I didn't even have time to breathe… Barely blinked, and reality folded in on itself once more.
It felt like being yanked out of my own body — a sudden pull, not painful, but so abrupt the world spun in silence before stitching itself back together.
I was there. In the old family home. The living room wasn't small, but it wasn't big either — it was cozy, like a memory wrapped in nostalgia. Floral curtains swayed in the gentle breeze flowing through the open window, and the air was thick with the smell of fresh bread and butter, mingling with the woody scent of the old furniture.
"This damn mirror must be messing with me…" I muttered, a lump rising in my throat.
We were all at the table. Everyone — even the ones who'd never actually known that house. My parents, now older, living a stage of life they never really reached — soft wrinkles by their eyes, greying hair, but the same loving glow behind their gaze. My dad, carefree and beaming, laughing loudly with Carlos, who was up to his usual sarcasm and shameless charm, pulling out deep chuckles from the old man.
My mom laughed softly, utterly taken with Benjamin, who — somehow — was actually listening. Listening with real attention, his gentle eyes fixed on the stories of a housewife, stories about me… about what I was like as a kid. He didn't seem like the usual brute at all.
Elizabeth and Nicole sat nearby, whispering jokes and laughing like lifelong friends. Midori was right next to me, smiling tenderly — her golden eyes shimmering with a kind of warmth that made my chest ache.
Luca said nothing, but he smiled. Watching everyone with that quiet, thoughtful expression of his, like he wanted to capture the moment forever.
It was all… a little too perfect. And that's exactly what made me uneasy.
I looked down at my hands resting on the table. They were shaking. A slight shift of my gaze took me to the corner of the room.
There, leaning against the wall, was an old cabinet. On top of it, nestled among ceramic vases and photo frames I could no longer place in time, was a tall mirror embedded in the wall.
That's where I saw it. Saw me. My thin, lanky frame. The short, messy curls. And most of all… those brown eyes.
That was me. Or rather… who I used to be.
But I wasn't alone in the reflection. Behind that familiar face, something flickered in the glass — a crack in the illusion, as if reality itself couldn't quite decide which image to keep.
And there, between the fractures, I saw another "me." The new one.
The one with golden eyes. Dark hair with strange violet glints, like the night sky. Small hands, even for someone that age.
I looked for a moment… and then looked away. Not because I didn't recognize him.
But because I did.
I turned my gaze back to the table. To the smell of fresh bread. To the sound of laughter. To everything trying to hold me there.
I knew… I knew I wasn't that boy anymore — the one who needed his mom to clean his room, who asked his dad for help with homework. The same kid who burst with joy when he got his first gaming PC, who stayed up all night grinding on Ragnarok Online, happy to play solo — because he hadn't yet learned what it meant to have someone by your side.
I also wasn't Dalton anymore — the one who got into Oxford. Who laughed, danced drunk in the kitchen of a rented house, who was genuinely happy with his life.
'I've changed. And maybe… that's what hurt the most to admit.' I thought, while soaking in that moment.
It was warm, familiar… but fake. Still, it felt real. Too real. I felt the chair beneath my bones. Heard the birds chirping through the window. The smell of food made my mouth water, made me swallow hard.
Even knowing it was all a trap, even knowing it couldn't last… deep down… I wanted it.
I wanted it to be true. I wanted to let myself believe it. Just for a moment. Because the pain of the past is comfortable. And remembering when things were simple… is a sweet prison.
So, in my mind, I wanted only one thing. I wanted it to be true. I wanted to let myself believe. Just for a moment.
My father's laughter grew louder. Benjamin nudged me with his elbow, smirking like he was in on some secret. No idea what my mom had told him.
Elizabeth stood, glass in hand. "Let's make a toast!" she beamed.
I rose slowly. My eyes scanned the room again, looking for the crack in this perfect painting — not because I wanted to escape it, but because, deep down, I wished it wasn't a lie. I wished it was real.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why show me this now?"
Elizabeth looked at me, confused. "Alexander? Are you okay?"
But my question had the opposite effect. The world… trembled. The light flickered. The walls changed color. Laughter became repetitive — identical, robotic. A loop disguised as natural. A scene repeating. Restarting. Trying… trying to trap me. Like a theater set on autopilot.
