Back at Emberhold, things had changed. The usual lazy checkpoint now bristled with twice the number of guards, all fully armed and alert. The gates were sealed tighter than before, and carts were being checked thoroughly. Getting in unnoticed was out of the question.
They watched from the cover of the tree line near the road.
"We'll never get through like this," Dave muttered, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "They're not messing around."
Harlic stepped forward, his expression serious. "There's another way. A secret passage. It leads straight into the mansion grounds—but there's a problem."
Dave sighed. "Let me guess. It's full of traps? Giant spiders?"
"It's underwater," Harlic said.
Dave immediately shook his head. "Nope. Nope. Bad idea. I can barely swim. You want me to drown before we even get inside?"
Matt looked toward the direction Harlic was pointing. "How deep?"
"Not far. But the entrance is at the bottom of an old well that connects to the aqueducts. You'll have to dive, then follow a short tunnel that opens beneath the west wing of the mansion."
"I'll go," Matt said. "But… I'm not a strong swimmer either."
"I can help," Nia offered, stepping up beside him. She held out her hand, palm glowing faintly. "I can cast a spell. It'll wrap your head in a bubble—give you enough air to make it through. It won't last forever, though."
Matt gave her a grateful nod. "That might be just enough."
Dave threw his arms in the air. "Great. I'll be out here watching the birds while you go swimming through death tunnels."
Matt gave him a small grin. "We'll save the hard part for you, don't worry."
They began making their way quietly through the outer woods, toward the well hidden deep behind a cluster of crumbling stone walls.
Nia's hands glowed again, and she gently pressed her fingers to Matt's forehead. A thin shimmer enveloped his head like glass, solid yet breathable.
"You've got five minutes," she said. "Don't waste it."
Matt stood at the edge of the ancient well, staring into the darkness below. The others watched in silence as he adjusted the straps of his bag, took a breath, and without hesitation, jumped in.
Cold water swallowed him instantly. It was pitch-black—no light, no sense of direction—but the bubble of air around his head held firm, allowing him to breathe. His heart pounded in his chest as he drifted downward, feeling along the slimy stone walls until his hand brushed over an opening.
This had to be it.
He pulled himself through the narrow tunnel, using jutting rocks and cracks to guide him forward. The space was tight, his shoulders brushing both sides. The pressure of the water tried to slow him down, but he forced himself to keep moving.
Just when his lungs started to ache from tension, his fingers felt open space—an upward slope. He kicked off the tunnel floor and pushed upward.
Moments later, he broke the surface with a loud gasp, emerging into a shallow pool inside what looked like a forgotten stone chamber. Moss-covered walls rose around him, and faint torchlight flickered from a hallway beyond.
He pulled himself out of the water, dripping and breathing hard, then turned to look back at the tunnel.
Matt crept through the hallway, damp footsteps silent against the stone floor. His hand hovered near the knife at his side, not out of confidence—but caution. He reached a heavy wooden door, cracked it open just enough to peek outside. The corridor was empty.
He slipped through.
The mansion's hallways were cold and dimly lit, torches throwing long shadows across the ornate stone walls. He moved as lightly as he could, hugging the edges, his breath shallow. The distant echo of boots on stone made him freeze. A patrol.
Matt ducked behind a nearby pillar just in time. A guard strolled past, humming under his breath, completely unaware of the figure hiding in the shadows. As soon as he disappeared around a corner, Matt pushed on.
Then, a voice rang out down the hallway, sharp and furious.
"Why haven't you found them yet?" Elira's voice echoed with fury. "Double the patrols, check every cellar, every tunnel! If I find out you've been slacking, I'll hang you by your own armor!"
Matt flattened himself against a wall, peering past a tapestry. She was in the next room, berating a group of guards. Her eyes—still crimson—glowed under the flickering torchlight. Matt's hands clenched. They were running out of time.
