Chapter 22: Mirror of the Mind

Morning brought no warmth. The sun hung low behind a veil of clouds, pale and uncertain, casting a gray pall over the school grounds. Amara hadn't slept. Elara stayed close, her presence grounding, but the tension in her shoulders said she, too, had felt it.

The echo's eyes.

They were still there when she closed her own.

And the whisper—faint, yet constant—had begun to call her name.

Amara sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. The lines in her palm had changed. The lifeline forked now, one path curving dark and sharp like a blade. She traced it with her thumb.

"What if she wants my life?" she whispered.

Elara looked up from the book she was reading. "She is your life—or part of it. A splinter, maybe. A memory walking."

Amara shook her head. "No. I feel her like a shadow, but one that moves even when I'm still. She wants more than to exist. She wants to take over."

Nyla knocked once before entering, eyes hollow with worry. "She was at the north tower last night," she said. "Several students claimed to see you wandering there past midnight."

Amara looked up. "It wasn't me."

"I know. But no one else does."

"What did she do?"

"Nothing—yet. Just stared at them. Smiled. Walked through a wall like smoke." Nyla glanced at Elara, then back to Amara. "We need to find a way to trap her. Bind her before she can fully manifest."

"But how do you trap yourself?" Amara asked.

The question hung in the air.

In the Mirror Room—an ancient place under the eastern wing—they thought they'd find answers. It was said to reflect not only one's appearance but one's soul.

Together, the three of them entered the room. Dust danced in the thin light slanting through the high stained glass. The mirror at the center stood taller than a man, rimmed with silver and carved with runes that pulsed faintly as they approached.

"Stand in front of it," Nyla instructed.

Amara nodded. Her heart thundered.

She stepped before the mirror.

At first, only her reflection stared back.

Then… it changed.

The mirror-Amara blinked out of sync with her. Her smile curled with cruel knowing. And behind her… a shadow twitched.

Amara gasped. The reflection moved toward the glass—pressing her palm against the surface.

Amara stepped back.

But the mirror-Amara stayed.

Nyla shouted, "She's in the realm between! She's trying to cross!"

Suddenly, a crack splintered across the mirror. Then another.

Glass began to fall like teardrops of ice, and the reflection laughed. No sound. Just the twist of her lips.

"Seal the runes!" Elara screamed, rushing to draw sigils with chalk.

Nyla joined, chanting a binding spell in a forgotten tongue. The runes flared. The mirror shimmered and then—

Silence.

The reflection vanished.

But so had half of the mirror.

Only Amara's face remained on one side.

On the other—emptiness.

"We have one chance," Nyla breathed. "One way to seal her for good."

Amara turned to her, eyes burning. "Tell me."

"You must return to the Dream Vale. Face her there—where she was born. Only then can you rewrite the echo. Turn her into memory."

"Or let her become me forever," Amara said softly.

Elara took her hand. "I won't let her take you."

Amara squeezed it. "Then come with me. Into the Vale."

Elara nodded without hesitation. "Always."

That night, they prepared the ritual. Incense. Salt. Blood. And memory.

They laid in a circle, hands joined, chanting the old rhyme Nyla taught them.

And when the wind stopped—

So did time.

Their eyes closed.

And they fell—

Back into the Dream Vale.

Where nothing was real.

But everything could hurt.