Chapter 12: The search
There were two choices: run, or finally stop running.
Kael had spent so long floating through life like a ghost in his own skin—ignoring the mirrors, ignoring the unease, pretending he wasn't unraveling. But that thing in the glass? The one with his face and the wrong smile?
It tore through the last of his denial.
He sat on the roof of the bunker, hood down, cold wind biting at his cheeks, anchor shard still in his hand like a security blanket. His fingers gripped it tightly, the edges pressing small grooves into his palm.
No more hiding.
No more pretending.
"I'm done being scared," he muttered. "I need to know. Even if it wrecks me."
The door behind him creaked. Noelle stepped out, arms crossed, her short curls tied up in a messy bun. "You're brooding like you're in a tragic coming-of-age film. Should I cue the indie soundtrack?"
Kael didn't look back. "You ever feel like you're not the original?"
That made her pause.
"All the time," she said. "But then I remember—copies don't bleed like this." She held up a knuckle, bruised and raw from training.
Kael glanced down at his hands. Still trembling. But steadier than before.
"I want to train," he said.
Noelle blinked. "Seriously?"
"I want control," Kael said, standing. "I want answers. I want to be strong enough to stand when the next thing wearing my face tries to crawl out."
A slow grin spread across Noelle's face. "Hell yes, Mirror Boy. Let's break something."
---
Training Room — Hours Later....
Kael hit the floor hard. Again.
Sweat slicked his curls to his forehead. His hoodie was long gone. He wore a black rune-lined shirt now, breath ragged, chest heaving like a drumline in chaos.
Noelle tossed him a water bottle. "Not bad. You lasted two seconds longer than last round. We love growth!"
Kael groaned. "Tell that to my spine."
"Whining is part of the process," she smirked. "You're rewiring muscle memory. Reclaiming pieces."
"I just feel like I'm being tossed around."
"That too," she admitted. "But also—progress."
Ziv joined halfway through, turning it into a full-blown chaos session. He threw charged orbs like dodgeballs, cackling every time Kael dodged too late.
Mara showed up out of boredom, heckling from the sidelines with snacks in hand. "He moves like a wounded duck," she said at one point. Kael flipped her off without breaking stance.
Renji never spoke, but he began drawing sigils under Kael's feet while he trained, silent protection or maybe calibration. Runes flickered every time Kael struck something.
Something strange was happening.
He wasn't just learning. He was remembering.
He knew how to pivot, how to land softly, how to absorb shock through his wrists instead of his shoulders. It felt old. Instinctive. Like his body had known all along.
Later, when he collapsed onto the mat, drenched in sweat and pride, he looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "I'm still here."
And for the first time in days, the mirror in the far wall didn't move.
---
Echo's POV..
From the observation room above, Echo watched everything in silence.
Kael had been adapting at a pace that worried him.
It wasn't just determination. It was raw reawakening.
Each movement was cleaner. His reflexes sharper. His magic was starting to respond before commands were even spoken. Echo's fingers drummed against the railing.
"Too fast," he murmured.
Juno appeared behind him, arms folded. "You're afraid of him."
"No," Echo replied. "I'm afraid of what's inside him."
Juno nodded slowly, watching Kael spar with Noelle, laughing now. "You think it's coming back?"
"I think it never left."
They watched as Kael channeled a ripple of energy from his fingertips. It left a shimmer in the air—barely visible, but wrong. Not like any magic Echo had trained in.
Echo muttered under his breath. "It's not mirror-born. It's something older."
---
He couldn't sleep.
Again.
But this time, he didn't pace. He didn't hide. He stood in front of the mirror in the hallway, shirtless, breath still steady from his post-training shower.
He stared at his reflection.
And for once, it stared back normally.
He reached out and touched the surface.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore," he whispered.
The glass stayed still. But just for a second, his own expression shimmered.
And shifted.
---
Cult HQ — Unknown Location...
Dark robes. Rows of broken mirrors. Candles dripping wax like blood.
A tall figure stood before a black-glass wall, hand pressed flat against it.
"He's remembering."
A voice responded from the dark. "Good. The gate cannot open until he does."
The figure smirked. "And once it does?"
Silence.
Then a whisper:
"Then we'll burn this world clean."