Night fell like a shroud over the palace, but inside the shattered throne hall, a storm of magic churned. The obsidian mirror towered at the center, its surface webbed with cracks that glowed faintly like veins of molten gold. Every pulse in those fissures was like a heartbeat—slow, deliberate, and patient.
Alexander tightened the leather straps of his gauntlets as he watched the preparations. Runes crawled across the floor, etched in glowing chalk by Isabella's own hand. Candles burned black, their flames bending inward as though afraid to shine near the mirror.
> "You've memorized the incantation?" Alexander asked, his voice low.
Isabella didn't look at him as she placed the last rune, her fingers steady despite the tremor in her veins. "Three times in the old tongue. With the circle intact and the offering in place."
Alexander frowned. "The offering being your blood."
She finally turned, eyes catching the dim light like two shards of ice. "It's the only key. The lock was made from power willingly given. It must be undone the same way."
Alexander stepped closer, his voice a growl now. "And what happens if the mirror decides to take more than what you give?"
She didn't answer. Because they both knew the truth: it would.
---
The Chant
The ritual began with a whisper, Isabella's voice curling through the darkness like smoke. Each syllable dripped with weight older than time, and the air trembled as if the very stones remembered the First Flame.
The mirror responded.
Its surface rippled like black water, and from its depths, the other Isabella emerged—clearer than ever. Her lips moved in perfect unison with Isabella's chant, but her words twisted, wrong, corrupted.
And then—she smiled.
The glass splintered further, a piece dropping and vanishing before it hit the floor. Shadows spilled out in ribbons, curling toward the ceiling like living ink.
---
The Price
"Isabella!" Alexander's shout cut through the chant as blood began to drip from her palm into the center of the rune circle. The crimson glow ignited like fire, burning so bright it seared his vision. Her voice never faltered—even as the mirrored version pressed harder against the barrier, palms cracking through the surface like hands breaking through ice.
Then the entire hall shook.
The mirror screamed—a sound like shattering worlds—as it split into two jagged halves. The reflection dissolved, shadows writhing in agony before being sucked into the void behind the shards.
Silence fell.
Isabella collapsed.
Alexander caught her before she hit the ground, his arms trembling as he pressed her against his chest. Her pulse fluttered weakly beneath his fingertips.
> "Did it work?" he asked hoarsely.
Her lashes fluttered. "Yes… but…" Her gaze slid toward the shards, where a faint light still pulsed. "…something woke up when we broke it."
---
The Whisper Returns
From the fragments, a voice slithered through the hall—cold, smooth, ancient.
> "You freed me."
And then the shards rose from the floor, spinning slowly in the air, forming not a mirror…
…but a crown.