Identity Fluidity was the only class that met in a mirror.
Not a room with mirrors, but literally inside a reflective surface that existed in the Academy's most restricted wing. Cael found it by following directions that led him through increasingly surreal corridors until he stood before what appeared to be an ordinary full-length mirror mounted between two doorways that led to nowhere.
The mirror's surface rippled when he approached, like water disturbed by a dropped stone. Following instructions he somehow knew without being taught, Cael stepped forward and felt reality bend around him as he passed through the glass.
The space beyond defied geometric logic. It was simultaneously vast and intimate, a realm where surfaces reflected not light but possibilities. Everywhere Cael looked, he saw versions of himself: some subtle variations with different expressions, others dramatically altered with different ages or forms entirely.
Four other students were already present, though "present" was complicated in a space where identity was negotiable. Each sat in a chair that reflected their essential nature rather than their current appearance, accompanied by shifting constellations of alternate selves.
Professor Nihain stood at the center of the mirror-space, appearing as a focal point where multiple identities converged. Sometimes she was young, sometimes ancient, sometimes human, sometimes something that transcended easy categorization. Only her voice remained constant, carrying harmonics that suggested she spoke from several different throats simultaneously.
"Identity," she began, her words creating visible ripples in the reflective surfaces, "is the story we tell about the continuity of our experience. It is perhaps the most fundamental fiction, and certainly the most necessary one."
She gestured, and the mirror-space filled with images of each student at different ages. "Look at yourselves as children, then as you are now. In what sense are you the same person? Your cells have been replaced multiple times. Your thoughts and preferences have evolved. Your memories are reconstructions based on fragments and interpretation."
Cael stared at a reflected image of himself at age seven, though the child's face seemed subtly wrong, as if painted from a description rather than direct observation.
"Mr. Morrix," Professor Nihain said, moving closer to his chair, "your Spiral of Lies resonance means you've already begun identity deconstruction. You've discovered that your self-story contains fictional elements. How does that make you feel?"
"Uncertain," Cael admitted. "If I can't trust my memories or my sense of who I am, then what's left?"
"What indeed?" Professor Nihain smiled across multiple faces simultaneously. "Let's explore that practically. Choose one aspect of your identity that feels absolutely fundamental, then spend the next few minutes consciously believing it's false."
The exercise sounded simple but proved surprisingly difficult. Finally, Cael settled on something that seemed safer: his belief that he was an only child. For five minutes, he would believe he had a sister.
The moment he committed to the belief, the mirror-space shimmered. New reflections appeared showing him interacting with a dark-haired girl who shared his features but carried herself with more confidence. Memories began forming, not false memories but genuine recollections of events that had occurred in a reality where his sister existed.
Her name was Kira. Two years older, studying at a different Academy specialization. They had fought as children but developed mutual respect with age. She had been the first person he had told about his inability to speak direct truths.
The memories felt completely real, complete with emotional resonances and sensory details. But beneath their authenticity, Cael could sense their constructed nature.
"Fascinating," Professor Nihain observed. "Your Spiral resonance allows you to generate alternate timeline memories with remarkable clarity. You've created a complete identity revision that includes emotional history and interpersonal dynamics."
"But it's not real," Cael said, though uncertainty colored his voice.
"Define 'real,'" Professor Nihain challenged. "If you chose to maintain those memories, they would influence your future decisions and relationships. In what sense would she be less real than any other formative influence?"
As the lesson concluded, Professor Nihain called Cael aside.
"Your particular gift means alternate identities you generate can become externally persistent," she warned. "Maintain an 'identity anchor' - some core aspect that remains constant regardless of what other elements you modify."
"What do you consider the most essential truth about who you are?" she asked.
Cael thought carefully. His name felt negotiable. His memories were suspect. But beneath the uncertainty, something felt solid.
"I want to understand," he said finally. "Whatever else might be true or false about me, I genuinely want to understand how things work and why."
Professor Nihain nodded approvingly. "A solid anchor. Hold onto that essential motivation, and you can safely explore alternate versions of yourself without losing coherent selfhood."