The first sign something was wrong came with the coppery taste in his mouth. Alaric von Drachenherz awoke drenched in sweat, the sheets clinging to his small frame. Dawn light filtered through the gothic stained glass, casting colorful patterns across his bed canopy. When he tried to rise, a wave of dizziness forced him back down.
"By the gods! That corpse-face again?"
Seraphine perched on the windowsill, her silhouette framed against the pink morning sky. Her practice uniform showed fresh burn marks at the cuffs, and she carried a familiar tome under her arm - *Principles of Elemental Pyromancy*, her basic textbook.
"How long...?" Alaric's voice came out rough, as if he'd swallowed glass.
"Three days." Seraphine dropped to the floor with feline grace. "The physician called it seasonal fever, but I know acting when I see it." She leaned in, golden eyes scrutinizing every detail of his face. "What in the nine hells really happened with that crystal?"
The book on his nightstand twitched. Just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough to make both siblings turn simultaneously. *The Treatise on Lost Miracles* lay there, its dark leather cover gleaming in the morning light.
"That wasn't there last night," Seraphine murmured, reaching cautiously.
Three sharp knocks interrupted them.
"Lord Alaric." The steward's raspy voice penetrated the door. "His Grace requires your presence in the study. Immediately."
Alaric's pulse quickened. He searched his sister's face for clues, but for the first time in three months, Seraphine's expression was utterly unreadable.
***
Duke Edric von Drachenherz's study smelled of old leather, ink, and something else... something acidic that tickled the back of Alaric's throat. Rotten lemons, perhaps.
"Enter. I haven't all day."
His father's voice came from across the room. Alaric stepped carefully, his small boots creaking against the oak floorboards. The duke stood before a massive glass cabinet, his spine straight as a sword.
"Magister Orlan insists the crystal incident was a calibration error," the duke began without preamble. "Claims the axiom crystal was flawed." He turned slowly, revealing what he'd been examining - a jagged mirror fragment whose edges caught the gaslight strangely. "But you and I know better."
The glass distorted his father's reflection into something... else. Alaric's neck hairs stood on end.
"Know what these are?" The duke gestured to the cabinet behind him.
Inside, dozens - perhaps hundreds - of mirror shards sat in individual compartments, each labeled with dates and the initials E.L.D.
"Your mother's broken mirrors," the duke continued. "She collected them. Said they... showed truths." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, just enough for Alaric to notice the fissure in his composure. "When she died, every mirror in the palace shattered simultaneously."
Alaric reached a trembling hand toward the cabinet.
"Don't touch them!" The duke's voice cracked like a whip. "Not yet." He knelt to eye level. "Tell me truthfully, boy. When you touched the crystal, what else did you see?"
The shard in his father's hand seemed to vibrate, casting dancing reflections across the study walls. Alaric felt pressure in his chest, as if something inside him strained to escape.
"I saw..." He swallowed. "Fractures. Like the crystal was broken inside."
The duke closed his eyes for a long moment. When they reopened, they held new resolve.
"Starting today, you'll have private lessons with me. And never - under any circumstances - reveal your true capabilities. Understood?"
Alaric nodded, but his attention was divided. In the mirror shard, for just an instant, he'd seen golden eyes that weren't his own.
***
Night fell over the palace like a heavy curtain. Alaric sat in bed with *The Treatise* open across his lap. The pages he'd read that morning had changed; now they showed a diagram of a human eye annotated in a language he only partially understood:
*"The parasite feeds on memory... oldest recollections fade first... day 47, host has lost 12% of original identity..."*
A tap at the window startled him. Not the wind - the night was utterly still.
"Alaric..." The voice was Seraphine's, but it came from outside, three stories up. "Let me in."
Trembling, Alaric approached the window. The figure clinging to the ledge had his sister's form, her haircut, even wore her favorite nightgown. But when it looked up, Alaric saw its eyes...
Were completely black.
"Hurry," the thing whispered in Seraphine's voice. "They're coming for you. The clocks are about to strike thirteen."
Behind it in the garden, shadows moved unnaturally. And within the darkness, dozens of golden pinpricks shone like cursed stars.
Back on his bed, *The Treatise* flipped violently to a new page where a single phrase appeared in what looked like dried blood:
*"Do not let the thing wearing your sister's face inside."*