Amara woke before dawn, though she had hardly slept. Her body felt restless, heavy with thoughts she couldn't quiet. She moved through the hut silently, braiding her hair, straightening the table mats, anything to occupy her hands. Still, the hollow ache in her chest refused to leave.
When Nysa stirred, their eyes met for the briefest instant. No words passed between them. It was easier, safer, to pretend they had nothing to say.
---
The summons came shortly after sunrise. An Elder arrived at their door, her voice grave as she instructed them to gather at the temple. Whispers followed them through the village paths — women pausing at their chores, watching, as though expecting something to unravel.
Inside the temple, the air was cool, lit by wavering candles. At its center stood the mirror — vast, ancient, its silvered surface shifting like water caught in moonlight. Amara's stomach twisted. She hadn't seen it since her first day in Myraea, when it had bound her fate to Nysa's.
Now, as the Elders encircled it, she noticed something that hadn't been there before. A thin fissure, running from one corner down to the center, like a scar across glass.
"Shadows stir beyond our borders," one Elder intoned. "The bonds must hold strong. Without them, our world weakens. Even the mirror feels the strain."
Amara's throat tightened. The mirror flickered, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw her own reflection staring back — but not her as she was now. This other self was older, sharper, with eyes unflinching and proud. A version of her unburdened by fear.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Her palms dampened. Was the mirror truly cracking… or was it her?
---
When the gathering ended, the women began filing out. Amara lingered near the mirror, staring at its surface. Nysa's voice broke her trance.
"You've been quiet," the warrior said, standing close but not too close.
Amara forced a shrug. "There's nothing to say."
Nysa's gaze lingered, heavy, searching for an answer Amara refused to give. Finally, she only said, "Be careful, Amara. Sometimes silence hides too much."
Amara turned away before the words could reach too deep.
---
That evening, she walked alone by the river, hoping the rush of water might drown out her thoughts. Yet the memory of the reflection haunted her — bold eyes, fearless posture, as if mocking the way she shrank from herself.
"Is that who I'm meant to be?" she whispered. The river rippled, carrying her question away unanswered.
On the path back to the hut, the forest pressed close around her. Branches creaked though no wind stirred. For a moment, she thought she saw a shape between the trees — a figure watching, waiting.
She froze. The air prickled against her skin, but when she blinked, the figure was gone. Only the hush of leaves remained.
Amara quickened her steps. The cracks in the mirror, the reflection, the silence between her and Nysa — all of it pressed against her like unseen hands.
Something was coming. She could feel it.
And when it came, she feared she would not be ready.