I took a deep breath. The scent faltered. The perfection cracked. I stepped back.
"This isn't real…" I murmured, locking eyes with my mother.
She blinked. For the first time, her expression wavered. Froze, just for a second. Then, with a gentle but hollow smile, she said:
"But isn't this what you want?"
The world twisted. The illusion fought to hold together — and my consciousness fought against it. One side wanting to stay. The other… knowing it had to go.
The laughter turned to echo. The faces began to melt into blurred features, masks dripping like wax in the rain. The voices blurred into noise.
I looked at my parents. I knew it was impossible for them to be there like that. They had died. Long before growing old.
For a moment, I faltered. My eyes welled up. My throat clenched, as if old words, long buried, were clawing their way out. But then I closed my eyes and said, voice cracking, yet firm:
"In the end… there's no going back." I smiled — a forced smile, the pain leaking from my eyes. "That's what you always said, isn't it?" I said to my mother, even knowing she wasn't really there.
The tears came harder. "No use crying over spilled milk…" this time, I looked directly at my father.
Reality shuddered. A cold wind slashed through the scene like a blade. And everything unraveled. Like dust blown into the wind. I was alone again. Back in the void.
Alone. Heart heavy. Tears still streaking my face. But my spirit… a little steadier.
"Memento mori," I whispered to myself.
The reminder of death. The reminder that all things pass. That beautiful moments are beautiful because they're fleeting.
'Pain isn't weakness. Longing isn't a prison. And acceptance… doesn't mean forgetting.' I held that ache in my chest like something precious. Because it was mine. Because it was real.
✦ ✦ ✦
I took a deep breath, and when I opened my eyes, the room was gone.
Now, my body was sinking slowly into a thick, sticky muck, cold as ice, stinking of rotting flesh. The air was heavy, as if the earth itself struggled to breathe. Every step was a battle, as if the land wanted to pull me under, trap me.
Gnarled trunks rose like deformed hands reaching for the sky. The trees, bare and skeletal, bowed under the weight of time, their sharp, splintered branches poised like claws meant to pierce my skin. The ground hissed beneath me, as if the earth itself was alive — and in pain.
And then, they came. Grotesque creatures emerged from the murky water, their bodies twisted and misshapen. They were walking shadows, with closed eyes and mouths where none should be. Extra limbs were broken or absurdly stretched, like they'd been crafted by a mind that barely grasped what it meant to be human.
They hissed, murmuring words that sounded like echoes of my worst nightmares, and with every touch, a pulsing pain shot through my body. They were all around me, touching, surrounding.
But my mind stayed calm. "This is just another illusion."
It felt like a rational response, yet fear was already seeping in. I couldn't tell where the illusion ended and reality began.
They came closer. My body was nearly submerged. Their claws, sharp as blades, were ready to tear me apart. The pressure mounted. But my voice rose, solid, slicing through the nightmare:
"THIS IS JUST ANOTHER ILLUSION!"
In an instant, it all shattered — like a cloud blown away by wind. The swamp, the monsters, the heavy air… all gone in a single breath.
✦ ✦ ✦
When I opened my eyes again, the swamp was gone. I wasn't in the void anymore.
This time, I was standing before a grave.
Dalton. The name was etched into the cold, plain stone, no dates, no other words. The sky was overcast, and light drizzle fell on my face, each drop heavy with a dense, melancholic air. The grass around the grave was tall and unkempt, and wilted flowers lay beside the headstone like forgotten offerings.
A chill ran down my spine, and the sense that everything around me was disintegrating only grew stronger.
But then, the wind carried something else. As I turned, I saw more gravestones. Six of them at first, lined along an invisible path. And as I kept turning, more began to appear, each marked with a different name. Some of them I recognized — childhood friends, teachers, people I knew had passed. But I couldn't bring myself to look any closer.
Before the illusion could fully take shape, I shouted:
"ENOUGH!" And everything shattered once again.
