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Chapter 3 - Chapter 3 — The Forest’s Secret

On the fourth day, Arun ventured into the village at the forest's edge. The people there were wary. When he mentioned the house, a shopkeeper muttered, "Best leave it. That place doesn't keep tenants. It keeps reflections."

The old woman behind the counter leaned forward, whispering as though afraid the trees would hear.

"Once, an occult family lived there. They made bargains with the mirrors. Summoned guardians to protect them. But the forest took offense. It swallowed them whole, left only the gate behind. That house isn't shelter, boy. It's a doorway."

Arun laughed nervously. But when he returned, the forest seemed different. At dusk, the trees leaned toward the house, branches clawing closer. He swore he saw shapes among the trunks—tall figures, faces pale and smooth like polished glass.

The seventh night arrived before Arun realized.

By then, he hadn't slept in days. The whispers had grown bold, chanting in harmony. The mirrors had multiplied—fragments where there had been none, reflecting him from every corner. And in his dreams, he walked halls of crystal lit by runes, where shadow-creatures bowed before thrones of glass.

That night, his reflection moved first.

It stepped forward, leaving the mirror with a wet, sucking sound. More figures followed from the smaller shards around the house: taller, thinner versions of him, some with claws, some with mouths stretched into terrible grins.

They circled him in the dark, whispering in unison:

"One of us must stay. One of us must serve."

Arun backed into a corner, heart hammering. The house groaned, inhaled, exhaled. And with every breath, the reflections drew

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