Erevan's reflection shattered like glass dropped on marble.
The sound rippled through the chamber—sharp, crystalline—echoing long after the pieces hit the floor. For a heartbeat, he caught a glimpse in the fragments: the Whisperer's void-face, staring back from every splinter. Then the shards dissolved into glittering dust, and silence swallowed everything.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that makes your heartbeat sound like thunder.
Erevan exhaled slowly, the breath trembling just a little. "Okay. So… anyone else just see Tall, Dark, and Existentially Terrifying photobombing my mirror selfie, or was that just me?"
Kaelith's bow was still raised, the string drawn tight. Her voice was calm, but her knuckles were white. "It wasn't just you."
Across the chamber, Vega's form flickered—light breaking, reforming, breaking again. Their voice came out layered and metallic, as if two versions of them were trying to exist in the same space.
"If the Whisperer is inside the Citadel," they said quietly, "then this city is not safe."
From the far end, the guardians stirred.
Their voices rose in perfect unison—eerily synchronized.
"The Citadel is inviolate. No shadow may enter."
Erevan blinked, then jabbed a thumb toward the cracked mirrors. "Yeah? Pretty sure I just got a front-row ticket to Shadow Horror Theater, so unless that's a new immersive feature, your walls might wanna double-check their security settings."
The guardians didn't answer. Their silence was heavy, like even the air refused to carry their words.
Sir Quacksalot waddled in a slow circle around Erevan's boots, webbed feet squeaking faintly against the glass floor. The duck quacked once—loud, suspicious—and stared at the mirrors as though daring the shadows to move again.
The lead guardian lifted its spear with mechanical grace.
"The Citadel has granted you passage. Use it wisely. Do not squander what remains of your stability."
The words had barely faded when a cool voice chimed in his head.
(System Notice: Access Granted – Glass Citadel Inner Districts)
(Temporary Buff: Sanctuary – Shadow Influence Reduced by 50% while inside city walls)
Erevan let out a shaky laugh. "Finally. A buff that doesn't come with a side note like 'Warning: spontaneous combustion possible.'"
Kaelith lowered her bow but stayed tense, the predator's coil never quite loosening. "We need answers. If the System built this city, there might be records here."
Vega's flickering steadied, their silhouette lined in faint blue light. "Then we must reach the Core Archive," they murmured. "That is where truth… still lives."
Erevan arched a brow. "Core Archive? Please tell me that's a library and not a sentient database that wants to eat me."
Vega tilted their head, half-smiling though it didn't reach their eyes. "Why not both?"
"Fantastic," Erevan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Nothing says adventure like risking your sanity and your data plan."
They began their descent from the mirrored chamber, boots echoing down a spiraling glass staircase. Every step sounded too clear, too fragile—like walking on frozen light.
Then the city unfolded before them.
The Glass Citadel.
It was beautiful.
And it was wrong.
The streets stretched in impossible symmetry, glowing faintly with their own light. The air smelled of ozone and something ancient—like rain on polished stone. But the deeper they looked, the stranger it became.
Figures moved along the streets. People—or rather, reflections of them.
A woman knelt beside a jar that never filled.
A merchant rearranged fruit that vanished the moment he blinked.
Two children tossed a ball through the air, only for it to freeze mid-flight before rewinding back into their hands.
Each motion looped endlessly, perfect and hollow.
Kaelith's expression hardened. "It isn't corruption," she said softly. "It's preservation. The System tried to record fragments of the world, but it froze them in time—like flies trapped in amber."
A faint pulse flickered across Erevan's vision.
(Stability -1%)
(Current Stability: 20%)
He winced, rubbing at his temple. "Oh, come on! Why do I lose stability just for thinking depressing thoughts?"
The air answered before anyone else did.
(System Notice: Relic Resonance – Emotional State Detected)
(Warning: Negativity destabilizes Corruption Affinity)
Erevan threw both hands in the air. "Fantastic. So now my mood's a resource bar. What's next, do I lose HP if I stub my toe?"
