The AMP Squad didn't speak much as they walked. After the Mirror Chamber, the jungle felt quieter—too quiet. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath.
Zora kept glancing at the trees, now suspicious of even her own reflection in a puddle. Enzo was flipping through notes he hadn't written, runes glowing faintly on the pages. The group trudged along a mossy path until they found it: a long-abandoned estate swallowed by vines and roots. Columns leaned, cracked. Statues stared with hollow eyes. Nature had reclaimed the place... but something had stayed behind.
"This is giving... haunted jungle mansion," Blair muttered.
Athena brushed vines aside from a door. "I vote we don't split up."
"For once, I agree," Axel said, forcing a grin.
Inside, it was colder. The air felt like it had weight. Dust danced in beams of sunlight slipping through broken windows. The walls were lined with shattered portraits—people in regal outfits with eyes scratched out.
"Y'all see that?" Asher said, pointing to the cracked mirror in the hallway.
For a second, just a flicker, someone moved in it.
They turned—but nothing.
"Alright, no, I definitely saw that," Ace said, backing away.
Then they heard it.
A whisper.
Faint. Slithery.
"...turn back..."
"Did it say... turn back?" Sylvia asked, clutching her sketchbook like a shield.
Zora knelt near a wall. "Shh. It's coming from the cracks."
The whispers grew louder as they moved deeper into the mansion. They'd appear in flashes—in reflections on windows, in puddles, in pieces of glass. Each person heard something different:
Athena:
"Your talent won't matter here. No one's looking."
Blair:
"They're laughing behind your back."
Enzo:
"The truth is buried for a reason. Dig, and you'll regret it."
Ace:
"You'll fail. Just like last time."
"Alright, no. This place is messing with us," Axel growled.
They reached a wide hall, where a dusty chandelier hung crooked above them. At the far end stood a mirror—perfectly clean, untouched by time.
Asher stepped toward it. "Something's written there."
He read aloud:
"Eight have come. Eight must choose."
A pulse shot through the floor. The mirror cracked slightly, and glowing lines spread across the floor like veins.
Suddenly, the hallway trembled. Doors flew open. The whispers roared, deafening now.
"RUN!" Zora screamed.
They bolted down the corridor as walls groaned and mirrors shattered behind them. Whispers turned to shouts—pleading, threatening, crying. The mansion didn't want them there.
They burst out into the daylight, panting. The whispers stopped the moment their feet hit the grass.
"I swear, I never wanna see another mirror again," Blair gasped, clutching her chest.
Enzo flipped to the back of his journal. "Guys... something's not right. Look."
He held it up. Pages they hadn't touched were now covered in writing—in a glowing, ancient script. It matched the symbols on the mirror.
Zora leaned closer. "Is that Keitha's language?"
"It's older. I think... it's the Watchers."
Everyone went quiet.
"The what now?" Ace asked.
"I've been reading about them in the carvings," Enzo said, flipping more pages. "The Watchers were... guardians. But they became corrupted. Obsessed with protecting the city so much, they turned into something else."
"You think they're what we heard?" Athena whispered.
Enzo nodded. "And they're watching us now."
Later that night, camped out far from the mansion, Sylvia flipped open her sketchbook. She hadn't drawn anything since arriving in Keitha.
But tonight, her hands moved on their own.
She didn't even look down until it was done.
The sketch?
A glowing mirror, cracked down the middle. And in the background...
Eight shadowy figures.
Watching.