The morning after the mirror trial, Jasiel awoke with the metallic taste of forgotten truth in their mouth. Light streamed in through the high, rune-etched windows of the Dusk Dormitories, but it was hollow. Artificial. As though the sun itself feared what might wake beneath the mountain.
They lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling where constellations shifted slowly across obsidian stone. Their fingers closed around something under their blanket: the shard. It pulsed softly with heat, as if remembering the forest and the figure on the throne.
"You're up early," Thorne said from across the room. He sat on the windowsill like a prince in exile, dressed in black robes threaded with iridescent violet. A book floated in front of him, flipping pages with slow deliberation.
Jasiel sat up, rubbing their eyes. "Did it happen? The door, the trial, all of it?"
Thorne tilted his head. "You're holding proof in your hand. Doesn't get more real than that."
"No one else remembers."
"Because they weren't meant to. That realm was invitation only."
Jasiel rose, tucked the mirror shard inside their satchel, and stretched. Their muscles still ached from the realm's impossible terrain. Their thoughts were heavier. Fractured.
"What do we do now?" they asked.
Thorne closed his book with a snap. "We find out why the Academy wants us quiet. And we start with the Archive of the Unwritten."
---
It wasn't on any map.
The Archive was buried beneath the West Wing, hidden behind an illusion ward keyed only to those who had once broken a vow.
Fortunately, Thorne had broken at least seven.
They slipped past patrolling wraiths, ignored the gaze of enchanted statues, and avoided stepping on floor tiles that blinked when touched. Jasiel could feel the mirror shard humming stronger the deeper they went, as though it recognized the gravity of this place.
At last, they reached it.
A simple door of unmarked black iron. It opened not with a spell, but with a whisper. Thorne leaned in close.
"I swore to my sister I'd never steal again," he said, voice trembling.
The door opened.
Inside was a cathedral of silence.
Towers of books stacked to the sky. Scrolls suspended in glass. Runes etched into chains that held words too dangerous to be read. And wandering through the aisles, barefoot and silent, were the Archivists: eyeless, robed in dust, made of ink and regret.
Jasiel followed Thorne, heart pounding. The mirror shard throbbed against their side like a second heartbeat.
"We're looking for any record of Mirror Law," Thorne whispered. "And for a name: Lira Taleth."
"Who's that?"
"A former student. Vanished thirty years ago. She broke the Archive's seal and was never seen again. Some say she became part of the library."
As they moved deeper, the temperature dropped. Shelves closed behind them. Time stuttered.
At last, they found it: a book with no title, sealed in a box of silver thorns.
The Archivist guarding it turned to face them, empty sockets weeping ink.
"Payment," it whispered.
Thorne stepped forward. He pressed a memory to the air: his first lie. A soft confession to a brother now dead. The air swallowed it with a sigh.
The box opened.
Inside, a journal. Pages written in a script that shimmered between languages. Jasiel opened it and read:
> They've lied to us. The Academy was built not to teach, but to cage. Mirror Law isn't lost. It's sealed. And those who can wield it are not students. They are prisoners.
The entries grew more erratic. Mentions of a mirror hidden beneath the Chapel of Echoes. A prophecy buried in the mouth of a dreaming god. A key, passed from liar to cheater to thief.
The last page was a drawing.
Of Jasiel.
"How is that possible?" Jasiel whispered.
Thorne didn't answer. His face had gone pale.
"We need to go," he said. "Now."
The Archivists were watching them.
And the books were beginning to whisper their names.
---
Back in the dormitory, they locked the door with three types of wards and placed the journal on the desk between them.
"This isn't just a school," Jasiel said.
Thorne nodded. "It's a crucible. They put us here to see what we become. To shape us."
"Or to erase us."
Jasiel touched the drawing. It wasn't ink. It was made from ash and blood. And it had been drawn before they were born.
"She knew me," Jasiel said. "This Lira Taleth. She wrote about me like I already existed."
"Prophecy?"
"Or memory."
They stared at each other. The silence between them wasn't empty. It was filled with possibilities. Questions.
"There's more," Jasiel said. "The shard. I think it's one of five. The figure said 'one key.' Maybe it meant there are more pieces."
Thorne smiled grimly. "Then we find them. All of them."
A knock came at the door.
Not a loud one.
Just three soft taps.
They looked at each other.
"Who is it?" Jasiel asked.
No answer.
The mirror shard flared with light.
And then the door opened on its own.
Outside stood a girl with eyes like the moon and hair of silver thread.
"You're not supposed to be alive," she said.
And the world turned again.