Seventeen Years Ago – The Secret Vault beneath the Citadel
The chamber was carved from dark stone, its walls etched with forgotten sigils that pulsed faintly beneath torchlight. It was a place lost to time—hidden away, shrouded by layers of magic and secrecy. None save a select few knew of its existence. And fewer still could wield its power.
Lady Arlin Elraven, mother-to-be and scholar-turned-defector, knelt before a basin of silverwater, the moonstone pendant floating above it, its glow flickering as if it, too, felt the weight of the moment.
Around her, nine former mage of the Ninefold Concord stood in a circle, cloaked in silverthread. They had sworn allegiance to Arlin's cause, though some were reluctant, their loyalty tested by time and fear. The ritual they were about to perform was forbidden, its cost unknown. Yet Arlin had no choice.
The baby inside her—her son—could never be tethered to the Order. The moonstone would sever him from their reach, ensure he grew free from the chains the Concord had planned for him.
"You understand the risk," said the eldest among the cloaked mage, his voice raspy as dried parchment.
Arlin nodded. "I do. And I accept it."
He studied her. "You sever him from the Order, yes. But you also sever him from protection. He will be exposed."
"He will be free," Arlin replied, her hand pressed to her swollen belly. "Not a vessel. Not a puppet. He deserves the chance to choose."
But Arlin had studied deeper. She had seen what came of those marked in the womb—used as conduits. Lost to themselves.
She would not let them take him.
The moonstone pendant floated in the basin, glowing faintly.
"Begin," she commanded.
The others hesitated, then began the incantation. Ancient words rang in the vault—not the refined willcasting of the modern Academy, but raw spell-weaving. Magic built on memory, identity, sacrifice.
Arlin's heart quickened as she felt the power flowing through her veins, pooling in the basin before her.
The moonstone pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Mark him," she whispered. "But do not bind him."
The child within her stirred.
Silverlight flashed.
Arlin gasped, clutching the basin for support as the magic reached into her, twisting around the baby's soul, binding him to the stone in an attempt to keep him safe.
It was not just a ritual to shield him; it was a declaration of his independence, an act of defiance against the Concord that had manipulated her, that had forced her into this choice.
But as the magic reached its peak, something went wrong.
The surface of the silverwater trembled, and through its reflection—two forms appeared.
One was a boy, an echo of what he would become: Zyren, her son, still in the womb, eyes unformed but pulsing with power. His features flickered, uncertain, as if he had not yet fully decided who he would be. But beside him—a shadow took shape.
A girl, pale as starlight. Her silver eyes glimmered in the reflection, like shards of broken glass.
Not a twin. Not a sibling.
A split.
Born not of body—but of soul.
The mage faltered. "This was not part of the weave—"
Arlin's voice was steel. "Finish it."
The spell continued. The silver-eyed figure in the mirror reached toward the boy, a silent plea passing between them, though no words were spoken. She tried to touch him, as if to pull him back.
And then—she was pulled away. Vanishing into shadow.
The basin cracked.
The pendant—burned by the ritual's intensity—fell into Arlin's hands. Her breath was ragged.
"It's done," one of the cloaked figures said.
Arlin opened her eyes. "He's free."
"But the price?" someone asked.
She looked up, eyes fierce. "Let them come for him. He'll break their mirrors."
The pendant pulsed.
And deep within, the child's soul—Zyren's soul—was no longer alone
---
Present Day—
Zyren sat bolt upright in his bed, drenched in sweat.
The dream had been different this time. Not the silver-eyed girl. Not the shattering skies or the cracked reflections.
This time, he had seen his mother.
Younger. Fiercer. Her hand resting over her stomach, over him.
She had whispered something just before the vision ended:
"You were never theirs."
He looked down at the moonstone pendant on his chest. It pulsed once—subtle, steady.
Not just magic. A memory. A tether. A rebellion.
The knock at his door came just as his mind was spinning in circles.
"Zyren?" Lysia's voice called softly.
He opened the door. She stood there, cloaked, hair damp with mist. Her eyes scanned his face.
"You saw something," she said.
He nodded. "My mother. The ritual. How I was… marked."
Lysia stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Selene just sent word. We have a location. Another mirror. It's not stable."
"Where?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She hesitated. "The Wildlights. Southern border. Past the old leyline forest."
His stomach turned. "We can't go yet."
"No," she agreed. "But it's waking."
---
The group was gathered. Corwin lounged atop a reading table, tossing an enchanted coin. Alaric sat beside Mira, her hand laced through his, both of them half-smiling, half-dozing.
Lysia noticed.
She always noticed.
The way Mira leaned into Alaric's side. The way his smile softened only for her. The warmth there. The quiet.
It made her heart twist.
Zyren stood beside a floating orb of light, recounting his vision. The stone. The basin. The chant. His mother's resolve.
"She defied them," he said. "The Concord. The Order. Everyone. Just to make sure I had a choice."
Selene leaned near a tall bookcase, arms crossed. "She didn't hide you by running. She rewrote the rules. Challenged their designs before you were even born."
Alaric straightened. "If you were marked in the womb… then you're not just being hunted. You're connected."
Mira traced patterns on his arm. "To what?"
Corwin tossed the coin higher. "The mirrors? The Order? Or the thing behind the mirrors?"
Leona held up a scroll. "Here." Her voice was faint. "A Concord record. It mentions 'anchors' tied to reflective nodes. Mirrors. Pools. Glass. Anything that could store a soul fragment or a memory."
Selene's brow furrowed. "If you're an anchor, Zyren… then maybe this mirror isn't just waking up."
Lysia's voice was steady. "It might be trying to replace him."
Silence fell.
Zyren sat slowly, pendant clenched in his fist.
"Then we stay ahead of it," Lysia added. "We don't move on the Wildlights until we know what's inside."
"And how to destroy it," Zyren said.
Selene nodded. "I'll buy you time. But the Order's moving again. Kael won't wait long."
Zyren looked at the pendant, feeling its pulse echo through his chest.
"I was supposed to be bound," he said softly. "But my mother made me free."
Mira tilted her head. "You think it can be destroyed?"
Alaric smirked. "Everything breaks."
Mira smiled at him, brushing a kiss to his cheek. "Even you?"
"Only when you ask nicely."
Lysia stood.
"We should return before curfew." Her voice was tight. "Zyren, walk with me."
He hesitated, then followed her into the corridor.
---
In the Quiet Hallway Outside—
"You're holding back," she said once they were alone.
"I'm trying to keep you all safe."
"No," she said. "You're trying not to break."
Zyren exhaled. "It feels like the world keeps asking me to be something I don't understand."
She looked at him, voice soft. "Then stop doing it alone."
A silence passed.
Then, more quietly—almost too quietly—she asked, "Do you ever feel like you missed your chance?"
He blinked. "What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
---
At midnight, in the Hall of Truths—
Zyren stood alone beneath the stained-glass dome. Moonlight spilled through in fractured shards, casting fractured colors on the polished stone.
The pendant lay heavy on his chest.
In the floor's polished stone, his reflection blinked back.
Only his.
He exhaled.
"You made sure I could choose," he whispered. "Then I choose to fight."
Somewhere behind him, faintly, a whisper in the glass:
"Good. Then be ready."
---
**End of Chapter Nineteen**