✦ ✦ ✦
The third time, it happened again. Then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth — an endless procession of illusions, horrors, fears, nightmares, monsters, everything one could imagine — passed before my eyes. From galleries of distorted beings to landscapes that defied all logic. But before any of them could solidify, something within me stopped them. They weren't threats anymore; they had become mere shadows, powerless.
Pain, fear… though I knew them well. Now, I saw them only as failed attempts — not forces capable of consuming me, but hollow echoes, unable to hurt what remained of me. The power those illusions held over me had run dry. I didn't know where this strength inside me came from, but it was deep, unshakable — a quiet certainty that I would not surrender to suffering, nor be lost in temptation. Something within me, simple and resolute, prevented those feelings from taking root. Not that they didn't exist in me — but they no longer held power over my actions.
So, when I opened my eyes one last time, there was no place anymore — only absolute black. No ground, no sky, no sound. Nothing.
I walked in that void, and the void stayed still, like a mirror refusing to reflect anything.
"I never thought it would be this simple…" I thought, trying to process everything I had just gone through. Some illusions had been, strangely, tempting. Others, terrifying. Some truly miserable. But they were nothing more than empty promises — of comfort, of salvation. I didn't feel the despair the legends warned of — that paralyzing fear, the consuming madness, the overwhelming dread that supposedly couldn't be escaped.
Where was the gut-wrenching terror that should've taken hold of me? Instead, there was a calm void, a silence so complete it was almost comforting in its neutrality. Maybe it was my own resilience, or the feeling of having already faced the worst. The illusions had become nothing more than reruns of old pain — incapable of rekindling that primal fire of fear that, according to the stories, should've devoured me from the inside out.
But who would've thought that this apparent simplicity would be my greatest mistake? The worst thing about the demon mirror of Erebus wasn't just the illusions — it was its ability to adapt to its target. Through every vision, it had been learning, testing, figuring out how best to break me.
So here's the question: how do you shatter someone whose spirit rejects illusion? The answer was simple — nothingness.
And that's exactly what I got.
✦ ✦ ✦
"How long has it been?" I murmured, my voice dissolving into a non-existent echo. This time, unlike the white void I'd faced before, I had my full body with me. But it meant nothing: I could walk in any direction and get nowhere. I could scream, but no sound would leave my lips. I could try to harm myself, but even pain refused to manifest.
Every movement came with a sublime sense of helplessness. My steps, slow and unsure, marked the rhythm of a hopelessness that stretched endlessly. The air around me was thick and heavy, as if the absence of light and sound compressed every molecule while I searched — in vain — for something to fill that absolute emptiness.
In silence, hands hanging by my sides, eyes fixed on some arbitrary point in the hazy nothing, my heart raced and my mind fought to find reason, to find direction. No gesture, no expression could pierce the barrier the demon mirror had placed — it was as if nothing existed but pure absence, and the weight of non-being pressed mercilessly down on me.
"Me and my damn consciousness," I muttered, cursing the situation I was in. Unlike the previous illusions, which I could dissolve with sheer will, this one had dug in so deeply that nothing worked. It was like my own inner self refused to let go of whatever was anchoring me there.
In that trance-like state, time lost all meaning — I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and each passing minute felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Eventually, a question became inescapable: what's the point in moving when the space around you refuses to let you go anywhere?
I tried, with every ounce of will, to focus my mind, to recall the moments of triumph I had once lived through. But now, despite all my efforts, nothing happened. It was as if the void had solidified, turning into an immutable prison that bound me relentlessly to my own existence.
"Moments like this… I could really use the pup's company," I murmured, memories of simpler times blending with the weight I carried now.
"Right… where is he?" the thought echoed in my mind. I was certain he'd entered the mirror with me. Or, at least, that had always been the impression I carried. "But I don't remember seeing him — not even when I was talking to Galdric," I admitted to the silence surrounding me. Somewhere deep down, my mind insisted he had been by my side, like a constant shadow.
"Why did I assume he was with me all this time?" The question kept circling my thoughts, like an inner voice refusing to accept the truth.
Then, an image surfaced — the sword. The one Galdric had given me with such care — it flickered faintly in my memory, like a dim light at the end of a dark hallway.
"That's not here either!"