Whispers Beneath the Mountain

The echo of Elira's boots was the only sound in the winding corridor, deep beneath Serakar's Spine. The air grew colder with every step, thick with the weight of magic long buried. Violet veins pulsed faintly through the jagged stone—like the mountain itself still remembered the spellwork carved into its bones.

Kael followed a few paces behind, his sword drawn even though they both knew it wouldn't help. Steel had no use here—not against the kind of power they were walking toward.

Since the Temple of Binding, Elira had changed.

More assured. More quiet. Not fragile—no, never fragile—but as if something inside her had shifted off its axis. She moved like a storm wrapped in calm. Kael felt it in her silence, in the way her gaze lingered too long, like she was seeing more than just the world in front of her.

Maybe she was.

The Undying King wasn't a myth anymore. He was rising.

And Eryx—Kael's own blood—wasn't just caught in the tide.

He was the tide.

At the end of the corridor, the path split. Left, a stairwell slanted down into the Mirror Vaults—where it was said the Echo Mirrors could show you your truest self, no matter how much you lied. Right, a vaulted hall led into the Abyssal Archive, where generations of royal bloodlines were etched into obsidian.

Elira paused.

Her fingers skimmed the wall between paths, like she was listening for something beneath the stone.

"The mirrors," she said, almost to herself. "If he's hiding behind glamours, they'll see through it."

Kael nodded, though his jaw clenched. He hated the Vaults—hated what they revealed. Hated how thin the line was between truth and cruelty.

But he followed her anyway.

Torches sparked to life as they entered, flame dancing against the walls, casting flickers of their shadows—too tall, too thin, too strange. One looked like it had too many limbs. Another's head tilted just after they'd moved.

Kael's voice was quiet, but steady. "Are you still you?"

Elira didn't look back. "Mostly."

It wasn't the yes he wanted.

But it was the truth.

The Vault's door shimmered like black glass, seamless and cold. As Elira approached, it pulsed with soft light, recognizing her blood—pulling her in like a tide that knew her name.

It melted open.

Inside: silence. A cavernous chamber lined with towering mirrors—each taller than a man, their surfaces dark until approached. They didn't reflect. They revealed.

Elira stepped toward one. As her shadow touched the surface, the glass brightened.

And her breath caught.

It was her. But not.

Her skin was glowing like coal, her eyes hollow with flame. A crown melted across her brow, golden and broken. And below her, a field of bodies stretched like a sea of ash.

She stepped back sharply.

Kael's hand was on her arm in a second. "That's not you."

Her voice was low. "But it could be."

"No. That's his dream for you. Not your future."

She didn't answer. Just moved on.

Each mirror told a different story. Kael saw himself once in royal armor, sitting on a throne of blades, Elira beside him—chained. Another showed him alone in exile, carrying a child whose face felt too familiar.

They didn't speak of those.

Then, the last mirror.

Forgotten in a corner. Dustier. Smaller.

Elira stepped close.

And froze.

This one didn't show her.

It showed Eryx.

His eyes burned gold. His mouth curled in victory. And behind him—chained, beaten, silent—was her.

But what made her blood turn to ice was what came next.

The image moved.

"Elira," the reflection hissed. "I know where you are. You cannot hide. You carry the mark. Through it—I see."

Kael stepped in front of her so fast the mirror cracked with the force of his presence. His sword didn't touch it—but the image shattered anyway.

Silent.

But the damage had been done.

"He's tethered to me," Elira whispered. "When I entered the mirror realm—when I killed my reflection—something latched onto me. Him."

Kael's voice was hoarse. "Then we'll cut the link."

Her eyes flicked to him. "With what? You saw what kind of magic he wields. It's ancient. It's older than gods."

Kael stopped. Turned to her fully.

"Then we use what he doesn't have. What he never will. Choice. You didn't surrender. That matters."

She held his gaze.

"I won't," she said.

"I know."

They climbed in silence toward the Archive, higher through the mountain's spine. Elira's steps were slower now—each word Eryx had spoken seeming to weigh her bones down.

The Abyssal Archive was a cathedral of shadows and firelight. Names glowed on black stone, countless bloodlines woven like constellations.

Elira found her name etched high:Elira Veyrindrel, Daughter of Arlien, Last of the Silver Flame.

Beside it, an empty space.

A space for her child.

She turned away.

At the center burned the Archive Flame—blue fire that peeled away lies.

Kael stepped forward, unsheathing a small dagger.

"If we're going to unravel this," he said, "we need to know what part of you is his. What he's tethered to."

Elira nodded. And held out her hand.

The blade kissed her palm. Silver and red shimmered as her blood touched the flame.

It exploded.

Visions tore through the room—her mother, holding a child in the dark. A spell whispered into the newborn's mouth. A crown glowing with flame. And—

Another child.

Not a twin.

A mirror.

Born in another realm. Same blood. Same spark.

Split.

The prophecy had never been about one heir.

It had always been about two.

Light. And shadow.

Elira staggered back. "He's not just using me," she said. "He is me. A part of me that was severed. Made whole through the mirror."

Kael caught her before she collapsed.

"Then we do what we must," he said, voice low. "We kill what's trying to rot you from the inside. Even if it has your face."

Later, under the stars, campfire flickering between them, Kael finally spoke.

"When this is over," he said, voice soft, "when the King is gone, and the chain's broken… what do you want?"

Elira looked at the fire. Then him.

"To be free," she said. "Not a princess. Not a curse. Not someone's prophecy."

He nodded.

"And you?"

Kael hesitated. "To still be beside you. If I'm allowed."

She looked at him for a long time.

And then leaned in—pressing her lips to his. Slow. Sure. Not a promise.

But something like hope.

The fire crackled.

And far beneath them, in the still-shadowed Mirror Realm…

Eryx opened his eyes.

And smiled.