Sir Quacksalot looked up and gave a long, judgmental quack — the kind that said yes, probably.
Vega's form shimmered faintly, voice soft but edged with static. "Emotional equilibrium is vital to your resonance with the shard. You are bound to its instability."
Erevan squinted. "Translation: don't be sad or I'll explode. Got it."
Kaelith said nothing, but he caught the small curve of her lips. The tiniest smirk — gone almost instantly. It was the closest she ever came to laughing.
The guardians moved ahead in perfect formation, silent as ghosts made of glass. The light caught their armor and scattered in patterns across the walls. Every corridor looked identical — mirrored halls reflecting infinite versions of themselves.
The further they walked, the quieter it became. Even their footsteps started to sound hesitant, swallowed by the vast stillness.
Erevan's voice echoed in the empty air. "You know, I'm starting to think this place was too well-preserved. Little too much ambiance. Not enough coffee."
Kaelith gave him a look that managed to say focus without a single word.
They stepped into a courtyard, and all at once, the silence changed. It wasn't just quiet anymore — it listened.
At its center hung an impossible structure.
A perfect cube of crystal floated several feet above the ground, spinning slowly. It glowed faintly, each surface etched with shifting constellations that shimmered like living starlight. The light inside it wasn't steady — it pulsed in rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Vega's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Core Archive."
Erevan just stared. "You know, when I pictured an archive, I was thinking shelves, maybe a librarian with bad eyesight. Not a literal cosmic data cube."
Kaelith's bow hand flexed, her gaze sharp as she scanned the empty plaza. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "But it feels like it's watching us."
Erevan shifted his weight uneasily. "If it starts blinking, I'm running."
Then, without warning, the gates of the cube opened — soundlessly.
A cool draft swept past them, carrying a faint metallic tang, like ozone and lightning.
Erevan froze. "That's our cue, right? Time to meet the world's creepiest librarian."
Vega stepped forward first. For a moment, their flickering steadied, edges glowing brighter. "Stay close," they murmured. "The Archive senses intent."
"Great," Erevan said, following. "Let's hope mine's not rated 'catastrophic.'"
As he crossed the threshold, the floor thrummed under his boots — a subtle vibration, like the city recognized him. The temperature dropped instantly.
Inside, the air bit at his skin.
The walls weren't really walls at all — just endless sheets of transparent crystal that stretched upward into infinity. Veins of light pulsed inside them, rhythmic and alive, like the Citadel itself was breathing around them.
Erevan stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. "Okay. So it's not a library. It's a brain. A really shiny, terrifying brain."
Kaelith walked beside him, each footstep a quiet click on the glass. "The Citadel was built by the System itself. Maybe this is how it remembers."
Erevan gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, well, it's remembering a lot. Can't wait to find the section labeled 'Horrible Life Choices: Me.'"
Sir Quacksalot quacked softly, the sound echoing strangely through the crystalline chamber — warped, hollow.
Erevan glanced down at him. "Don't look at me like that. It's called coping, okay?"
Vega moved ahead, their projection clearer now, as if the Archive recognized them. "The Citadel responds to consciousness," they said quietly. "Thought is currency here. Every step we take, it listens."
Erevan frowned. "Listens how? Like 'oh, nice shoes,' or like 'we know your search history'?"
Kaelith gave him a look that said both stop talking and maybe don't tempt it.
They reached a junction where three corridors split off, each one shimmering faintly. But the one in the middle was darker — not in shadow, exactly, but in a way that made the light bend away from it.
Erevan pointed at it immediately. "That one definitely screams 'certain doom.' So obviously, that's our route."
Kaelith's tone was dry. "Your instincts for survival are impressive."
He smirked. "Hey, I've made it this far. Luck's a skill."
Vega's head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. "The Core's signal originates from that direction."
Erevan sighed. "Of course it does. Fine. Doom it is."
He glanced at the duck. "You coming, Sir Q?"
The duck quacked once and waddled ahead without hesitation.
Erevan blinked. "Wow. Brave or suicidal. Hard to tell."
They entered the dark corridor.
