The sun had long vanished beneath the skyline of Theralis, giving way to an obsidian night speckled with a million stars. Ariadne sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers unconsciously running along the hem of the cloak Calen had given her, mind spiraling with questions she didn't yet know how to ask.
Outside her window, the distant howling of nocturnal beasts echoed through the vast forest. Inside, the castle was unnervingly silent—too silent.
She rose quietly and padded across the floor. The candlelight flickered as if protesting her movement, but she ignored it, her bare feet making no sound against the cold stone tiles.
Since the banquet, things had changed.
She was no longer an outsider in the castle walls, but she wasn't quite accepted either. The nobles kept their distance, the guards watched her a moment too long, and Calen... Calen had disappeared.
Three days. Three days since their last conversation at the courtyard. He hadn't returned to the training grounds, hadn't come to breakfast or dinner. He hadn't even left a note.
But tonight, she wasn't searching for Calen. Something had been calling to her—a faint whisper just beneath the edge of perception. It started the morning after the banquet, when she touched the carved mirror near the western tower's abandoned gallery. At first, she thought it was just her mind playing tricks.
But the dreams that followed... the dreams were something else.
In them, she stood in front of the mirror, only her reflection wasn't alone. Behind it, a city burned—one not of this world. Red lightning scorched the sky, towers crumbled, and in the center stood a masked woman whose eyes burned like molten glass. And always, the whisper.
"Remember who you are."
Ariadne found herself now in front of that very mirror again. The moonlight streaming through the broken stained-glass window illuminated the edges of the old frame. Its surface was dusty, its reflection dull—yet she felt drawn to it in a way that made her bones ache.
She took a breath and reached forward.
The moment her fingertips brushed the surface, a ripple pulsed through the glass like a drop in still water. The room shifted. Cold wind roared past her ears, though the windows remained shut. Shadows twisted unnaturally at the edges of the gallery.
And then she saw her reflection change.
Her clothes darkened into a deep violet robe embroidered with silver runes. Her hair, now laced with strands of starlight, floated around her face. Her eyes, once soft green, glowed faintly like bioluminescent crystals in a cave.
She gasped—and the reflection mirrored nothing.
Instead, the version of her inside the mirror smirked.
"You're late," the reflection whispered, her voice identical yet... sharper.
Ariadne stumbled back. "W-What is this?"
"Do you really think the portal brought you here by chance?" the mirrored version said. "You were chosen. Not summoned."
The glass pulsed with a dark hue, and images swirled inside—memories not hers, yet strangely familiar. A forest engulfed in blue flame. A girl standing over a dead beast with her hand outstretched. A throne made of obsidian and bone, atop which sat the same masked woman from her dreams.
"No..." Ariadne shook her head. "This isn't real."
"Reality is perception. And yours is changing."
With that, the mirror began to hum. The runes along its edges lit up, one by one. A low, resonant vibration buzzed beneath Ariadne's skin, and she realized that if she didn't move now, she might be consumed by whatever power was awakening inside.
But before she could turn, a hand gripped her shoulder.
She spun around—heart hammering—only to find Calen standing there, eyes wide, breath ragged.
"You weren't supposed to come here," he said.
"I had to," she said breathlessly. "Something's... inside that mirror."
"I know." Calen glanced at the artifact, his expression etched with both fear and regret. "It's called The Whispering Glass. It was sealed for a reason."
"Why?" she asked. "What does it want from me?"
He hesitated. "Not what. Who."
His voice trembled slightly as he continued, "That mirror is a relic of the Old Kingdoms. They say it shows a reflection of the path you're meant to take—or the path you fear the most."
Ariadne turned toward it again. "Then why does it show me as... her? As some kind of sorceress?"
"Because you are," Calen said, almost too softly.
She stared at him.
He looked away. "Not yet, maybe. But you will be. It's in your blood."
"Blood?" Her voice was barely audible.
"Your arrival here, the portal... it wasn't random. It was triggered when your power awakened in your world. The magic that leaked through the veil responded to your emotions—your loss, your fear, your longing."
"That's impossible," she whispered.
"I wish it were."
For a moment, the only sound was the humming of the glass. Then, the reflection returned to normal—just her own face, wide-eyed and pale.
Ariadne turned away and sat heavily on a nearby bench, burying her face in her hands.
"If what you're saying is true, then... what am I supposed to do now?"
Calen knelt before her. "You learn. You fight. You become what this world needs. Because whatever brought you here... it's just the beginning."
She looked up. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"
"I was trying to find a way to tell you the truth without breaking you."
"I'm not broken."
"No," he said gently. "You're just starting to remember who you are."
Far away, in the highest tower of the palace of Ilyrian, the masked woman from Ariadne's dreams stood before a pool of silver liquid. She reached into it, and a ripple spread across its surface.
"She has found the mirror," she said calmly.
A shadowy figure bowed behind her. "Shall we act?"
"Not yet," she replied. "Let her believe she has a choice. That's when they fall hardest."
She turned away from the pool, her voice echoing in the chamber.
"Soon, the Eclipsed Heart shall awaken... and with it, the realms shall kneel."