The Mirror That Burns

The ruins waited like a breath held too long—still, ancient, watching.

No birds. No breeze. Only the hush of something sacred… and dangerous.

The three of us stood in what was once a temple. The sun had fallen behind the dunes, casting long shadows that curled like fingers through the broken columns. Ahead, set within a dark arch of blackened stone, stood the second mirror.

Ronan was quiet beside me. Shira stood further back, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She hadn't spoken since we arrived.

But I could feel her gaze. It hadn't left me once.

The mirror didn't look magical. It looked old. Tarnished. Framed in dull gold leaf, most of it worn away by wind and time. But the surface...

It didn't reflect.

It pulsed.

Like breath.

Like memory.

I stepped forward.

Shira didn't stop me—but I felt her body shift, as if she wanted to. As if something inside her was screaming "Not yet. Please, not yet."

I placed my hand near the glass.

It didn't shimmer, not like the first mirror had. This one was slower. Deeper. It didn't show me what I wanted to see.

It showed what I couldn't avoid.

First, my face.

Then—

Not just mine.

Another. Behind me. Inside me.

Lyara.

Her image surfaced slowly, like someone rising from beneath black water. Her mouth parted—no sound, but her eyes were wide. Afraid. Confused.

She reached toward the glass from the inside.

I froze.

She looked like me.

But she wasn't.

Not completely.

Her hand pressed against the surface. My hand twitched, inches from hers.

"Please," her eyes seemed to beg. "Don't let them forget me." Then, behind her—another shape formed. A second reflection.

The same eyes. The same mouth. But harder. Older.

Not Lyara.

Me.

Adelaine.

We were both there, side by side in the same glass. But not touching. Not quite merged.

Two halves of something splintered. One raised in silk and illusion. The other in shadow and silence.

I felt my breath catch.

The mirror pulsed again—and this time, the surface shimmered like water cracked open by light.

A shiver moved through me.

I staggered back, but I couldn't look away. The mirror pulsed again.

This time, I heard it.

A whisper.

Not out loud. Not in my ears.

In my bones.

"Only one."

I gasped.

The sound felt like it came from deep inside. Not someone else. Not the mirror.

Me.

Or the part of me that didn't belong here.

"Lyara," Ronan's voice cut through the pressure. He was suddenly beside me, steadying my shoulder. "What did you see?"

But Ronan's voice faltered—just slightly.

Because in the glass, for a brief flicker of breath, he didn't see Lyara.

He saw someone else. Not dressed in Kaerethian silks, not veiled in gold and shadow—but in a worn tunic scorched by fire, hair half-braided, wild.

He blinked—once, slowly.

And for the briefest heartbeat, his fingers twitched at his side. Like he almost reached out. Like he saw something… someone… he'd buried.

And the image shifted.

Back to Lyara's face.

Back to what he expected.

But doubt had already rooted in his chest.

I opened my mouth.

But before I could answer, Shira stepped forward quickly. "We need to stop."

Her voice was sharp. Controlled. But I saw the panic behind her eyes.

Ronan glanced at her. "She's shaking."

But it wasn't just the cold or the mirror's pull.

It was something deeper. A knowing. A grief that hadn't surfaced yet—but trembled just beneath my skin, waiting to break.

My chest was tight. The image of Lyara—trapped in that glass, her hand pressed against mine—kept replaying. But it wasn't the fear of her that haunted me.

It was Shira.

She was looking at me like I was a countdown.

A fuse.

And she was running out of time.

"Lyara," Ronan said again, more gently now. His fingers were firm on my shoulder. "Come away from it."

"I'm fine," I muttered.

But the word didn't sound like me. It scraped out of my throat like something borrowed.

Shira stepped closer.

Her boots scuffed the stone, hesitant. That was strange—Shira never hesitated.

She was the one who moved first when the monsters came.

The one who didn't blink when the world turned black.

But now?

Now, her hand reached toward me, hovering, uncertain.

Like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to touch me.

"I didn't mean for you to stand that close," she said, voice quiet but clipped. "I thought we had more time."

I blinked.

Time?

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

She flinched—just slightly.

And then her voice hardened. "Nothing. Just—come away from the mirror."

But I didn't move.

Not yet.

Because I could feel it now, buzzing beneath my ribs: the unspoken. The almost-truth. The moment before lightning strikes.

