The Ones Who Watch
They didn't come from the gates.
They didn't come through the sky.
They came through the walls.
---
It began with the mirrors.
At first, we thought it was just a trick of light.
A shimmer, a twitch. A reflection that didn't quite match.
Then one morning, four girls from East Hall refused to leave their dorms.
They claimed they saw someone standing inside their mirrors. Watching. Smiling.
---
By evening, two mirrors cracked without warning.
By midnight, one had shattered.
---
The next day, Headmaster Rourke closed the East Hall.
"Water pipe issue," he said to the school.
But no one believed him.
Because the mirrors weren't leaking.
They were whispering.
---
Theo knew something first.
He came to my door at dusk, his sketchbook in one hand, his other clutching something wrapped in cloth.
He didn't smile.
> "They've begun moving," he said.
> "Who?"
He pulled the cloth back.
It was a mirror shard.
On it, a figure I didn't recognize was etched into the silver.
Not drawn. Not painted. Burned.
She had no eyes. Just a long veil that swirled like smoke.
> "I found this in the observatory window," he whispered. "It wasn't there yesterday."
---
Julian found us minutes later.
> "There's been a breach in the archives," he said, breathless. "One of the wards—it's been broken."
> "Was anything taken?" I asked.
He hesitated. "No. But something was left."
A small black feather. Still warm. Still humming.
We stared at it in silence.
Theo murmured, "They're not just watching anymore."
---
That night, I locked every mirror in my chamber behind cloth.
I lit every candle I owned.
But it didn't stop the dreams.
---
In the dream, I was in the north tower again — the place that had gone dark since the burning.
Except now, it was glowing red.
And there were figures.
Seven. Maybe eight.
Draped in black.
Veiled.
Whispering my name like a prayer… or a curse.
They held out a book.
Not the Book.
A new one.
Its cover was made of glass.
Inside, pages shimmered with mirror-like ink.
And when I tried to touch it—
I woke up screaming.
---
Theo was already waiting for me at the chamber door when morning came.
> "You dreamt of them, didn't you?"
I nodded.
He handed me a note.
It was written in a language I didn't know.
But beneath it was a single phrase, circled in red:
> The Watchers of the Rift.
---
Ravencroft hadn't spoken of them in years.
They weren't in any textbooks.
But Theo knew where to look.
In the underpages of the Headmaster's ledgers.
The old, unindexed grimoires.
The forgotten entries in the Keeper's diary.
---
They were the ones who waited.
For centuries, they lived in the quiet between mirrors. The shadows behind reflections. The pause between questions and answers.
They didn't act.
Until someone rewrote fate.
---
I had shaken the balance.
And now, they were waking.
---
Julian tried to rally the Council.
They ignored him.
> "This is superstition," said one prefect.
> "There are no Watchers," said another.
But two nights later, another mirror shattered.
And this time, someone bled.
---
Her name was Amina.
A first-year from the choir wing.
She'd tried to leave the school.
Made it to the main gate.
Collapsed before she reached it.
When they carried her back, her eyes wouldn't open.
And her reflection had disappeared.
Completely.
---
Theo and I stood by her bedside that night, in the infirmary lit by blue wards.
> "Do you think she saw them?" I asked.
> "I think they took what she saw."
He was gripping my hand too tightly.
I didn't ask him to let go.
---
The next morning, the Book opened again.
This time, no blood. No curses.
Just a single line:
> You are not the only one who can write.
Beneath it, a second message:
> They've opened their own chapter.
---
And then, the Book flipped to a blank page—
And kept turning.
Page after page.
All blank.
All cold.
Until the final one.
Where a single name appeared.
> Elena.
> They know.
---
I closed the Book. Locked it. Hid it.
But I couldn't silence the fear.
Because now I understood.
This wasn't about curses anymore.
This was war.