The Hall of Silence had never been truly silent.
Not in the way one imagined silence to be—a blank absence of sound. No, this silence whispered. It had weight. It pressed against skin, wormed its way into thoughts, and echoed with the breath of ancient rituals long buried beneath time.
Deep beneath the Academy's central tower, Zyren walked alone through a passage forgotten by most. The entrance was hidden behind a rusted bookshelf in the alchemy wing, concealed beneath illusory magic only someone with blood rights or blind luck could discover. It reeked of old paper, dust, and something else—power.
Zyren's footsteps were measured. The moonstone pendant at his chest pulsed, softly at first, then stronger with each step down the cold, spiraling staircase. Shadows shifted along the curved walls, and glyphs—long dormant—shivered as he passed. Some flared faintly, remembering his blood. Others simply watched.
He reached the bottom after what felt like an eternity of descent.
A door stood before him: obsidian veined with living silver, its surface carved with mirrored runes that moved slowly when he blinked. He reached out. The moonstone, warm now, met the door's sigil.
Click.
The sound was not mechanical. It was... alive.
The door opened.
The room beyond was circular, domed, and draped in velvet darkness. Cold stone floors bore the faint marks of chalk spells long since erased by time or denial. The air shimmered faintly, like heat rising off summer stone, though the room was frozen enough that his breath misted in front of him.
The mirror stood at the center.
Tall. Framed in silver. Black as night.
Its surface, polished obsidian, reflected nothing.
Zyren stepped forward, heart heavy with memory and weight.
He knelt.
Selene hadn't taught him the ritual directly. She'd whispered fragments to him in the space between dreams and dusk, smuggled texts out of the echo-locked vaults. The rest he'd learned himself—scribbled into notebooks, stolen from cracked tomes bound in stitched skin, half-deciphered from mirrored runes etched on sunken ruins deep beneath Concord ruins.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the chalk.
Its tip was worn. He had practiced this. Dozens of times. But never here.
Slowly, precisely, he drew a sigil around the mirror's base: three loops spiraling outward from a central point. Anchor. Memory. Shadow. Three principles. Three truths. Three rules.
The chalk broke as he drew the final line.
The pendant on his chest flared, heat blooming across his skin like fire.
Zyren inhaled sharply.
The mirror's surface rippled.
At first, he thought it was his reflection. But no—it blinked once, then stepped aside.
And she appeared.
Silver-eyed. Barefoot. Wreathed in fog. She stood in the space beyond the glass like a ghost born from light and sorrow. Her presence wasn't forceful—but it resonated. Her body was insubstantial, half-dream, half-magic, and the world around her shimmered as though rejecting her very existence.
Her voice didn't echo in the room. It vibrated inside him.
"You remembered."
Zyren stepped closer. "I never forgot."
"You were supposed to forget," she replied, her voice trembling like a thread pulled too tight. "That was the bargain she made."
Zyren's breath caught. "My mother?"
The Echo nodded. Slowly. Sadly.
"When she severed the thread, part of you shattered. That part… was me."
Zyren stared at her, words lodged behind disbelief. Her eyes met his—not pleading, but achingly familiar. Not a stranger, not a phantom.
Something more.
"You dream because I bleed," she said. "I wake when you suffer."
He swallowed hard, a hundred questions spiraling in his chest. "Why are you still trapped?"
"Because Kael is building something with the shards. And because I'm still tethered to the Veil—through you."
Her form flickered.
He reached out, palm grazing the glass. "Then help me reach you. Tell me how."
Her voice cracked.
"You already are."
And the mirror cracked.
Just once.
A hairline fracture split the surface. Tiny. Delicate. Impossible.
Then—
Snap.
She vanished. The ripple collapsed.
The connection broke.
Zyren stood alone again in the Hall of Silence, heart hammering in the void she left behind.
---
Wind howled through the north halls of the Academy. The air tasted sharp, metallic, charged with a spell not yet cast.
