Notice - It would be short kind of interlude to widens the scope of without spoiling anything, showing a glimpse of what might be behind the mirror.
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There is no up or down here.
No sky, no ground — only layers of reflection folding into one another.
The corridor of mirrors stretches forever, each pane trembling faintly with static light. Shapes pass behind them — silhouettes, faces, fragments of moments that don't belong together. Every reflection shows a world slightly different: some bright, some burning, some utterly still.
A figure stands among them.
It is not a person, not in the way mortals define one. Its form shifts with each flicker — a silhouette made of outlines, a body drawn by memory rather than flesh.
The figure raises its head, and dozens of other reflections mimic the motion with a half-beat delay.
In every surface, its eyes glow — soft static blue.
> "He's awake," one reflection whispers.
> "He listens," answers another.
> "He shouldn't," murmurs a third, voice trembling.
The main figure tilts its head, studying the infinite echoes.
> "He looked," it says simply.
"And when one looks, one is seen."
A low hum spreads through the corridor — not a sound, but a ripple through existence itself.
Each mirror vibrates, images stuttering. Some collapse into black, others flare with blinding light. From within one pane, a faint outline of Kayden appears — sleeping, unaware of the hundred reflections watching him.
The shifting figure steps closer to his image, pressing its formless hand against the glass.
> "Observer," it says. The word comes like the crack of thunder muffled underwater.
"You've been chosen to listen where others go deaf."
Static crawls across the corridor like wildfire. Reflections scream — not in fear, but in recognition.
> "The veil thins," the chorus of mirrors echoes.
"The veil thins."
The figure withdraws its hand. For a moment, its shape stabilizes — almost human. Almost.
> "He must not break the glass," it says quietly. "Not yet."
And then, like the pull of a tide, everything folds back into silence.
The reflections settle.
Only one pane still ripples faintly — the one showing a city apartment and a sleeping boy who's about to stop dreaming.
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