The Mirror Cracked

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Mirror Cracked

The road into the Whispering Wood was older than Riverfort.

It wasn't marked on any map. No signposts. No carved stones. Only a thin trail worn into the grass by centuries of wind and feet long vanished. Few dared to follow it. Fewer returned.

But for Talen and Lira, this wasn't a choice.

It was a calling.

The trees thickened as they walked. Not just in number—but in presence. The farther they went, the quieter the world became. Birdsongs stopped. No insects buzzed. Even the breeze dared not rustle the canopy.

Talen glanced at Lira.

She walked with calm steps, but her eyes shimmered with alertness.

"You feel it too?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "Something here remembers."

They camped that night at the foot of a sunken glade. The moonlight didn't reach them. Only a cold blue glow pulsed faintly between the roots.

Lira traced her fingers across the moss-covered stones.

"It's close."

Talen stared into the darkness, heart quickening.

"Where?"

She didn't speak.

She pointed.

By morning, they found it.

A clearing deep in the wood, circular and sunken like a forgotten arena. In the center stood a stone pedestal—cracked and twisted. Upon it, shards of glass lay scattered like frozen tears.

A mirror.

Or what remained of one.

Even broken, the frame shimmered gold.

This was it.

The Cracked Mirror.

Talen stepped toward it.

The air thickened. His boots scraped against moss and ash. He knelt beside the pedestal and touched one of the fragments.

A voice exploded in his skull.

"This is not your face."

He jerked back, breath ragged.

Lira knelt beside him.

"I heard it too."

She picked up a different shard.

It pulsed.

A flicker of light—then a vision.

A child stood in front of the mirror, cloaked in silver, voice trembling as they whispered their name:

"I am Valis."

Then the image shattered again—just a flash of memory held in the glass.

Talen stood, pacing.

"This mirror was broken to hide something. Or someone."

Lira gently turned the largest shard in her palm. It reflected not her face—but Nyra's. Younger. Angrier. Covered in ash.

She gasped. "Nyra broke this."

Talen looked over.

"No. She buried it."

A sudden wind swept the clearing.

Cold. Bitter.

It carried whispers.

Not words. But echoes of pain.

Then—movement.

From the edge of the glade, something stepped forward. Tall. Gaunt. Dressed in roots and ash and chains of silvered bark.

Its face was hidden beneath a broken mask.

But its eyes burned with recognition.

Talen reached for his blade.

Lira grabbed his wrist.

"Don't. It's not here to harm us."

The creature stopped ten feet away.

And spoke.

"You are the Heir of Valis."

Talen stepped forward, cautiously.

"Who are you?"

"The Shardkeeper. I guard what remains of the truth."

Lira narrowed her eyes. "Truth about what?"

The Shardkeeper's voice wavered—ancient and cracking like stone under fire.

"That mirrors do not show what is. They show what was meant to be… before fear rewrote the world."

Talen's breath caught.

"What happened to Valis?"

The Shardkeeper lowered its head.

"Betrayal. The Voicekeeper was never meant to speak alone. But when the others fell silent… he sang anyway."

Lira asked, "And the crown punished him?"

The creature shook its head.

"Worse. The people forgot him. And forgetting is the cruelest death."

The Shardkeeper reached out a long hand, offering a single shard of the mirror—larger than the rest.

"This piece still remembers."

Talen took it, hands shaking.

The shard pulsed warm.

And in that moment, he saw himself.

Older. Wiser. Cloaked in gold and storm.

Standing before six mirrors, each one shining with memory.

And behind him—Lira. Wearing no crown, but commanding stars.

He staggered back, breath shallow.

"What was that?"

The Shardkeeper spoke:

"A fragment of the Seventh Sight. One step toward becoming what the world forgot you could be."

Then the Shardkeeper crumbled.

Not in pain.

In peace.

Dust and root returning to earth.

Silence followed.

Then birdsong returned.

Lira looked around, blinking in the sudden light.

"It's gone."

Talen held the shard tightly.

"No. It gave us what we need."

They returned to the forest edge by sunset, the fragment wrapped in cloth, its pulsing warmth still constant.

Talen looked back once at the path.

"Do you think the other mirrors will be this… intense?"

Lira exhaled.

"No. I think they'll be worse."