The mirror stood behind a wall of fire.
Not metaphorical flame—not alchemical symbols or glyph-light—but real, blistering heat, dancing wild and uncontained within the ruined vault beneath the Palace of Veilglass. Elara squinted through the haze, the bitter tang of smoke catching in her throat as the magical barrier pulsed red with warning runes.
"Please tell me you have a plan," Tovan muttered behind her, clutching a half-melted ward charm.
Elara crouched behind the stone outcrop that shielded them from the worst of the heat. "Working on it."
"Working on it?" he snapped. "That's the Queen's Forbidden Chamber! There are spells in there that melt blood!"
"I'm aware," she said calmly, ignoring the rivulet of sweat slipping down her back.
They'd spent the last three days deciphering clues from the crystal shard the Ashborn had given her. It had led them through a trail of forgotten catacombs, alchemical inscriptions, and one very uncooperative sentient door that had insisted they recite oaths in a dead language before it agreed to open.
And now—this.
Elara felt it before she saw it: the vibration in her bones, the hum of resonance. The mirror didn't simply reflect light; it pulled memory, intention, soul. It wasn't a mirror in the normal sense at all. It was a Vaultglass—an artifact spoken of only in theoretical alchemy circles. Said to show not who you were, but who you *had been*.
The flames that surrounded it were guardian wards, ancient and volatile.
She reached into her satchel and drew out a tiny orb of silver essence—the last of the stabilized Argent she'd managed to save from the explosion. She pressed it into the grooves of a crystal prism she'd carved herself.
"Cover your ears," she said.
Tovan dove behind a fallen column as Elara hurled the prism into the fire. The moment it struck the barrier, the orb activated.
There was no explosion—only a shriek.
A sound like a thousand voices crying out and being silenced all at once. The barrier shuddered, flickered—
—and died.
Elara rushed forward. The heat dissipated in an instant, leaving only the silence of dust and ash behind.
The mirror towered above her, ten feet tall, its surface like still water caught in a midnight sky. Stars swirled within it, forming vague shapes—shadows of things forgotten.
"Elara," Tovan whispered. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"No," she said. "But I think it's necessary."
She stepped onto the dais, heart pounding. The Vaultglass shimmered at her presence. Her reflection flickered, distorting—not just her appearance, but her *aura*. The outline of her soul.
Then it changed.
Gone was her guild robe. Gone were the burn scars and ink stains and sleepless eyes.
Before her stood a woman clad in golden armor engraved with alchemical runes. Her hair was braided with silver cords. Her eyes glowed faintly, and in one hand she held a flame—not fire, but a living light.
Elara gasped. The woman in the mirror was *her*.
But not her.
The mirror spoke—not in words, but in *feeling*. Memories poured through her, not in order, not with clarity, but in flashes:
- A tower of glass beneath a blood-red sun.
- Standing over the shattered corpse of a drake as rain turned to ash.
- A voice—her own, from another life—shouting a name into a burning sky: "Kael!"
She staggered backward, dizzy.
Tovan caught her before she fell.
"Elara?"
She clutched the edge of the dais, breathing hard. "I was someone else. I *was* a Keeper. I remember now... in pieces."
The Vaultglass pulsed. More images formed—this time, of a circle. Seven figures stood together, each bearing a different elemental sigil.
And in the center—two entwined symbols.
Fire and Shadow.
One of the figures broke from the circle. A man cloaked in black flame.
The Ashborn.
And then she remembered the vow.
They had stood before the Heartforge—an ancient core of raw aether. A last bastion. The world had been ending, torn apart by its own unstable weave of magic.
They had sworn to one day return, to find each other again, should the world ever fall into darkness.
"I made a vow," she whispered. "We both did. Kael and I."
Tovan looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Kael? You mean *him*?"
"Yes," she said. "He wasn't just the Ashborn. He was one of us. A Keeper. My—"
She hesitated.
"My bondmate."
The Vaultglass flickered and went dark.
Tovan's face paled. "This is insane."
"No," she said. "It's destiny."
But even as she spoke the word, a tremor shook the chamber.
A low rumble echoed up through the floor. Dust fell from the ceiling in waves.
Then a scream tore through the stone—inhuman, full of rage.
"What now?" Tovan asked, drawing a dagger.
Elara turned just in time to see the far wall crack and cave inward.
From the dust emerged a figure wrapped in chainmail and runes, eyes hollow, mouth stretched in a silent snarl.
It wasn't alive.
A *Woken*—an ancient guardian, cursed and twisted into undeath.
It charged.
Elara raised her hand, summoning what little Argent energy remained in her core. She felt the Essence respond, heat flowing up her veins.
She struck out with a beam of pure alchemical light, blasting the creature's chest.
It stumbled—but didn't fall.
Tovan rushed in from the side, slicing its leg at the joint. The creature went down, but before either could breathe, another one entered. Then another.
Three Woken now, all converging.
Elara gritted her teeth. "We can't fight them all."
"We don't have to," Tovan said, tossing her something.
It was the shard of black crystal.
"Elara, use it!"
She clutched the shard, letting instinct guide her.
She pressed it to the Vaultglass.
The mirror pulsed once.
Then it *opened*.
A rift tore across its surface like a doorway made of stars.
Elara grabbed Tovan's hand and leapt through.
The world inverted.
No heat. No sound. Only light, cascading around them like falling snow.
***
When they landed, it was in a place between places.
A corridor that stretched infinitely, lined with mirrors on either side. In each mirror, Elara saw a version of herself.
Some she recognized—her childhood, her apprenticeship. But others—
One Elara bore scales instead of skin.
One had wings of fire.
One wore a crown of bone.
Tovan looked around in mute awe. "Where... are we?"
"The Echo Corridor," she whispered. "A space between lives. Between worlds."
Kael stood at the end of the corridor, waiting.
He looked different now—less like a monster, more like a man. His armor still bore the scorches of war, but his face was calmer. The runes on his skin dimmed, as though he'd fought off their influence.
"You remembered," he said.
Elara approached slowly. "Pieces of it."
He nodded. "It's a start."
"I saw us," she said. "The vow. The circle. The breaking of the world."
"Yes," Kael said. "And now the cycle is repeating. The threads of fate have begun to tangle. The same force that ended the Seventh Age is rising again."
Elara looked down at her hands. "Why don't I remember it all? Why seal our memories?"
"To protect us," he said. "From what we became. From what we had to do."
Tovan cleared his throat. "Not to interrupt, but *do* we have a plan? Because undead flame zombies are kind of a problem."
Kael turned to him. "The Woken are only scouts. The real threat is coming."
"Coming from where?" Tovan asked.
Kael looked past them, into one of the mirrors.
"From within."
***
Later, as they camped in the stillness of the corridor, Elara sat alone by a pool of glowing liquid that shimmered like starlight.
Kael joined her, quiet.
"You've changed," she said.
"So have you."
"I don't know if I'm ready to be who I was."
"You don't have to be," he said. "Just who you *are*."
She looked at him. "What if that's someone dangerous?"
He smiled faintly. "Then I'm dangerous too."
They sat in silence.
Then Kael reached into his cloak and withdrew something—a ring made of twin metals, one silver, one obsidian, braided together.
"It was yours," he said. "Before the end."
She took it, feeling the warmth of its memory.
"I don't remember loving you," she said. "But I think I could."
Kael didn't reply.
Instead, he reached forward and placed a hand over hers.
The ring glowed softly.
And somewhere beyond the corridor, something old and powerful stirred.
The past had returned.
The future was uncertain.
But the alchemist's heart had begun to beat again.