Aric hadn't meant to explore the North Wing.
In fact, Elder Mirabel had expressly said not to. "That wing is sealed for repairs," she'd told him the day before, with a tone that was polite but firm. "Some of its wards are unstable."
But something about the hall had been calling to him since the first time he passed it. A tug at the edges of his thoughts, subtle and persistent — like static at the edge of a frequency.
So when he saw the door slightly ajar that afternoon, curiosity did the rest.
He slipped through quickly, glancing back to make sure no one saw. The hallway beyond was dark and quiet, dust motes suspended in shafts of pale light. The runes etched along the walls were older here — less refined, more jagged. They pulsed faintly, like breathing.
The corridor seemed longer than it should've been.
Each step echoed strangely, as though space itself were warped. A cold draft followed him, despite no windows. And then — the hallway ended abruptly in front of a towering, arched mirror.
It stood alone, framed by curling iron vines that had long since rusted. Unlike everything else in Radiant Hall, it looked untouched by magic. Old. Forgotten.
Aric approached slowly.
At first, the mirror reflected only the hallway — distorted slightly by grime. But then, as he drew closer, the image began to shift.
His reflection wasn't copying him.
He stopped. His double stared back, eyes steady and strange.
Then, slowly, the reflection smiled — a crooked, knowing grin.
"You've been here before," it whispered.
Aric stumbled back. The voice wasn't loud, but it echoed inside his skull like it belonged there.
He looked around — no one else in sight. The corridor remained silent, the air thick with the scent of cold stone and something older.
He turned back to the mirror.
This time, his reflection matched him exactly. No smile. No sound.
What the hell…
He reached out. His fingers hovered just an inch from the surface. It was cold — impossibly cold. Not like glass. Like touching the void between moments.
He pulled his hand back and turned to leave, but froze.
For just a second, in the mirror's warped corner, he saw something else behind him.
A shape. A figure. Standing in the shadows.
But when he spun around — the corridor was empty.
---
Aric didn't mention the mirror when he rejoined the others that evening. What could he say? Hey, I found a creepy haunted hallway and my reflection talked to me?
So he sat through the illumination exercises in silence, barely listening as Master Veylan demonstrated the luminar glyph. His mind was elsewhere. Spinning.
He couldn't shake that smile. That voice.
You've been here before.
It wasn't just déjà vu. It was deeper. Sharper. Like someone had carved the memory into his bones and was waiting for him to remember.
---
That night, the dreams returned.
But this time, it wasn't the Core Relic or the twelve mirrors. It was the hallway. The mirror. Again and again. He walked to it, reached out, touched the surface.
And each time, his reflection changed.
One version wore a long cloak, bloodstained at the collar. Another had eyes glowing gold, veins of light crawling up his arms. One was older, scarred. Another wept silently, whispering "Don't do it again."
In the last one, his reflection was on fire — radiant fire, not burning — and it smiled sadly.
"Loop ninety-seven," it said.
Aric jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, heart thundering. He stared at the ceiling, now familiar in its beauty, its shimmering etched patterns.
But none of it felt safe anymore.
---
By morning, something inside him had changed.
He couldn't explain it, not even to himself. But he felt more awake. Not rested — not calm — but aware.
Like a page had turned, and only he had noticed.
The mirror had shown him something. Or maybe reminded him of something he wasn't ready to face.
He needed answers.
And he had a feeling he'd find them in the strangest places — places no one else wanted to look.