Azriel's fists clenched. His voice cracked, heavy with frustration.
"I don't need a damn lecture on how I should live, or behave, or feel. I need to get stronger. I need to learn magic. So stop acting like you care all of a sudden!"
The figure in the mirror—the version of him that mocked and taunted—didn't flinch.
Instead, the reflection pulsed. Solidified.
Then, with a voice lower and steadier than before, it spoke.
"Then let me show you how to unlock it."
Azriel blinked.
"What?"
"Magic," his reflection said. "You want it, don't you? Not borrowed. Not passed down. Yours."
Azriel's eyes welled—not from sadness, but from the weight of everything he couldn't touch. The dreams he couldn't reach.
He nodded, quietly.
"Please… I'm tired of begging. But I have to know. I have to do this."
The reflection's tone softened for the first time.
"Enter Reflection. Tonight. Come willingly. And I'll show you what you've never been allowed to see."
