Snow fell like quiet ash over the rooftops of Arcanum Academy. Most students were still recovering from last night's sudden temperature drop — a weather fluctuation Professor Mirein insisted was a side effect of a misaligned enchantment node. Lucien Drex, of course, didn't care. Or at least, he pretended not to.
He sat in an abandoned corridor behind the East Archives, a space barely used since Year 4 stopped attending public classes. The mirrors along the wall — ancient bronze panels once used for memory recall exams — had been sealed years ago.
Lucien tossed a sugar-dusted snack into his mouth. Crunch. Another. Then he squinted at the panel.
It flickered.
Not with light.
With something deeper. Like a ripple beneath thought.
And for a second —
The panel didn't show his reflection.
It showed a child. A barefoot boy, hunched over a sigil drawn in blood, humming something off-key. Not humming. Breathing. Like he was trying to remember how lungs worked.
Lucien blinked. The image was gone.
He chewed slowly. Licked his fingers.
"...That's new," he muttered.
---
The Mirror Vaults
He entered through a maintenance passage disguised as a janitor's closet. Because of course the Academy would lock dangerous magical memory devices behind mop buckets.
The Mirror Vaults weren't just forbidden — they were removed from the official blueprints. These weren't regular mirrors. They were Chrono-Silver Archive Reflections, designed to store and replay memories sealed by high-order temporal sigils.
Lucien walked the aisles with a casual disinterest that didn't match the speed of his eyes.
A mirror near the back was humming. Quietly. Like a beast trying not to wake itself.
He reached for it.
—His fingers stopped one inch away.
The glyph etched in the top frame wasn't just a memory sigil.
It was his own.
Not recent. Not copied.
It was old. Very old. The spiral at the end of the glyph was slightly broken — a habit he used to have when he was stressed.
He touched it.
The mirror ignited.
---
A Forgotten Lab
Lucien stumbled forward, hand to his head.
He wasn't standing in the Vault anymore.
He was inside the mirror's memory.
A cold, blue-lit room buzzed with floating quills and rotating spell circuits. On a metallic chair — no, a restraining harness — was a girl. Young. About 8. With sigils pulsing inside her skull like veins.
She wasn't crying. She was watching.
A voice echoed from the ceiling:
> "Subject Null. Reset iteration. Design override: Architect Protocol."
Lucien stepped backward — but the floor bent under him like gelatin.
The girl tilted her head. Her eyes locked onto him.
> "You weren't supposed to see this yet."
The room shattered. Glass. Memory. Gravity. All unspooled in reverse.
---
Back in the Vault
He gasped, nose bleeding. Hands shaking.
"I wasn't supposed to see that," he whispered.
> "But you did."
Lucien turned.
Caelum stood at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed, cloak soaked in silence. He hadn't spoken loudly. He never needed to.
Lucien wiped his nose. "You shouldn't stalk people during private trauma hours."
> "You activated a classified Vault. You think I wouldn't notice?"
Lucien stared at the mirror.
"It didn't reflect the past," he said finally. "It rewrote something in me."
Caelum approached slowly and tossed him a small crystal — a mind-anchor rune shard.
Lucien caught it. Stared.
"Aw," he said. "Now we're trauma-bonded. Cute."
---
Meanwhile...
Far above the Vaults, behind a one-way enchantment lens, a masked observer from the Pale Sigil finished writing on a scroll.
> "Subject: Lucien Drex. Status: Architect Persona - Phase One Emergence. Memory Lock Reversal detected.
Notify Headmistress Elenora. Prepare Null Protocol fallback."
The scroll sealed itself in red wax.
The figure disappeared.
---
Final Scene
Lucien sat at the edge of the snow-covered East Wing roof that night, spinning the mind-anchor crystal.
"Who the hell was that girl?" he murmured.
Behind him, the bronze panel flickered again.
And this time — it whispered.
> "Hello again."
Lucien didn't flinch.
He just smiled.
> "So that's what you are."
Lucien was halfway through an aggressively oversized croissant when a tall masked man appeared in front of him in the corridor. No words. Just a silent stare behind enchanted silver plating.
Lucien blinked.
"Wow," he said with mock awe. "Finally. My long-lost mirror twin from the Dramatic Order of Weird Cloaks. You've aged well."
The masked man remained silent.
"You here for my autograph? I charge extra for shady errands and emotionally unavailable mages."
Still no response.
Lucien sighed, then leaned back dramatically. "Let me guess. 'The Master requests your presence' or some cryptic nonsense?"
