Tianmu: Eyes of Illusion

Lucas had one rule now: record everything.

Because he was starting to forget what was real.

He ran back to the old conservatory the next morning. Same route. Same path under the freeway, past the chalk glyphs.

Except now… they weren't there.

No spirals. No light traces. Just gray concrete and piss-stained walls.

Lucas frowned. He pulled out his phone. No signal. He checked the photo from the night before.

Gone.

Just a blank image.

No glyph. No record.

He picked up his pace, turning the corner at Merrin Hill.

Then stopped cold.

The conservatory was burned down.

Or had been, for years.

Blackened glass, collapsed beams, ivy-charred to ash. Yellow police tape flapped gently in the wind.

Lucas stood in the ruins of where he knew he had spoken with Eli just hours ago.

No… I drank tea here. I saw the array. It was real.

He approached the tape. A small plaque stood half-buried in weeds.

"Merrin Hill Horticultural House — Destroyed in arson fire, 2018. Casualties: 0."

Lucas staggered back.

"No… no, that's not right."

He looked around for someone. Anyone.

A jogger passed by.

"Excuse me!" Lucas called out. "Do you remember… was there someone here last night? Anyone?"

The man gave him a wary look. "What, here? Nah, man. That place's been a wreck forever."

"No… there was a light. A guy. He called himself Eli—"

"Dude, you okay?" The jogger backed away slowly. "You need, like… help?"

Lucas didn't answer. The jogger moved on, shaking his head.

He stood there for a long time.

Until he realized something worse.

His mirror felt cold.

Dead cold.

He pulled it out. The bronze was dull, the surface flat. No shimmer. No ripple.

He raised it to his face.

And froze.

The reflection didn't move.

He blinked. The mirror-version of him did not.

It stared back, just slightly… off.

The head tilt wrong. The eyes… too wide.

Lucas turned his head. So did the reflection—but not in sync.

It smiled.

He didn't.

Lucas threw the mirror down.

It didn't break. But it pulsed once—like it was laughing.

He grabbed it, stuffed it deep in his backpack.

Don't look at it. Not until you understand what's inside.

That night, he tried to retrace every word Eli had said.

But his notes were gone.

Not deleted—blank.

Pages filled with impressions, symbols—now empty.

Even the notebook's margins were clean. He hadn't just lost memory. It had been scrubbed.

Someone—or something—had erased the encounter.

"No," he whispered to himself. "No, I won't lose it."

He closed his eyes.

Drew a breath.

And remembered the tea.

He burned osmanthus incense.

Boiled water.

Mimicked the ritual exactly. Even the clockwise stirring motion Eli used.

He placed the mirror on the table.

"Eli," he whispered. "If you're still in there… show me something. Anything."

The incense smoke thickened.

Coiled.

And the mirror began to ripple.

Not silver this time.

Not gold.

Blood red.

And in it, flashes:

A hallway filled with fog.A glyph burning on someone's chest.Eli, screaming—but with Lucas's voice.

And then…

Nora.

Standing in a corridor of mirrors, each showing different versions of her life.

In one, she was happy. In another, dead.

And in the center of the hall… a throne made of broken eyes.

Lucas jolted backward, the incense toppling.

The mirror went still.

The visions gone.

But his heart wouldn't stop hammering.

Because in that last image—Nora turned and looked straight at him.

Not through the mirror.

Through time.

He now knew three things.

Eli had been real.The mirror was no longer his alone.Someone—or something—was rewriting the past.

Outside, in the apartment complex courtyard, his neighbor's baby cried again.

But this time, the sound warped.

Played backward.

He stepped outside and looked up.

In every window, his reflection was looking down at him.

All of them smiling.

Except the real him.

🔍 下一章预告（Chapter 13 – The Tesseract Mind）:

Desperate for clarity, Lucas begins practicing "Thought Folding"—an advanced illusion technique meant to encrypt his thoughts from Watchers. But the deeper he folds, the more unstable his identity becomes. Who is the original?