Mirrorwalk

The sigil pulsed once beneath their hands—soft, brief—and then dimmed into the stone.

For a breath, everything held still.

Then came the shift. A curling wind, cold and unnatural, swept past them like a whispered secret. It coiled along the hedges, tugged at cloaks and hair, and left behind the faintest scent of iron and frost.

Rhydian’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve marked the checkpoint. That witch didn’t lose our trail—she left a trace curse.”

Thea hissed through her teeth. “Which means they know exactly where we are.”

Eires stepped back from the glyph-stone, shadows twitching beneath her feet. “So where to now?”

Ahead, the path forked again—two routes only this time. One was a staircase spiraling down into pitch-black stone, the other a corridor lined with tall, flawless mirrors. The glass reflected more than just their appearances—it shimmered faintly with inner light, warping their images ever so slightly.