The air grew heavy. Arun's chest heaved as the reflections closed around him. One reached out, its fingers brushing his arm. The touch was cold, but not flesh—smooth, like glass polished by centuries.
The mirror-world pulled at him. The chanting grew louder.
For one wild moment, Arun considered running. But every door was locked, every window sealed. Even if he could escape, where would he go? The forest itself leaned toward him, waiting.
Something deeper called him. Not fear. Not duty. Something stranger. A promise of power.
And then the mirror surged forward, swallowing
him whole.
The world shattered. Arun fell through a surface that wasn't water, wasn't air, but something colder. He landed on a black plain that glittered with shards underfoot. Above, the sky was fractured, like a giant mirror cracked into endless jagged pieces.
In the distance, forests of glass trees shimmered. Rivers of molten silver twisted across the land. Figures moved between them—creatures shaped like men but faceless, their skin reflecting the fractured sky.
His reflections stood behind him, now silent, their forms blending into the realm like citizens returning home.
Arun felt something shift inside his chest. His own heartbeat sounded… hollow.