Done having his flashback, Arin returned his attention to the mirror lying on the floor.
He straightened up, and considered picking and propping the object up against the wall for a moment, before ultimately deciding he'd be fine using it as it was.
He didn't want to risk it falling over and shattering. He had a feeling that Alma wouldn't take kindly to losing something inimitable like the Mirror of Record.
...He'd rather play it safe, lest his remaining time in this world end up being plagued by exceptionally angry shadows.
Arin rolled his shoulders a couple of times, and then, with a small sigh, took a single step forward. He then looked straight down.
He met Rin's dark eyes.
Even after nearly two weeks in this body, Arin was still disconcerted by the sight of a stranger's face where his own should've been, reflecting expressions that weren't familiar anymore.
Then again, he hadn't exactly spent much time gazing into mirrors since getting here. It made sense that he wouldn't quite be used to it.
He hoped he'd be back home long before he got used to it.
Still looking, Arin quirked his lips up in the small smile he'd been sparingly wearing these past few days, trying to emote while still pretending to be Rin.
The handsome man reflected in the mirror grimaced back up at him.
Arin huffed, and smoothed out his expression again.
He'd have to work on that...
As he continued meeting his reflection's gaze, he couldn't help but think about the man he saw.
Sure, he had his questions about the life he'd led. About what his real talent was, about why his brother wanted him dead, and about why he was even here, living as a member of some low-tier magic tower out in the middle of nowhere.
And that was why he was there; for answers.
But, in that moment, Arin found himself thinking more about the man himself.
Just like him, Rin was most likely an unwilling participant in all of this.
Had he also been afraid when he'd 'died'?
Had he been just as lost when he'd survived, and somehow entered a stranger's body?
Was he even really out there, trying to play the role of 'Arin' in a world entirely different from the one he'd always known?
...Or was that too optimistic?
Maybe the tower master had just been consoling himself when he'd made that guess about the fate of his student.
Maybe the real owner of this body was already long gone...
Arin blinked, commiseration welling within him. He was suddenly struck by how young the man in the mirror looked to him.
Was the real Rin actually much younger than he'd thought at first? Had he been wrong to assume that they'd been around the same age?
Arin blinked again, and the man in the mirror reflected his action.
Man... no.
...What?
That was clearly a boy!
He blinked a third time, wondering if his vision had gone blurry for some reason.
The very young boy in the mirror blinked back up at him, his large, dark eyes like two stars on his small, round face. His tiny frame was clearly that of a child in his preteens... no...
...single-digit age...
...toddler!?
Arin suddenly realized what was happening.
Too far back! He didn't want to see Rin's life as a damned baby!
Without quite knowing what he was doing, he swiftly bent down and reached out a hand to touch the surface of the mirror. He could only vaguely hope that doing so would help somehow.
As his skin brushed the glass, however, he couldn't feel the hard, smooth, and cool mirror that he'd been expecting. Instead, his hand seemed to break through the surface, and meet the small, warm hand of his tiny reflection, that was still diligently mirroring his actions.
Arin gasped,
Shocked by the sudden void that seemed to have opened underneath him, his fingers scrabbled for support. They tightened around the hand of the boy, even as the child's own fingers seemed to grasp onto his own.
Suddenly, there seemed to be a force - far stronger than anything a child that age should've been able to manage - that seemed to be pulling him.
Pulling him down.
Pulling him in.
Into the mirror.
With a shocked yelp, Arin lost his balance, and felt his feet leave the floor as he fell forward, still staring into the equally startled eyes of his reflection as they grew larger, and closer...
...
...
...
The sunlight streaming in through the windows illuminated much of Alma's relatively bare quarters. Its beams fanned across the unadorned ceiling, and were also reflected on the surface of the rectangular mirror lying on the floor by a bookshelf.
There was a roll of some velvety fabric thrown to one side nearby. A small, dusty gray moth fluttered on the floor by it, appearing somewhat dazed.
It slowly crawled towards the mirror, until it was right up against its edge.
The moth, however, did not take flight. Nor did it climb up onto the glass.
It seemed to pause for a moment, before making its way to settle down in one of the corners of the room. After that, there was no other movement.
There was no one else in the room.