Instantly, the light from behind them vanished, swallowed whole. Only the faint glow from Vega's projection painted their path forward.
The walls changed. They were no longer smooth or transparent — now opaque, warped by static patterns that crawled beneath the glass like living things.
Erevan brushed his fingers along the wall — and froze.
The surface rippled under his touch, like liquid. And in that instant, a hundred reflections stared back at him.
Each one was him.
But not quite.
Some blinked when he didn't.
Some smiled when he didn't.
One lifted a hand, seconds before he did.
His stomach dropped. "Okay… officially hating this hallway."
Kaelith's voice stayed even, though he could hear the tension under it. "It's not real. They're echoes. Residual impressions."
"Yeah, tell that to Reflection Number Forty-Seven over there who looks like he wants to murder me."
Sir Quacksalot flapped his wings at the nearest wall, feathers puffed like a warrior duck ready for battle. The reflections scattered like shards of light.
Erevan blinked. "Okay… that actually worked. You're terrifying. Respect."
Vega's voice glitched mid-sentence. "The reflections react to… instability. Your shard—"
"I know," Erevan cut in, forcing a steady breath. "It's like walking through a mirror maze that judges your mental health."
They kept walking, and slowly, the corridor widened.
Light bloomed again.
And what they saw made all three of them stop cold.
Before them stretched what looked like an entire city within the city — towers of floating light, walls of translucent code rising like skyscrapers, endless lines of shifting symbols streaming upward until they disappeared into darkness.
Each line moved like water, letters rearranging themselves constantly, never settling.
Erevan's voice came out in a whisper. "So this is where the System keeps its diary."
Kaelith studied one of the nearest walls, eyes narrowing. "This is information given shape. The System didn't build this for us. It wrote it for itself."
Vega's light merged faintly with the nearest column of code. Their voice was quiet, reverent. "Each strand represents a preserved function, a memory… a record of how the world was rewritten."
Erevan tilted his head, mesmerized despite the unease crawling under his skin. "Neat. Bet somewhere in there is an entry like, 'Dear Journal, today I accidentally deleted an ocean.'"
Kaelith didn't even glance his way. "Focus, Erevan."
He raised both hands in surrender. "Focusing. Totally focused."
But he wasn't. Not really.
Because somewhere deep down, the air here felt alive. And it wasn't just listening anymore. It was waiting.
The hum of the Archive deepened.
A low, pulsing note that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The light in the towers flickered—first in rhythm, then off-beat.
Symbols twisted, letters stuttered, data fracturing mid-flow.
Erevan frowned. "Uh, Vega? Is the city supposed to—"
He didn't finish.
One of the glowing streams of code shuddered violently, then collapsed—like a vein bursting. The symbols bled down the wall, dark and smoking, their light eaten by something deeper than shadow.
(Warning: Corruption Pulse Detected – Origin Unknown)
Vega stepped forward, light flaring around them. Their voice came fractured, panicked. "No… no, that's not possible. The Core should be sealed from interference."
Erevan's chest tightened. "Guess someone forgot to install the antivirus."
Kaelith already had an arrow drawn, eyes scanning the towers. "It's here."
The next pulse hit.
Reality warped.
Light bled sideways, colors bending. The entire hall seemed to stretch—walls rippling like glass under pressure. The floor cracked beneath Erevan's boots, shards of code scattering upward like glowing ash.
(System Alert: Integrity Failing – User Stability -3%)
(Current Stability: 17%)
He staggered, clutching his chest. His shard burned under the skin of his hand, white-hot, searing like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Then he saw it.
At the center of the collapsing city—where the streams of data converged—something hung in the air. A sphere of black static, faintly pulsing.
It wasn't light or shadow. It was absence.
And yet, he could feel it looking back.
Kaelith's whisper barely reached him. "That's the Codex."
"The what-now?"
"The System's memory," she said. "The seed from which all data was written. It should be perfect."
Her voice trembled on the last word. "It shouldn't… look like that."
Vega's glow dimmed, flickering erratically. "The corruption reached it. The Whisperer—"
"Don't say it," Erevan murmured, voice cracking.