"You're afraid," I said slowly, eyes fixed on her. "Not of the mirror. Of what I'll see in it."

Shira didn't answer.

But that was its own kind of confirmation.

And I wasn't ready to face it.

-------

Later that night, the silence between us felt different.

Not empty.

Heavy.

Like silence that had grown teeth.

I sat apart from the others. My breath fogged faintly in the cold air, and the embers from the fire didn't reach me. My fingers drifted to the satchel at my side—the journal.

She'd given it to me after the mirror.

Not before.

Why wait?

Why now?

I turned my head and watched her.

Shira sat alone by the edge of the ruin, her silhouette outlined by starlight. Her arms were tucked around her knees, her chin lowered. She looked like she'd folded herself inward, trying to become smaller than her own shadow.

She looked like me.

I didn't know why that thought made my throat tighten.

She must have sensed me watching. Or maybe she always knew.

Her head turned slightly, and for one moment, our eyes met across the dark.

No words.

Just weight.

 I stood.

Walked toward her. And said, not unkindly, "If there's something I need to know, now's the time."

She exhaled, and for the first time in hours, she looked like herself again.

But the version of her I'd never met.

Softer.

Tired.

Vulnerable.

She didn't look up when she answered.

"There are pages you should read. Not all at once. But one in particular. It's why I gave it to you tonight."

I swallowed hard. "You could've just told me."

"I tried," she whispered. "So many times. But you weren't ready."

I wanted to deny it.

Wanted to snap at her for deciding what I was or wasn't ready to hear.

But deep down, I knew.

She was right.

Because the mirror hadn't just shown me Lyara.

It had shown me myself.

Or maybe—someone else inside myself.

And suddenly, I wasn't sure which version of me had been crying when the reflection reached out.

Mine?

Lyara's?

Or something older. Something buried. Something shaped like a memory I never had—but always missed.

"Read it," Shira said again, voice barely audible over the wind.

Before someone else tells you what it means.

Before someone twists it.

Before you hear it in someone else's voice—and never believe it again.

"She stood too close," Shira muttered—more to herself than to Ronan—as she pulled me away. Her hand tightened on my arm—then loosened, then tightened again.

Like even now, she wasn't sure if she was protecting me… or pulling me back from a truth I had the right to touch.

 "This mirror… it digs deeper than the first. It doesn't just show reflections. It opens them."

Her fingers were tight around my arm. I almost said something.

But I didn't.

Because part of me didn't trust my voice right now. Not when it trembled. Not when I still felt Lyara's breath inside my chest.

—-----

That night, I couldn't sleep.

The others kept their distance.

Serra was silent, packing supplies with too much focus.

Ronan sat near the fire, sharpening his blade in slow, methodical strokes.

And Shira… Shira avoided my eyes.

That was the part that unnerved me most.

Because Shira never avoided anything.

Not monsters. Not mirrors.

So why me?

I sat near the far edge of the temple wall, knees tucked to my chest the way I used to—back when I still believed in clean truths. The journal from Shira was still tucked inside my satchel.

She hadn't explained why she gave it to me.

Only:

 "Read it. Before someone else tells you what it says."

Those words had haunted me for hours.

What could the journal hold that she feared I'd learn from someone else?

And why now?

—--------

When I opened it, my hands were already shaking.

The pages smelled like ash and old blood. Some were loose, others stuck together by moisture or time. The ink curled like veins.

There were drawings. Symbols. Maps of places I didn't know.

Then—

I found the page.

It wasn't long. Just a few lines, handwritten in a rush.

> "To my daughter born in light,

And her sister, born in a night of blood.

Forgive me for the choices I made.

One I kept close.

One I gave away.

But both… were mine."

My breath caught.

The ink blurred.

Shira.

She wasn't just a friend. A fighter. A comrade.

She was...

She was my sister.

And she knew.

She had known.

That's why she watched me like she was waiting to break.

That's why she looked at me like I was something she'd already lost once before.

I closed the journal slowly, hands trembling.

Not from fear.

But from the quiet, creeping grief of understanding.

This wasn't about magic.

It was about blood.

And betrayal.

And the way love could be cut clean in half by silence.

—-----

➤ 

But Shira didn't pull me away because she feared the mirror. 

She pulled me away because she knew what I'd see inside it. 

And maybe… who I might choose to become because of it. 

[ → Continue to Chapter 13 ]