The candlelight trembled across the walls of Elara's chamber like it, too, feared what she had seen.
Lyra's last memory replayed in her mind: the cloaked man's face partially veiled in firelight, his fingers outstretched, the Mirror Gate behind him pulsing with dark energy—and one impossible detail seared into her soul.
He had no shadow.
Elara jolted upright from the cold floor where she'd fallen asleep in her clothes, sweat beading her brow. The scent of ancient ashes and burned parchment still lingered in her nostrils.
She barely had time to reach for her boots before Rhys burst through the doorway.
"I felt it again," he said. "The mirrors vibrated in the Hall of Silence. You saw something, didn't you?"
"I saw him, Rhys. Talren. The one who betrayed Lyra. He's alive."
Rhys stilled. "That's not possible."
"He wore no shadow," she said, voice hoarse. "Just like in Lyra's memory. And the mirrors—they're reacting to him."
"That name hasn't been spoken aloud in years," Rhys muttered. "The Council struck it from all records. Even the Mirror Cloaks were sealed. But if he's back"
"He never left," Elara cut in. "He's hiding here in the Sanctum. Somewhere deep."
Rhys's hand drifted to the dagger at his belt. "Then we go deeper."
…..
The passage to the Library of Whispers opened only to those carrying Mirrorblood.
It was a relic buried under the Sanctum's foundations, hidden beneath a false floor in the Archive Hall. As a child of mirror-lineage, Elara placed her palm to the obsidian slab. Silver runes bloomed under her skin like frost, and the stone dissolved into swirling fog.
They descended into silence.
Dust choked the air, clinging to rows of bound spellbooks and scrolls that hadn't been touched in decades.
"This place was abandoned after Lyra's death," Rhys whispered.
"No," Elara said. "It was hidden because of her death."
In the far corner, Elara found what she wasn't sure she wanted: a Mirror Log, humming faintly with forbidden magic. When she touched it, it opened with a hiss of static and voice. A phantom image played midair.
Lyra stood, younger, eyes burning. "We cannot trust Talren. His reflection wavers. Even the mirrors deny him."
A pause. Her voice softened. "But I loved him. And he will be my undoing."
The vision faded.
Elara swallowed hard. "She knew."
Rhys held out a scroll, hand shaking. "Look at this. One of the Mirror Cloaks Talren's—was never recovered. It's listed as cursed. Capable of suppressing a wearer's shadow."
"Which is why no one could follow him," Elara whispered. "Not even light could trace his steps."
"Then he's more than alive," Rhys said grimly. "He's hunting."
Suddenly, the air thickened.
A presence coiled around them, ancient and oppressive.
The temperature plummeted. Candles flickered violently.
Then came the voice.
Low. Calm. Echoing from everywhere at once.
"You've found more than you should."
Elara spun around, her pulse spiking. A man emerged from the dark tall, cloaked in obsidian fabric that shimmered like oil in moonlight.
No shadow followed him.
Talren Vale.
His eyes glinted like blades honed in secrets. Not rage. Not sorrow. Something colder.
Recognition.
"Elara," he said, as if greeting an old friend. "Or should I say… Lyra's cage."
Rhys stepped forward, blade drawn. "Get away from her."
With a flick of his fingers, Talren's mere glance shattered the blade into mirrored dust, scattering across the library floor.
Elara stood her ground, heart pounding.
"You betrayed her. Why?" she said.
Talren tilted his head. "She was going to rip this world apart to save it. I did what had to be done."
"You killed her."
"I tried to end her before the Mirror did," he snapped, voice cracking. "But she left a shard behind. In you. That wasn't part of the plan."
He raised his hand. A black rune flared across his palm.
"Now I must correct what I failed to finish."
Suddenly, the torches blew out plunging them into pure black.
Rhys grabbed Elara's hand, pulling her behind a shelf.
"Elara, run !"
A crash. A burst of arcane force. Then silence.
When the light returned, Talren was gone.
In his place, a scorched symbol burned into the floor: a spiral rune surrounded by Mirror glyphs.
Elara knelt, reading aloud the words written in flame:
"Come to Teralyn. Alone. Or I burn what's left of her."
...
Later that night, Elara stared at her reflection in the Mirror Hall.
But it wasn't her.
Lyra stared back.
Her hair silvered, eyes glowing faintly blue. Her expression wasn't one of warning but… sorrow.
"He wasn't wrong," the reflection whispered. "You saw what I almost became."
"What are you still hiding from me?" Elara whispered.
The reflection blurred. Shifted.
Then spoke with a voice that wasn't hers.
"There's more of me inside you than you realize. Talren knows. He will come to take it."
Rhys entered the hall just in time to see the mirror crack from top to bottom.
"Elara?" he said.
But she didn't answer.
Because her reflection was still staring at her… smiling.