The door opened in silence.
Not the silence of a sleeping street, nor the hush of fog-wrapped stone. This was thicker—silence that swallowed breath, thought, the world itself.
Kael stood rigid, the shard faintly burning in his palm. His pulse thundered, too loud, too present, like it didn't belong in this place.
The doorway no longer showed the stairwell.
It opened into the streets.
–––
Drosyn—or something wearing its skin.
Gas lamps spindled tall, their glass globes cracked but burning with violet fire. Towers clawed far higher than he remembered, bricks warped as though dragged upward like melted clay. Cobblestones gleamed like slick mirrors, reflecting not his body but blurred versions of himself—some crowned, some broken, some faceless.
The city breathed, fog pulsing in rhythm with the shard.
Kael's throat closed.
He should turn back. Slam the door. Pretend nothing waited beyond.
But the hunger stirred, drowning reason. His fingers dug into the fragment until the edges bit deep. Blood welled, absorbed instantly by the shard's glow.
And the city seemed to lean closer.
Waiting.
–––
He stepped forward.
The moment his boot struck the mirrored stone, the door snapped shut. The sound rang like iron striking bone. Kael spun—reaching—only empty wall. No handle. No frame. Just wet bricks slick with condensation.
Trapped.
The shard pulsed once, soothing. A reminder: choice is already gone.
Kael dragged air into lungs that resisted filling. Rust and burnt sugar coated every breath.
He walked.
–––
Every street is bent wrong.
Alleys forked into themselves. Bridges spanned rivers that weren't there. Windows bulged outward, glass panes straining like they longed to crawl free.
And always—the reflections.
Every puddle, every shard, every gleam showed him. Not as he was, but as he might be.
One Kael stumbled with chains at his wrists.Another strode with a crown of violet flame.Another clawed his own throat, mouth stretched too wide.
Kael staggered, head pounding. "You're not real," he whispered.
His voices answered back from every surface, layered and laughing:
Not real. Not real. Not real.
Kael pressed his skull as if to crush the echoes. He wanted to smash every mirror, but there were too many. The city itself was glass.
–––
At a crossroads, he froze.
The shard throbbed faster, hungrier.
Ahead, the street split into seven. Each path is identical: gas lamps, fog, stone.
But within each reflection lay a different fate. One gutter choked with corpses. Another lined with kneeling crowds. Another beneath a sky burning violet.
His hand shook. Sweat slicked his palm.
"Which?" His voice cracked.
The shard answered with a steady thrum. Not guidance. Not warning. Hunger.
It wanted him to choose.
Kael staggered into the leftmost street, teeth clenched. Reflections grinned as he passed.
–––
The deeper he went, the less Drosyn remained.
Buildings leaned inward like giant skulls. Doors gaped into blackness that breathed. Some streets dead-ended at glass walls, showing other Drosyns—one golden, one drowned, one burning.
Kael's body screamed to stop. But the shard sang against his chest, every beat filling him with purpose.
He belonged here.
He was meant to walk this city.
That thought terrified him most.
–––
He turned a corner—and halted.
A figure waited at the street's end.
Not Seliora. Not a stranger. Himself.
Kael faced Kael. Twenty paces apart. Same coat. Same hollow eyes—but sharper, lit with certainty. His reflection's hand burned with violet fire. A shard pulsed in its grip.
The other Kael smiled.
"You'll lose everything," it said. "But you'll win more than anyone ever has."
Kael staggered back. "You're not me."
The reflection's laugh was soft. Patient. "Not yet."
It raised its hand. Violet fire bled outward, cobblestones rippling, air bending. Kael's shard flared, heat searing through his ribs.
The mirror-city vibrated, like glass straining to break.
Kael screamed, lifting his shard.
–––
The reflections erupted.
Every puddle, every window, every wall vomited Kaels into the street—an army of himself. Some crowned. Some broken. Some eyeless. Some monstrous.
They closed in, chanting with their voices:
We see. We see. We see.
Kael collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. The shard blistered his palm.
Above, the fractured eye opened wide across the sky. Seven shards circling, pupil slit and vast.
It looked only at him.
–––
Then—silence.
All reflections froze.
One by one, they cracked. Shards rained, vanishing before they struck.
The city dimmed. The eye faded.
Kael lay gasping on mirrored stone, shard searing, mind hollowed.
He forced himself upright. The street was empty again.
But the hollow inside had grown larger.
He searched for his father's voice. Gone.His birthday. Gone.
The shard throbbed, pleased.
Kael laughed once. Broken.
–––
The air shivered.
Far down the street, shapes emerged from the fog. Tall. Thin. Faceless.
Custodians.
Their chests glowed with fractured eyes.
Kael staggered back, clutching the shard. His heart thundered.
The nearest one tilted its head.
The street bent sideways. Glass cracked underfoot.
The shard burned.
Kael whispered, trembling, half-plea, half-promise:
"I'll break you before you break me."
The Custodians advanced.