He waited until the guards shuffled off under her command, then quietly followed, keeping to the dark edges of the hallway.
Matt's fingers trembled as he held the mirror, peering into the room from behind the door. Elira stood there alone, back turned away from him.
He tightened his grip on the mirror, ready to burst in—
"You think a rat could pass unnoticed inside these walls?" a voice snarled, sharp and venomous.
Matt froze. The room fell silent, and then came the laughter—wild and shrill. Elira slowly turned her head, a wide smile stretching across her face, her crimson eyes locking with Matt's. She stepped toward the door like a predator approaching cornered prey.
"You think I'd let small insects ruin everything I've been preparing for an entire year?" she hissed.
Matt's breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to run—but he stood his ground.
In one swift motion, he stepped into view and raised the mirror toward her. Elira's grin faltered.
A sudden flash of blinding light shot out from the mirror, striking Elira in the chest. Another flash beamed straight from her eyes, pulled into the mirror. She screamed—a sound of pure rage and pain—as her body arched backward. The walls trembled with the force of it.
Then silence.
Elira crumpled to her knees, gasping, her long hair covering her face. Matt stood frozen, holding the mirror, unsure if it had worked.
Finally, she looked up.
Her eyes were no longer red, but soft, pale blue—and full of tears. She looked at Matt, her lips trembling.
"It's me…" she whispered.
Before he could speak, she stumbled forward and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.
Matt held Elira in his arms, heart pounding, relief starting to creep in—but something still felt wrong. The hug was too tight. Too still.
He glanced down into the mirror, still gripped in one hand.
Inside it, the real Elira stared back at him, her hands pounding against the inside of the glass. She was shaking her head in desperation, mouthing a silent warning.
Matt's eyes widened.
Too late.
The Elira in his arms looked up at him, her gentle expression twisting into something far more sinister. Her once-soft eyes flashed a burning red, and a grin stretched across her face—too wide, too full of malice.
"You actually thought a third-rate witch could undo what took me centuries to perfect?" she whispered coldly into his ear. Her breath sent a chill down his spine. "How laughable."
Matt tried to shove her away, but her strength was unnatural. She screamed, sharp and piercing, and in seconds guards rushed into the room.
"Take him!" she ordered, her voice booming with authority.
Before Matt could resist, the guards tackled him to the ground, ripping the mirror from his grasp. Elira—no, whatever was in her—held it up and smiled as she watched him struggle.
"Enjoy the dungeon," she cooed, waving as the guards dragged him away. "You'll rot there like the rest who dared challenge me."
Matt's voice echoed through the halls as the heavy iron door slammed shut behind him.
Dave paced anxiously in the underbrush, his eyes fixed on the distant town. "He should've been back by now," he muttered, gripping the straps of the bag tighter. "It's been over an hour."
Harlic, wrapped in his blankets, looked equally concerned. "Matt is smart. But something's wrong, isn't it?"
Nia stepped forward and placed her hand gently against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Her eyes closed, and her fingers glowed faintly. "The trees here see more than we ever could," she whispered. "Let me ask them."
A few tense moments passed in silence. Then Nia's body stiffened. Her breathing slowed. In her mind, flashes of images began to form—disjointed, like pieces of a shattered mirror being forced together.
She saw the town's gates. Guards. Lanterns. Then, from the perspective of a large oak rooted in the courtyard, a clear image: two guards dragging a limp, beaten Matt down a stone stairwell into the dungeon. His head hung low. The mirror was gone.
Nia gasped and pulled her hand away from the tree, staggering slightly.
"What did you see?" Dave asked, voice sharp with urgency.
"They've taken him," Nia said, her voice trembling with both fear and anger. "He's alive… but they've thrown him into the dungeon under the mansion."
Dave clenched his fists. "Then we're not waiting anymore. We're getting him out. Tonight."
Harlic looked up, resolve hardening in his old eyes. "Then we best start planning. Quietly. Carefully."