Mira raced up the spiral stairs to the archive vault, boots pounding against marble. Her cloak fluttered behind her like a banner in a storm. Spell-light danced at her fingertips, ready to burn.
Alaric followed close behind. His sword was still sheathed, but his presence was no less dangerous. He was calm—always calm—but his jaw was clenched, eyes alert.
Corwin's message had been clear.
"Something's wrong. Memory vault's pulsing. Scrolls are going dark."
When they reached the top, the door to the central vault was wide open.
And Kael stood inside.
He turned at their arrival, as if he'd expected them all along. He looked… relaxed. Pleased, even. Like this was all a formality.
"I was wondering who they'd send."
Mira didn't waste time. Her blade was out, pointed at his chest.
"Step away from the vault."
Kael didn't move.
Instead, he placed his hand gently on a scroll laid open before him—one of the original Concord bindings, etched with mirrored ink.
It turned to black mist.
Alaric growled, stepping forward. "What did you just erase?"
Kael smiled, eyes glinting. "A failsafe."
Then, before either of them could react, he vanished. No spell. No portal. Just gone. The space he occupied fell still like a ripple settling in a pool.
Mira bolted toward the scrolls. Alaric followed, scanning the damage.
Three scrolls—gone.
Vanished. Dissolved. Unrecoverable.
"What did he do…" Mira whispered.
Alaric's fist slammed into the wall.
"We're running out of time."
---
The Grand Amphitheater shimmered beneath the stars. Cold wind danced through the gathering students, all cloaked in navy and silver. It should have been a night of ceremony and tradition. Instead, it was uneasy, like a play missing its lead.
Headmaster Caldus stood beneath the open sky, hands folded, ceremonial robes swaying in the breeze.
"Despite recent disturbances," he announced, "the Winter Ascension Trek will proceed."
Whispers broke out immediately. Fear. Confusion. Protest.
The Ascension Trek was sacred. A test of strength, magic, endurance. But it was also dangerous—especially now.
Professor Raleen joined him. "Selected apprentices will leave in three days. Magical boundaries will be enforced. Guides will accompany you."
No one clapped.
Zyren stood near the back, eyes scanning the crowd. He found Lysia on the opposite side, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Their eyes met.
No words were spoken.
But in that moment, everything was agreed.
---
The observatory tower was dark but for starlight and a single floating crystal orb casting a pale glow.
Zyren rolled out the map on the table. Everyone was there—Lysia, Mira, Alaric, Corwin, Selene, Fira, Leona.
He tapped a silver ring marked near the edge of the Wildlights.
"The mirror anchor is waking. She's tied to it. We use the Trek as cover, break off at the third camp, and go south."
Silence.
Then Alaric. "If they find out, we're done."
Lysia: "Then we don't let them find out."
Corwin grinned. "Finally. Something fun."
Selene's voice was low, tight. "Kael will anticipate this. He wants the mirror whole. He'll come for you."
Zyren nodded. "Then we get there first."
Mira leaned closer to Alaric. "We go together. All of us."
Fira muttered, "Madness."
Leona, the quietest, finally spoke. "Then we move. At dawn."
They all looked at Zyren.
He looked back.
It had begun.
---
Night deepened.
The stars wheeled overhead, cold and bright.
Zyren returned to the Hall of Silence alone.
This time, he did not kneel.
He stood before the mirror and simply placed a hand against its surface. The room was still, the candles extinguished.
A shimmer.
Then, a figure stepped forward.
It was him.
But… not him.
Paler. Thinner. Eyes hollow, skin drawn. And beside this other-Zyren was the silver-eyed girl, pressed close to his side. Her eyes locked with Zyren's. Desperate. Pleading.
She mouthed it.
"Help me."
The image vanished.
From behind, a voice:
"We leave at dawn."
Lysia stood at the archway, arms crossed, sword on her back, coat slung over one shoulder.
No more needed to be said.
Zyren nodded.
And turned toward the dark.
---
**End of Chapter Twenty-One**