WebNovels

Chapter 9 - Chapter 8 — Reflections of the Dead

The bells of Elaris tolled for seven hours straight.Each chime rolled across the marble streets like thunder, shaking loose dust and secrets.

By the time the sound faded, the city had changed.Mirrors along the walls shimmered faintly, rippling as if stirred by unseen breath.And every reflection — every polished surface — smiled.

Mira moved through the silent streets, clutching her lantern to her chest. The light flickered unevenly; her own shadow twitched behind her like it didn't belong to her.

The Scholar's Quarter lay at the city's heart — a labyrinth of tall towers and blind archivists who whispered to parchment instead of people. She'd come to find someone who might understand what she'd seen — what she'd heard.

Inside the Hall of Testimonies, a man in gray robes looked up from his desk. His mask was plain, featureless. His voice, when he spoke, trembled with age.

"Few seek truth here anymore," he said. "Most only come to find prettier lies."

Mira set the porcelain mask on the table between them.It smiled up at him.

The scholar flinched. "Where did you find this?"

"It found me," she said. "It speaks."

He leaned closer. "It shouldn't."

His hands trembled as he opened a brittle book bound in human parchment.Inside were sketches of faces — some divine, some monstrous — and on the final page, a sigil identical to the one etched behind the mask's smile.

"This," he whispered, "is the Mark of Lorian — the Eighth. The god who lied the world into order."

Mira's voice was barely a whisper. "Why was he erased?"

The scholar met her eyes. "Because truth is a fragile thing, my dear. And he proved it could be rewritten."

Elsewhere in the city, the Hunter stood before a cracked mirror.

The mask hung at his belt, but his reflection wore it — smiling faintly, even though his own lips did not move.

"You serve truth," the reflection said.

He froze. The voice was his — and not.

"But truth serves no one."

The Hunter drew his sword. "You're an illusion."

The reflection tilted its head. "So is everything else."

Cracks spidered across the glass. Behind them, golden eyes glimmered.

"You carry my face now," the voice whispered. "How much truth can you bear before you become me?"

The glass shattered.The mask at his side laughed — a sound so soft it could've been the wind, if not for how it echoed inside his skull.

Back in the hall, the scholar's voice grew tight.

"You must destroy it. Melt it in sacred fire before—"

The mask blinked.

The scholar froze mid-sentence, eyes wide, throat tightening as if unseen fingers had closed around it. His mask cracked down the center, splitting in two.

Mira screamed.

The porcelain on the table rippled — as though something beneath it was breathing.

A whisper filled the room, smooth and calm:

"Truth burns. Lies only ever smile."

The lights went out.

And in the darkness, Mira heard it — that old, terrible laughter returning, soft as rain and just as endless.

More Chapters