But he already knew.
The sphere pulsed again, and with each beat, something inside it twitched. Limbs that weren't limbs. Shapes that never settled. A voice like static brushing against thought.
(Corrupted Entity Detected: [The Whisperer])
The Codex ruptured.
A thousand fragments of light exploded outward, slicing through the towers. Data screamed—literal sound, like millions of whispers dragged through static. Erevan's ears rang; his vision fractured into mirrored shards.
He fell to one knee, gasping.
(Stability -5%)
(Current Stability: 12%)
Kaelith was shouting something, but it came through muffled. Vega's outline had dissolved into a cascade of glitching pixels.
Through the chaos, the Whisperer emerged.
It wasn't a creature so much as a wound given shape — darkness coalescing into an almost-human silhouette. Its face was blank, smooth as glass, but its reflection showed something else: Erevan's own expression, twisted and hollow.
The entity's voice crawled through his head, cold and soft.
You are the fragment. The stolen echo. Return to the Source.
Erevan's breath hitched. "You want the shard."
I want what was never yours to hold.
It reached toward him. The space between them distorted, dragging light into its palm. Every instinct screamed run, but he couldn't move. The shard inside him pulsed in answer, frantic, resonant—like it recognized its maker.
Kaelith's arrow struck the entity square in the chest.
For an instant, the Whisperer's form shattered like smoke through wind.
Then it turned its face toward her.
Erevan surged forward on instinct, raising his hand. Energy flared from his palm — wild, untrained, raw. The blast ripped through the air, catching the entity mid-turn.
The light met the dark—and for a split second, the world froze.
Then both forces detonated.
The impact flung him backward into a column of glass. He hit hard, every nerve screaming, shards embedding into his shoulder.
(System Warning: User Vitality Critical – Healing Suppressed)
Through blurred vision, he saw Kaelith still standing—barely—bow cracked, her arm bleeding. Vega was on their knees, fragments of their projection scattering into the air like dying fireflies.
And the Whisperer?
It stood untouched.
Cracks crawled across its reflection instead of its body. In the mirrored floor beneath it, its double was splintering apart — a distortion bleeding outward.
Erevan realized with sudden clarity: it wasn't fighting them here. It was fighting them inside the reflection.
He pressed a hand to the glass, heart pounding. His reflection met his eyes—paler, sharper, almost frightened.
"Hey," Erevan whispered, voice trembling. "If you're really me, do something smart for once."
The reflection blinked—then smiled.
And light burst outward from the mirrored ground, slamming into the Whisperer.
For the first time, the entity screamed. The sound wasn't human. It was the sound of code tearing, of worlds collapsing.
The reflected version of Erevan fractured completely, taking the Whisperer's shadow with it. The blast threw a storm of shattered glass-light through the hall, cascading like rain made of memory.
When the light faded, the chamber was silent again.
Too silent.
Erevan pushed himself upright, swaying. "Everyone still… alive-ish?"
Kaelith exhaled shakily, lowering her broken bow. "Define alive."
Vega's voice came faint, glitching. "The Codex is—gone. Fragmented beyond repair."
Erevan looked around at the ruins of light and shadow. "Then what did we even save?"
Kaelith's gaze lingered on him, soft for once. "Maybe not the data. Maybe the person."
He didn't answer. He just stared into the fractured glass beneath his boots—at the faint outline of his reflection trying to piece itself back together.
(System Notice: Corruption Pulse Contained – Stability Restored +3%)
(Current Stability: 15%)
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Fifteen percent. Guess that's what passes for victory these days."
Sir Quacksalot waddled into view from behind a fallen crystal beam, feathers ruffled but intact. The duck gave a loud, indignant quack that echoed absurdly through the ruins.
Erevan managed a tired smile. "Yeah. You're right. We're still here."
He looked once more at the shattered Codex, its dying light flickering like stars trying to remember how to shine.
And in the fractured reflection of that fading glow, he thought he saw the Whisperer's shape — distant now, but watching still.
Waiting.