The Mirror of Silence

Thunder rolled across the night sky, rattling the old windows of Blackthorn Manor. Aarav and Maya stood frozen, their eyes locked on the blood-written words on the wall:

"THE BLOOD MOON RISES."

The silence between them was suffocating. The dim candlelight trembled against the crimson letters, as if the words themselves were breathing.

Finally, Maya spoke, her voice low and steady.

"We need to find the Seven Mirrors. That's how the ritual was powered."

Aarav's brow furrowed.

"You mean… actual mirrors?"

Maya nodded. "Each one is a vessel. They hold something — trapped spirits, fragments of memory… maybe even pieces of Ambrose himself. We can't let them awaken."

Aarav swallowed hard, the weight of the pendant against his chest suddenly heavier.

"Where do we start?"

Maya's gaze shifted, cold and certain.

"The nursery."

Aarav felt a chill run down his spine.

"There's a nursery?"

Maya's expression darkened.

"Yes. And something still lives there."

The east wing of the manor had always felt wrong to Aarav. Even during the day, its corridors were dimmer, colder. Tonight, the hallway stretched like an endless throat of shadows. The old wallpaper, once pale green, curled and peeled in places like dead skin.

At the far end stood a pale wooden door, delicately carved with flowers that had long since lost their charm. A faint sound drifted through the wood — the unmistakable tune of a child's lullaby.

Aarav froze mid-step.

"Do you hear that?"

Maya's face was pale.

"Yes. That's not good."

With a slow, deliberate motion, she pushed the door open.

The nursery looked as if time had stopped a century ago. Toys were neatly arranged in wooden shelves. A rocking horse stood in the corner, its painted eyes watching them. A cradle, draped in yellowed lace, swayed gently… though no wind touched it.

And then they saw it.

On the far wall, an oval mirror stood tall, framed in tarnished gold. At the top of its frame, etched into the metal, was the Eye of Thorns — the same cursed symbol that haunted the house.

The door slammed shut behind them with a deafening crack. Aarav jumped.

"No, no, no—"

Maya didn't even flinch.

"Stay close to me."

The room's temperature plummeted, their breath misting in the air. Aarav's heart pounded as a high-pitched giggle echoed from somewhere in the nursery — soft, playful, and horribly out of place.

He turned slowly toward the mirror. His own reflection stared back — pale, tense, eyes wide. But then, another figure appeared.

A child.

A boy no older than seven, standing beside Aarav's reflection, though he wasn't in the room. His face was ghost-white, and his eyes… empty black voids.

Aarav's voice caught in his throat.

"Maya…"

The boy raised a hand and began writing something backward on the mirror's glass. The letters formed, trembling, as though etched by unseen nails:

"HE TOOK MY NAME."

Maya's expression softened with a strange mixture of pity and fear.

"That's the spirit. He's been trapped since 1899."

The boy suddenly pressed both palms against the glass, his mouth opening in a silent scream. The mirror shuddered under his touch, as though trying to break.

"What do we do?" Aarav asked, panic creeping into his voice.

Maya reached into her satchel and pulled out a small chalk circle inscribed with runes. She knelt and placed it on the floor between them and the mirror.

"We release him."

Aarav stared at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Release him? Are you insane?"

Her voice was firm.

"If we don't, he'll turn into a Wailer. Once the Blood Moon rises, every spirit like him will feed on the living."

The mirror began to crack — thin black lines crawling across its surface like spiderwebs. A silent scream ripped through Aarav's mind, the sound not reaching his ears but shaking his thoughts apart. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head.

"Maya—"

Maya had already begun chanting, her voice weaving through the storm outside. It wasn't English. It was older, raw, the syllables scraping the air like iron on stone.

The boy in the mirror stared at them, his empty eyes glistening with a strange kind of hope. He placed his hand against the glass.

"Come on, come on…" Maya muttered, her hands trembling as she finished the chant.

The sound stopped. All at once, the temperature in the room returned to normal. Aarav looked up, breathless. The mirror was no longer cracked. The boy was gone.

In his place, written across the glass in glowing golden letters, was a name:

"Jacob Blackthorn."

Aarav stared at the name.

"Who was he?"

Maya stood slowly, her eyes fixed on the glowing letters.

"The first seal. One of the souls bound by Ambrose's ritual. We've freed him. That's one down."

She turned to Aarav, her face tense.

"Six more to go."

Aarav swallowed hard.

"So if we free all seven, the ritual stops?"

Maya hesitated — and that hesitation chilled Aarav more than anything else.

"No. This… just slows them down. The real gate is still waiting. And it's beneath this house."

Aarav's voice dropped to a whisper.

"And how do you know that?"

Maya looked away, her fingers tightening around her journal. For a moment, Aarav saw a flicker of something in her eyes — fear, but also guilt.

"Because I've been there… before."

The storm outside thundered, rattling the walls. For the first time, Aarav wondered if Maya's connection to this place ran deeper than she was willing to admit.