"Some doors are not locked. They are simply forgotten."— Law of the Reflectionless, Vol. I
The sky did not speak that morning.Saying the sun hadn't risen wouldn't have been enough; light existed, yes, but it seemed the sky refused to let it fall to the earth. Colors were pastel, the air heavy, silence oppressive. The world held its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Eran felt it as he woke.
The books spilled beside his bed were still on the floor. Some covers were half-open, others looked as if they hadn't fallen but had been deliberately left there.
The first thought upon waking: What was the dream like?The second: Could this still be a dream?
The small window in the corner of his room was fogged over. Outside, a pale light trembled—not quite morning, not quite evening. Time itself had lost its direction.
He slowly rose from the bed. The floor shivered under his feet—perhaps it only felt that way. Perhaps it was the freezing chill of the early hour. He looked into the mirror.
Into his own eyes… but not quite his own. The reflection seemed his, yet entirely different. His posture was altered, shoulders straighter, eyes deeper, expression… foreign.
And then, without any movement, the lips appeared to part:"You shouldn't be here."
The world fell silent. Eran stumbled back. His heart felt too big for his chest, his breath caught. The glass fogged, quivering. Yet the reflection had not vanished.
When he blinked, only himself remained.
He swallowed. Trembling fingers touched his forehead. The same thing… again. Lately, these "visions" had become frequent. In mirrors, glass, puddles—he saw the odd double of himself. Each time, reality seemed to crack a little more.
Looking closely at the mirror, he noticed something… a small circle near his cheek under the eye.He touched it with his hand, but felt nothing—like it existed only in the reflection. Eran felt strange. He asked himself questions, wondering if he was losing his mind…
Downstairs, Nira waited. As every morning. This place counted as their home—a former observatory turned stone dwelling. The wind sometimes passed through walls. At night, lamps flickered on their own. In each room, it was as if something unseen slept.
When Eran sat at the table, Nira's eyes immediately went to his hand. He hadn't noticed, but his left hand still trembled. Nira said nothing. She always chose her words carefully. But the shadow on her face said enough.
"Did it happen again?" she finally asked.
Eran lowered his head. "It… was different this time. I was in the glass, but… I wasn't me." After a pause, he lifted his gaze."Nira… this morning, I saw it in the mirror. Is there a blue circle under my eye?"
Silence. Even the house seemed to struggle with the question. Nira shook her head. In this world, that mark did not yet appear. The ceiling creaked. The water in the kettle stopped bubbling abruptly.
Her eyes looked away. Then, very slowly, with quiet determination, she murmured:"Not yet."
And said nothing more.
The school building… a fortress of gray stone. Windows always half-shut, walls always cold. And inside, countless faces yet none familiar. Walking those halls, Eran felt watched from behind every wall. But when he looked, no one was there.
Lately, his dreams had been vivid, populated with faces that strangely seemed familiar.
That day, as he walked the corridor, a mirror caught his attention. It had always been there. But today, it was different.
His reflection appeared. There it was his other self.
But this time, it blinked.
And in that instant, time froze. Footsteps stopped. The voices of students vanished. Everything dulled. The world held its breath. And someone whispered, as if speaking right at the back of his neck:"Are you ready, traveler?"
A hum filled his ears. The floor shifted. Walls cracked. And then… everything went dark.
He felt as if he were falling. Yet his body did not fall. Only the sensation of falling existed. Time bent, light fractured. The world changed.
When he opened his eyes, the ground shimmered purple. The sky seemed upside down. Stars were not above, but beneath his feet. Trees arched unnaturally, their leaves pointing not down, but up. The air was both cold and burning. The wind did not blow- it whispered.
And there, someone stood. Cloaked in black, long hair flowing, eyes like both night and dawn.
Moving slowly, as if floating, they approached.
Lira Kaen.
Seeing her, Eran remembered something—but not what.
A dream? A memory? Another life?
She stopped. Looked into his eyes. And whispered:"You are late, Eran Solen."