The mirror did not shatter.
It should have.
Zyren staggered back from the stairwell, chest heaving, heart pounding in sync with the pulsing moonstone beneath his tunic. His hand trembled, clutching the parchment like it might dissolve into ash. The reflection that had grinned at him moments before—his own face with eyes not his own—had vanished. Now, the mirror reflected only cold stone and flickering torchlight.
But the chill remained, curling down his spine like frostbite beneath the skin.
The echo of that grin still lingered behind his eyes, a phantom smirk embedded in his nerves.
He stared at the note again. Its ink was smeared in places, but the words were still legible:
"They know. The eye watches. The mirror remembers. Run."
A low creak echoed from somewhere deeper in the East Wing. Zyren froze.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Soft at first—then sharper. Magic hummed faintly in the walls, the low pulse of awakened wards reacting to presence after hours.
He extinguished the nearby lamp with a whispered spell and backed into the corridor's shadow.
Zyren crumpled the note in his palm and shoved it into his pocket just as the door creaked open.
Professor Lynvale entered like a blade through silk—quiet, precise, dangerous. Her robes whispered against the floor, wrapped tight around her form like armor. Her midnight braid was coiled atop her head, not a strand out of place. Even in the dim, she looked too alert for this hour.
"Zyren Elraven," she said evenly. "I hope you have an excellent explanation for your presence in this wing."
"I—I couldn't sleep," he lied quickly. "I thought to walk, clear my mind. Thought reading might help."
"Reading what, exactly?" Her tone didn't waver, but her gaze moved swiftly across the room—bookshelves, runes, dark corners where secrets might hide.
Zyren reached for the nearest tome on the pedestal, its leather cover cracked from age. "Rune convergence theory. Just this."
She took a step closer, frowning. "That book hasn't left its place in thirty years."
He froze, unsure how to respond. But Lynvale only narrowed her eyes, as if calculating how far to press.
"In a forbidden hall at midnight?" Her eyes flicked toward the door he'd emerged from. "Do you know what dwells here? What sleeps behind the runes carved into these walls?"
Zyren swallowed. "No."
Her gaze lingered on him. "Some mirrors show the truth. Others show only what you fear most. Be careful which kind you stare into."
Finally: "Return to your dorm. And next time you can't sleep, try lavender and silence. Not forbidden tomes and cursed halls."
Zyren nodded mutely, brushing past her and out into the corridor. As he did, her voice followed him—quieter, unreadable.
"And be careful, Zyren. Some books read you back."
---
The morning came cruelly bright.
Pale winter light spilled across the frost-laced windows, cutting across the dormitory like a blade. Zyren leaned over the washbasin, staring at his reflection. His face was the same. The eyes were his. No tricks, no smirking double.
For now.
The moonstone had gone still again, cold and inert against his chest. But beneath his tunic, his skin bore a faint impression where it had pulsed—an icy circle, tinged pale blue like a burn kissed by frost.
He covered it quickly as Corwin banged on the dorm door.
"You alive in there?" Corwin called. "Or did the laundry devour you again?"
"I'm fine," Zyren lied, stepping out, composing himself.
Corwin gave him a once-over. "You look like a ghost smacked you in the face."
"Maybe one did," Zyren muttered.
As they made their way down the hall toward morning lectures, Corwin studied him. "You're not gonna tell me, are you?"
Zyren hesitated, then relented. "I found a note. In the library. It said They know. The eye watches. The mirror remembers. Run."
Corwin's usual smirk faded. "Well, that's not spine-chilling at all."
"There's more," Zyren said. "My reflection. Last night—it smiled. I didn't."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded page. "I was reading Magica Obscura—don't ask why—and came across this. Mirror spirits. The Mirrorbound. They don't just reflect. They... remember you."
Zyren took the page, scanning the descriptions.
Some mirrors, it said, weren't made—they were grown. Bound with memory. Some housed echoes of ancient magic. Some held prisoners.
Some watched.
"I think they've noticed me," Zyren whispered.
---
Spellcraft passed in a blur of chalk, charms, and a hovering diagram of magical symmetries that no one truly understood. Professor Iveline lectured with fervor, her monocles rotating as if their own gears held more comprehension than any student.
Zyren took notes in shaky script, the words barely anchoring in his mind.
Lysia sat beside him in silence, her usual margin notes as neat and pointed as her expressions.
"You're not really here," she whispered during a break. "Not in your head. Not with us."
"I'm trying," he said.
"No, you're hiding. There's a difference."
Zyren looked down. "I had another dream. The silver-haired girl—she looked older. She said something's choosing me."
Lysia's pen stopped. Her gaze sharpened. "You sound like a prophecy waiting to unravel."
He wanted to say I'm scared, but the words stuck.
"Talk to someone," she said quietly. "Someone real. Not behind glass. Not a ghost."
Then she stood, gathering her things before the bell. Her hand lingered on his desk for a heartbeat—silent, steadying—and then she was gone.
---
That night, Zyren didn't sleep.
He couldn't.
The shadows in the corners of his room seemed to press inward. The mirror across from his bed remained covered by a draped cloth—just in case.
He sat cross-legged on the floor with a candle lit low. The note trembled in his fingers. He turned it over. Still the same words. Still that same growing dread.
"They know. The eye watches. The mirror remembers. Run."
He opened Magica Obscura, the book Corwin had mentioned.
The page on the Mirrorbound was missing.
Torn cleanly out.
He stared at the torn spine. Someone knew I'd come back.
The moonstone pulsed once—soft, like a whisper. He barely noticed.
A noise.
He spun. Only his reflection in the window.
Except… not quite.
The reflection leaned forward—only slightly. But the timing was wrong. Its blink was late. Its smile—off by a breath.
Then it mouthed a word.
"Soon."
---
The dream came colder. More vivid. More real.
Zyren stood in a vast field of broken glass, a sky of silver stars stretched above—too many, too close. Each star blinked.
At the center of the field, the silver-haired girl stood, older now. Her palms were pressed against an invisible barrier.
She was seventeen, maybe. Worn by time, voice raw.
"You have to wake up," she said. "It's already started."
"Who are you?" Zyren asked.
Her eyes glimmered with sorrow. "I was the first. You might be the last."
She turned. Behind her, shadows stirred—tall, eyeless figures whose limbs stretched like ink. She pressed her hands harder against the glass.
"It's not just watching." Her eyes bled silver. "It's choosing."
Then she screamed.
And shattered.
---
Zyren awoke gasping, clutching his chest.
He sat up in bed, chest tight, pendant burning with cold light. His breath misted in the air—inside the room.
Above his bed, the mirror—perfectly smooth the night before—was cracked.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
Cracked from the inside.
Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the glass.
Something had tried to come through.
Zyren backed away slowly, breath caught in his throat.
Then he saw it.
For just a moment, in the deepest part of the crack—a silver eye opened.
And blinked.
---
**End of Chapter Fifteen**