At nightfall, two guards stood at the front gate of Emberhold, swaying slightly with drink. One leaned lazily on his spear while the other chuckled at his own joke. Down the dirt path came a fat woman pulling a wooden cart behind her, wobbling with each step.
The drunker of the two squinted. "Well now… what's a lovely lady like you doin' all alone in the dark, eh?"
Dave, stuffed into a padded dress with a scarf wrapped around his head, let out the most unconvincing laugh imaginable. "Oh dear me," he said in a wobbly voice, "I was gathering firewood and got turned around. By the time I found my way back, it was already nightfall."
The guard chuckled and took a step toward him. "That so? That's terrible. Tell you what, how about I escort you back to your home, just the two of us, huh?"
The other guard frowned. "What are you doing? We're supposed to check everyone who passes through. No exceptions."
The first guard waved him off. "What for? They already caught the thief, didn't they? It's just an old lady with a cart full of junk. Lighten up."
He turned back to Dave, grinning stupidly. "So, where do you live, sweetheart?"
Dave forced a bashful smile and batted his eyes. "Just up the main road… past the market…"
The guard stepped aside and gestured lazily. "Well go on then, be careful out there."
Dave gave a clumsy curtsy, the cart wobbling as he moved through the gate. The guards didn't bother to check the cart.
Under the pile of burlap and firewood in the back, Harlic grumbled, "Remind me to never let you be the distraction again."
Nia whispered, "Quiet. We're in."
Dave muttered under his breath, "If that guard had come any closer, I was ready to punch him."
Inside the quiet streets of Emberhold, Harlic led them through narrow alleys until they reached an old house tucked between two crumbling stone buildings. The wooden shutters hung loose, and the door creaked when Harlic pushed it open. Inside, it smelled of old wood and pipe smoke.
A grizzled man sat by the fireplace, sharpening a small blade. His back was straight, eyes sharp despite his age. When he saw Harlic, he set the blade aside and stood.
"Harlic?" he said, surprised. "I thought you were—well, it doesn't matter. You're here."
Harlic stepped forward and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Old friend. I need your help."
They sat around the table, and Harlic explained everything. His daughter trapped in a mirror. A dark force wearing her body. Their friend, Matt, captured while trying to use the mirror to fix it.
The old captain listened silently. When Harlic finished, the man rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "So… you need to get your friend out of the dungeon, and retrieve the mirror from the impostor."
"Yes," Harlic said. "And I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice."
The captain stood up. "Then you came to the right person. I know the guard rotations, and I still have friends inside. We'll get your friend out—and that cursed mirror too."
The next morning, Dave stood in front of a cracked mirror, uncomfortably stuffed into an ill-fitting guard uniform. The chestplate barely closed, and the helmet wobbled every time he moved. Next to him, the old captain adjusted his own uniform with practiced ease.
"Try not to talk too much," the captain muttered as they stepped into the street. "Just keep walking and nod if someone speaks to you."
They made their way through the town, heading toward the dungeon. As they passed other guards, Dave noticed how they all stood straighter and nodded respectfully toward the old captain. No one questioned them.
At the dungeon entrance, a thick iron door opened with a loud scrape. Inside, a heavyset man with a ring of keys looked up. His face lit up when he saw the captain.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said, shaking the captain's hand. "Didn't expect to see you down here again."
"We need to question a prisoner," the captain said casually. "I want it done quietly."
The man nodded without hesitation and led them down the dim stone corridor. At the end, he unlocked a rusted cell door and swung it open.
Matt looked up from the corner, his face tired and bruised. When he saw Dave in the doorway, he blinked in disbelief. "Dave…?"
Dave stepped inside, helmet now under his arm. "What? You think I'd let my best friend rot in a place like this?" He smirked. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone realizes I don't actually know what I'm doing."
Matt let out a weak laugh and stood up, relief spreading across his face. "Took you long enough."