The masked man gave a small nod.
Lucien raised a brow. "Okay, now that's suspicious. Usually when people kidnap me, they say please."
He followed anyway.
---
🔹Scene Continues: "The Master Revealed"
Lucien entered a high-ceilinged, candle-lit chamber with quiet wards humming across the floor. He expected a professor. Maybe a robed interrogator. Definitely not...
> Headmistress Elenora.
She stood near the window, gloved hands behind her back, posture calm but eyes like silver knives.
Lucien stopped short. "Oh. That's new."
Elenora turned. "You seem surprised."
"I had a whole mental image, you know. Maybe an evil monk with a big staff and a countdown clock. You've ruined that. Shame, really."
She ignored the sarcasm. "I've been investigating something... unusual. A name keeps resurfacing in sealed files and sigil reports: The Architect. Does that ring any bells?"
Lucien tilted his head. "Is this the part where I fake amnesia or say something about a tragic past and lightning?"
"You know more than you let on, Mr. Drex."
He gave her a lazy smile. "Everyone always says that. Never gets old."
Elenora stepped closer, shadows dancing behind her. "I don't care about your sarcasm. But I do care about the truth. Who was the Architect? Were you involved in the Labyrinth's construction? Or is someone using your name?"
Lucien glanced at the ceiling. "Wow. That's a lot of pressure. I mean, most people just ask me how I want my tea."
She didn't flinch.
He met her gaze and grinned. "But hey, if you find this Architect person, tell them to pay their rent. They're living in my head rent-free."
He rocked back on his heels, casually inspecting the shimmering sigils laced across the chamber's corners.
Then, as if just remembering something, he looked at her again.
> "Wait… how do you know I'm even related to the Architect in the first place? I mean—maybe we just share the same terrible handwriting."
The headmistress didn't blink.
> "Drex, I ask the questions here. Not you."
Lucien raised both hands in exaggerated surrender.
> "Ohhh, fair enough. I just thought we were building rapport. My bad, please continue your friendly interrogation, Supreme Sigil Judge."
She narrowed her eyes. "A few years ago, the Architect vanished—along with a series of forbidden designs buried in the Obsidian Vault. Only five people ever had access to those blueprints. One of them disappeared from all records entirely. That missing signature? Matched yours. Blood-sigil trace."
Lucien whistled. "Wow. You really do your homework. Gold star."
Elenora stepped closer. "Was it you?"
Lucien shrugged. "I mean, I was pretty artistic as a kid. I once drew a fire-spitting cat riding a unicorn on a ritual circle. Maybe I went too far."
"Answer clearly."
Lucien gave her a half-smile—sharp, but tired.
> "I don't know what I was before they wiped it all out. But whatever I was… apparently, I was interesting enough to erase."
She studied him. "And the Labyrinth?"
Lucien exhaled slowly. "It feels familiar. Like a half-remembered dream I'm pretending not to recognize."
Elenora's expression tightened. "And yet you act like none of this matters."
Lucien winked. "If I took everything seriously, I'd probably explode. Or worse, start caring."
She paused. "You're dismissed."
He gave a low bow so dramatic it nearly touched the floor.
> "My liege. Always a pleasure."
As he left, he muttered just loud enough to hear:
> "Next time, send a better mask guy. That one didn't even threaten me."
As the door creaked shut behind Lucien's retreating footsteps, Headmistress Elenora remained still for a moment.
Then, almost inaudibly, she whispered to the empty room:
> "You've forgotten too much, Drex… but not enough."
Behind her, the masked agent—silent until now—stepped forward and spoke in a careful, measured voice:
> "Ma'am… forgive me, but don't you think the boy is a little too… disrespectful?"
Elenora's lips twitched, not quite a smile.
> "Disrespectful?" she echoed, amused. "That boy once bypassed three triple-layered silence wards just to plant a fake resignation letter in my tea drawer. Signed it 'Yours in Magical Suffering, Lucien the Tired.'"
The masked agent tilted his head slightly, unsure whether to laugh or gasp.
> "I didn't discipline him," she continued, voice low. "I made the mistake of trying. The next morning, every clock in my office counted backwards."
There was a pause.
> "Don't worry about him," she said at last, turning to the window where snow curled against the panes. "He's always been like that. That's not disrespect. That's his defense.
The masked man stood silent.
> "He doesn't mock authority," Elenora added softly. "He mocks danger—because he knows it too well."
She exhaled.
> "And that... is exactly why we're all in trouble."