center, and upon it: a single, flawless mirror—liquid and still.
"The Mirror of Intent," Serenya whispered, awe and caution in her tone. "It reflects not who you are... but why you are."
Caleb stepped closer, unease churning in his chest. "That sounds worse than I expected."
Avesari approached the dais slowly, her eyes narrowed. "The Sanctuary doesn't punish without purpose. But truth has always cut deeper than swords."
One by one, the trio would be tested by their own reflections. What they wanted. Why they walked this path. What they refused to admit.
The mirror rippled.
Caleb stepped forward first
He hesitated before the mirror. The air around the dais felt dense, like walking into a memory you weren't ready to relive. One step closer, and the surface of the mirror rippled outward like disturbed water—yet it remained eerily silent.
He glanced back once. Avesari gave him the faintest nod. Serenya stood rigid behind her, arms crossed tightly, eyes on the statues, as though expecting one to move.
Caleb swallowed and looked forward again.
Then the mirror showed him.
But it wasn't just him—it was him, barefoot on the floor of his childhood home, bowing over the violin that had once belonged to his mother. A silent boy lost in sound. Behind him, the image of his father stood in the doorway, neither cruel nor kind, simply distant. Unreachable.
Caleb's breath hitched. The boy in the mirror never looked back.
Then the scene shifted.
Now it showed him standing on the raised platform before the Council, bow in hand, face pale. But he wasn't alone. Behind him stood Avesari—wounded, wings broken, yet radiating defiance. On his other side: Serenya, clutching a book to her chest, staring into the crowd with narrowed eyes.
Caleb blinked.
"Why are you really here?" the mirror asked—not in words, but in the feeling that settled deep into his ribs.
"To help," Caleb said. His voice echoed, but the mirror did not react.
"To play a part in healing the world," he tried again.
The mirror darkened.
"No," the feeling whispered.
Then came the real reflection.
Himself—hands red with ash, voice broken, standing over Avesari's crumpled form. The battlefield stretched behind him, a monument of failure. No music. No peace. Only regret.
"I'm afraid," Caleb whispered.
And the mirror held him there—held that truth until he couldn't breathe.
"I don't want to lose them. Not her."
The moment cracked. The mirror shimmered, then grew calm again. The reflection returned to his present self—older, uncertain, but no longer running from the weight of his fears.
Caleb stepped back. The ground beneath him didn't shake, nor did the chamber make a sound. But something within had shifted.
He turned toward the others, eyes bright but weary. "It's your turn."
Serenya stepped forward next, stiff and composed. "I'll go."
She stood before the mirror, hands clenched at her sides. The reflection showed not her childhood, not her days with the Chroniclers, but a moment unrecorded—her standing in a burning library, arms wrapped around a scroll as flames licked the walls. Screams echoed in the distance. She made no move to help the others. Only saved the words.
"No," she said aloud, voice sharp. "That wasn't cowardice. It was preservation."
The mirror didn't argue—but it didn't offer approval either.
Another shift. It showed her before the Ashen Creed, a prisoner, being questioned.
"Where is the path?" they asked.
And Serenya, face bruised, bleeding, still gave them nothing.
She stared harder, defiant.
"I made my choice. My duty is to knowledge."
But behind her reflection, another form appeared.
A man—faceless, robed, standing behind her like a shadow. Watching. Waiting.
Her lips parted. "You…"
The mirror blanked.
Serenya stepped back fast, breath uneven, but she didn't say anything more.
Avesari walked forward.
The mirror did not ripple for her. It flared.
And as she stared into it, the room around them dimmed. The mirror no longer showed just her—it displayed the battlefield of her fall.
Celestial fire. Screams of angels. A city burning.
She stood at its heart, blades drawn, eyes wild, torn between orders and mercy.
And then… the moment she let go. The refusal.
She watched herself fall—not pushed, not cast out.
She jumped.
Caleb flinched as the image twisted. Avesari on the ground, bleeding. Her wings shredded. Her hands clutching a mortal child hidden beneath her as the rubble fell.
"I chose this," she whispered.
The mirror held her there for what felt like eternity.
But then—
A shape appeared in the glass. The corrupted archangel.
His hand reached down toward her fallen self.
And she refused him.
The mirror shattered—not physically, but symbolically, the image cracking into light.
Avesari's eyes narrowed. "Test me all you want," she said. "I'm not yours to break."
The mirror went still.
Then the chamber changed again. The black haze above parted, revealing a massive spiral of stairs descending into the mountain's depths.
The next trial awaited.
But none of them noticed, not yet.
Because far above, in the upper shadows of the chamber, something shifted.
A ripple in the dark.
Unseen, Serethiel watched.
He had followed them from the edge of the rift, limping, hidden in shadow and fury. The mirror had ignored him. Perhaps because it no longer saw anything true within him.
Or perhaps… it saw too much.
He watched them move toward the spiral stairs.
And he waited.