The temple ruins loomed like the bones of a long-dead beast—columns cracked and half-sunk in the earth, its once-grand entrance now a jagged maw. We approached in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our boots and the low whistle of wind through the shattered arches.
"It's older than I thought," Shira murmured, running her fingers over a weather-worn inscription.
"Older than Kaereth," I replied. "Some say the old gods lived here before even the First War."
She gave me a sharp look. "You speak of the old gods like you believe in them."
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure what I believed anymore.
We stepped through what remained of the temple's main hall. Moss climbed the walls like veins. Moonlight filtered through holes in the roof, illuminating broken altars and overgrown stone paths. At the far end, a staircase led underground—spiraling, narrow, the air beneath it colder than the rest.
"This is it," Shira whispered. "My mother came here."
I nodded, heart thudding. And maybe so did Lyara.
We descended carefully, each step swallowed by darkness until the staircase opened into a hidden crypt. Torches in iron brackets lined the walls—miraculously unlit but dry.
I struck a spark from the flint I carried.
The flames leapt to life.
And the chamber revealed itself.
An ancient seal filled the floor—carved directly into the stone. Not Kaerethian. Not Solmiran. Something older. Wilder.
Two figures mirrored each other, their bodies twisted in a circle of runes.
Essence. Shell.
The same sigil from the obsidian book.
Shira stepped back. "That's… that's the same magic—"
"Yes," I said. "This is where it began."
Before we could step further, the flames dimmed.
A low hum filled the air.
Then—a voice.
"Who dares disturb the seal of the Forgotten Pact?"
Shira flinched. I reached for my dagger.
A shape emerged from the darkness.
Not flesh. Not ghost.
But something in-between.
She was tall, translucent, her robes flowing like smoke. Her face was marked with inked runes that shimmered with every movement. Her eyes—if they could be called that—burned like twin embers.
"I am the Warden of the First Mirror," she said. "And you walk a path forbidden."
I took a breath. "I seek the soul that was cast out. A girl trapped by a curse she never asked for."
The warden tilted her head. "And what of the one whose soul you wear?"
"I seek to free her."
The silence that followed was as heavy as stone.
Then the warden lifted her hand.
A flash of light.
Images.
Lyara, chained in a mirrored room, screaming.
My own body, burned and buried beneath rubble.
Ronan, kneeling before a dark altar.
Shira gasped.
Then the vision faded.
The warden spoke, her voice echoing in layers:
"Two souls bound. One shall burn, one shall live. Unless the Mirror is reversed."
I stepped closer. "How?"
She extended her hand.
A vial.
Clear. Small. Sealed with molten wax shaped like a flame.
"The blood of both. The intent of neither. Only then shall the binding be undone."
I took it, hands trembling.
"Where is the Mirror?" I asked.
Her form began to fade.
"You already carry its echo."
And with that, she vanished.
The crypt fell silent once more.
Shira looked at me, pale. "What does that mean?"
I stared at the vial. "I think… I think the Mirror isn't just an object."
"It's a person," Shira whispered.
I nodded slowly.
"Yes. And I think I'm it."
—------
Shira stared at me, silent for a long moment. Then she said softly, "If you're the Mirror... does that mean you're the one meant to shatter?"
Her question sliced through me like a blade. I didn't have an answer—only more questions piling on top of each other like stones in my chest.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But if I am… I won't break until Lyara is free."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Then we'll find a way. Together."
I wanted to believe her.
But the truth was, if this magic had rules—ancient, rigid rules—then freeing Lyara might not just cost me my place in this body.
It might cost me my life.
We explored the chamber further. The seal etched into the floor was more than a symbol—it pulsed faintly under our boots, responding to presence, to breath, to thought. I crouched near the center, brushing dust away from a second ring of smaller inscriptions. This time, the language was familiar. Partially Solmiran, partially something else.
Shira knelt beside me. "What does it say?"
I translated aloud, haltingly:
"When twin flames are forced to burn as one, the brighter will consume the weaker… unless the fire is contained, and balance restored."
"Balance," Shira repeated. "So it can be undone?"
"Or reversed," I murmured. "But it depends on who the brighter flame is."
She looked at me. "Between you and Lyara… who burns brighter?"
I didn't answer. Because I wasn't sure anymore.
Suddenly, the seal flickered. Just for a heartbeat—but I felt it.
And a voice—not spoken aloud, but felt in the marrow of my bones—whispered:
Choose.
I rose quickly, backing away from the center. "It's reacting to us."
"No," Shira said. "It's reacting to you."
Before I could speak, the flame of our torch trembled, casting our shadows wildly against the crypt walls. Then—the floor cracked.
Just a hairline fracture. But it glowed red-hot.
Shira pulled me back. "We need to leave. Now."
We didn't run, not yet—but our footsteps quickened as we retraced our path through the temple. Behind us, the crack widened. Just slightly.
But enough to tell us the seal had been… stirred.
The moment we reached the surface, the air hit us like a slap—humid, sharp, laced with storm-scent.
The sun had begun to set, painting the broken pillars gold and crimson. But the sky beyond that gold had turned ugly. Thunder rumbled somewhere distant.
Shira looked back toward the temple entrance. "We woke something."
"I don't think it was asleep," I replied. "I think it's been watching."
As we mounted our horses, a gust of wind howled through the ruins—like a warning.
And I couldn't shake the feeling that something ancient had felt my presence… and recognized me.
—------
We rode in silence for nearly an hour, neither of us eager to speak the truths we didn't yet understand. When the forest thickened again, Shira finally broke the silence.
"That temple wasn't just a ruin," she said. "It was a tomb."
I nodded slowly. "For magic. For memory. For something no one wanted found."
"And yet here we are," she muttered. "Digging it up."
I smiled faintly. "Story of my life."
We made camp by a small stream, tucked between gnarled trees. The fire we built felt too small for the size of the darkness surrounding us.
Over dinner—dry biscuits and dried apple—I asked Shira the question that had haunted me since the crypt.
"Do you think your mother used that magic? The Mirror spell?"
Shira was quiet. Then, "No. I don't think she cast it. I think she was caught in it."
I frowned. "Like Lyara."
"Or like you," she said gently. "But there's one difference."
I glanced at her.
"You still have a choice."
I stared into the fire, the flickering heat reflecting in my borrowed violet eyes. Choice. It was a dangerous word in a world ruled by fate, by bloodlines, by power hungry men who played with gods and souls alike.
But maybe it was also the only thing I still had left.
A single ember in the dark.
—------