If I had one golden rule for surviving this new, magic-infested chapter of my life, it would be this:
Never let the ex-Demon Queen near magical artifacts.
Especially not the ones labeled "soul-revealing mirrors—DO NOT TOUCH without instructor supervision."
But of course, today was "Magical Self-Discovery Day" at the Academy.
And I had a bad feeling from the second Rhea came skipping out of the classroom with a suspicious grin and a faint smell of sulfur.
"Elias," she said, tugging on my sleeve, "do mirrors normally scream?"
"...What kind of scream?"
"The terrified kind. It cracked a little. I think it was flattered."
"Rhea. What did you do?"
"I looked at it."
"You... just looked?"
"I may have flared my aura. A tiny bit. For dramatic effect."
"How tiny is 'tiny' to you?"
"Three percent. Maybe six. Seven if you round."
It all started that morning during Ms. Nettle's "Magical Self-Awareness & Soul Projection" class, which already sounded like a self-help book disguised as schoolwork.
The Mirror of Mana was the centerpiece: a floating, silver-rimmed oval embedded with runes, suspended by levitation charms. It was enchanted to reveal the true inner self of whoever looked into it.
Supposedly, it helped young mages find their magical affinity and understand their emotional alignment.
For most kids, it showed things like a glowing version of themselves holding flowers, or a fox tail if they liked illusions.
For Rhea?
It showed a full-grown woman on fire, wearing a crown of horns and holding the world in one hand.
Ms. Nettle fainted on the spot.
The mirror let out a very dignified crrrraaaack down the middle.
Someone screamed "THE END IS NIGH" from the back of the classroom.
And Rhea, of course, just blinked and said, "Well. That's new."
By the time I arrived—dragged by a panicked call-crystal message—the classroom was in chaos.
One of the other students was trying to exorcise the mirror using a holy water spray bottle. Another had set up a betting pool about whether Rhea was possessed or just "really, really misunderstood."
I found her sitting in the hallway, legs swinging off the bench, humming to herself and munching on a caramel cookie.
"I'm not in trouble," she said proudly. "I'm just... pre-suspended."
"Pre-suspended?"
"The principal said it's more efficient at this point."
"What happened?" I asked.
"I looked inside. And she looked back."
"Who?"
She shrugged. "Me. But... not me."
She went quiet for a while, which was always a bit unnerving. Rhea wasn't built for silence.
Finally, she said, "I wasn't scared."
"That's... honestly more terrifying."
"She looked like me. All grown up. Same eyes. Same everything. But she had this... smile."
Rhea glanced down at her hands. "And flames. So many flames. She looked like a queen. Not like the old me. Like a new one. One who still wanted things."
"What kind of things?"
She was quiet again. "I don't know yet. But I think I'll like her."
We walked home early, since the school had called a "spiritual contamination reset" on the classroom. I offered to carry her backpack.
She refused. "Queens carry their own burdens."
"Alright, Your Majesty."
"Flattery will get you extra homework help."
Later that night, as I tried to clean soot off her sleeves, I decided it was time to talk about the elephant in the mirror.
"You know," I said, handing her a warm mug of honey milk, "your reaction to seeing a flaming version of yourself was... impressively chill."
She took a long sip before answering. "I think it's because... I used to be that. The burning part. The queen part."
"And now?"
"Now I'm just... Rhea. But I guess... part of her is still in me. Not evil. Not cruel. Just... powerful. Waiting."
I swallowed. "You're not afraid of becoming her again?"
She gave me a sidelong glance. "Are you afraid I'll become her again?"
I paused.
Then said the truth: "Sometimes. But mostly, I'm afraid you think that's all you are."
Rhea blinked at me. Then, to my complete surprise, she climbed onto the couch next to me and leaned against my shoulder.
"I don't want to be her again," she murmured.
"Why not?"
"She was always alone."
I let that sit for a moment.
"Not anymore," I said.
She yawned. "Good. Because I have a new plan."
"Oh no."
"I'll become a better queen. One with hugs and caramel diplomacy."
"That's... very specific."
"Also a battle wolf. But we'll get to that."
That night, she didn't write in her journal like usual.
Instead, she left a single note on my desk:
"The mirror cracked. But I didn't.
That has to mean something, right?"
The next morning, she was officially suspended for three days. Again. I tried to argue she hadn't technically broken anything.
"She didn't touch the mirror," I pointed out. "It cracked on its own!"
"Yes," the principal sighed. "Because it was overwhelmed by her... soul fire, Mr. Elias."
"Which she can't turn off! That's like punishing a candle for being too flamey."
"Please leave before she turns the fountain into lava again."
As we walked out of the school for the fourth time this semester, Rhea looked up at me with a tired expression.
"Elias."
"Yeah?"
"Next time I look in a mirror and see someone scary... can you remind me I'm still me?"
I ruffled her hair.
"Only if you promise not to hex the next one into molten glass."
"No promises."
To be continued…