The mirror wouldn't stop humming.
Zero stood still in the center of his room, bathed in the pale blue glow of his digital clock: 07:14. Again. That number haunted him, stitched into every moment since he woke up wrong.
The mirror shimmered like hot glass in the sun, although the room was cold enough to see his breath. A low vibration throbbed beneath his feet, crawling up his legs like a current. It wasn't sound exactly—it bypassed his ears and settled into his bones.
He should've turned away. Should've called someone. Should've done anything but walk forward.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Each footfall felt rehearsed.
The duct tape across the mirror had begun to peel, curling like old skin. The words scribbled in thick black marker—"DO NOT UNCOVER UNTIL PHASE BREAK", "CHECK THE LEFT EYE FIRST"—were faded, like sun-bleached warnings in a language already forgotten.
He didn't remember putting them there.
His fingers hesitated at the edge of the glass. One breath. Then he touched it.
The humming stopped.
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
His reflection reappeared, slightly delayed—as if catching up from somewhere else.
And he wasn't alone.
A girl stood behind him in the reflection.
Not in the room.
She was slender, chin-length hair perfectly still despite no breeze. Her uniform was nondescript gray—military in cut, civilian in color. Her skin looked nearly translucent under the artificial light.
But it was her eyes that stopped him cold.
They were mirrors.
Small silver discs where pupils should've been.
Zero turned around. Empty space.
He looked back at the mirror. Still there. Standing just behind his left shoulder.
The girl tilted her head, then smiled—a slow, reluctant smile, like someone mourning a secret.
Her mouth moved, but no sound filled the room. Only in the glass did her voice exist.
"Cycle Seven isn't stable. You weren't meant to be aware yet."
Zero stepped closer to the mirror.
"Who are you?"
"An echo," she said. "A retained construct from a version that didn't survive."
"You're not real," he whispered.
"Neither are you. Not entirely. Not anymore."
His throat dried up. His reflection looked calm, even though his real hands trembled.
"What do you mean?"
She ignored the question. Raised a hand to her temple.
"They put something inside your left eye. It's recording you—looping your decisions until they can stabilize the fragment."
"Why?"
"Because you're asking the wrong questions."
"Then tell me the right ones."
The girl's mirrored eyes narrowed.
"You have to find the Karnyx. Not the glyph they buried, not the fake symbols they hand out in theory courses. The original. The object. Before you're overwritten."
As she spoke, Zero's laptop flickered to life behind him. A browser window opened on its own.
A search query filled the screen: "Karnyx Protocol, Root Instance Located."
Beneath it, coordinates. A building: Wells Annex B, Basement -3
He hadn't typed that.
The girl leaned closer to the mirror. Her breath fogged the inside of the glass, not the outside.
"They'll try to stop you."
"Who?"
"Everyone who looks like you."
She paused. Then said, more softly:
"I'll find you again. But not in this room."
Zero took a slow breath. "How do I know I can trust you?"
The girl smiled sadly.
Then vanished.
His own reflection returned.
But it wasn't copying him.
It smiled.
Zero didn't.
He didn't sleep.
By 4:30 a.m., he was out the door.
The rain had returned—fine, whispering mist that clung to his jacket and eyebrows like static. The sky was a smooth slate gray, the kind of color that refused to hold a sunrise. The pathways shimmered slightly as if oil floated on the air itself.
The farther he walked, the emptier the campus felt.
At the far end of the science block, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow, stood a building he couldn't remember existing: Wells Annex B.
Its entrance was half-collapsed. The metal door sagged, rust painting long orange streaks down the concrete. No welcome sign. No security camera. No recent footprints.
Inside, it smelled like copper and something faintly organic.
The directory board listed only the ground floor. But the elevator panel held a glowing button marked -3.
He hesitated, then pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then a chime echoed. Not through speakers, but straight into his skull.
"Verification required. Identify Fragment."
His heart beat faster. He licked his lips.
"Zero Kael."
"Incorrect."
He blinked. Then reached into his coat pocket and unfolded the envelope.
The phrase written there burned in his mind.
"Echo of Cycle Seven," he said.
Silence. Then—
"Access granted."
The elevator dropped.
Not like a normal descent—no inertia, no sound. It simply blinked from one place to another.
When the doors opened, the hallway beyond glowed with pulsing lines inlaid into the walls like circuits. The floor was matte black. The ceiling curved unnaturally, too smooth, as if molded by something non-human.
A single door waited at the end.
Frosted glass. Light pulsed faintly from the room beyond.
He pushed it open.
Inside, Zero gasped.
Thousands of glass canisters floated in midair, held by nothing. Each contained a mirror shard suspended in glowing fluid. Screens flickered above them—displaying faces.
His face.
And others.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Each labeled:
Fragment 1 – TerminatedFragment 2 – DriftedFragment 3 – Reabsorbed
And then:
Fragment 7 – Active Drift
His.
A console nearby lit up.
"Observation compromised. Host awareness confirmed."
"Engagement protocol initiating."
Footsteps behind him.
He spun.
The girl stood in the doorway.
But this time—she cast no reflection in any of the mirror shards.
None.
She looked at him and said, "You're not Zero anymore. Not really. You're what's left when too many cycles forget to reset."
She held out her hand.
"If you want to stay real, you'll need to come with me."
He hesitated. But not for long.
He took her hand.
And the room shattered.