The platform rose in silence, but Ethan's heartbeat thundered louder with each second.
When the lift finally stopped, the mist parted.
He stepped into a space that should not have existed.
The corridor ahead was endless — or at least, it felt that way. Tall arched ceilings disappeared into reflective nothingness. The walls were lined with hundreds of mirror-doors, each framed in intricate silver lattice, like windows into forgotten dreams. And in each one...
...was him.
But not quite.
Some doors showed him younger, hunched beneath the weight of old fears. Others, older — versions of himself that never escaped his own doubt. One reflection had hollow eyes and a mouth sewn shut. Another stared blankly at a spilled cup, unmoving, as if the moment had defined him forever.
Ethan stepped forward, glass crunching faintly under his boots.
The temperature dropped.
His own reflection in the polished floor flickered — replaced for a second by Nyros, calmly brushing his hair back, eyes full of something unreadable.
Then the reflection snapped back to normal.
He walked past the first row of doors, each humming faintly as he passed. His eye pulsed in rhythm, almost as if it recognized the memories within.
And then he froze.
One door — taller than the others — flickered with a familiar light.
Inside, a version of Ethan stood at the edge of a hospital bed. His mother lay there, frail and asleep, IV wires twisting across her wrist. This Ethan stared... but never spoke. He turned, walked away.
Ethan's stomach knotted.
"I remember this…"
He hadn't said goodbye that day. He hadn't even stayed ten minutes. His excuse had been "too much homework." But the truth had been worse.
He'd been afraid she wouldn't wake up. And if he stayed, that fear would become real.
The memory-Ethan faded. Another took his place — the same moment, but this time, he said something. Whispered it. Then he cried. A soft, raw sound.
The door shimmered, inviting him.
He reached for the handle—
"Don't."
The voice was his.
But quieter.
Sadder.
Ethan turned.
Behind him stood another version of himself — pale, smaller somehow. Wearing the same clothes he had in high school. His eyes were tired. He looked like someone who'd carried too much and folded under it.
"I know what you're thinking," the double said. "You want to go in. Fix it. Say what you didn't. Cry where you didn't."
Ethan didn't answer.
"But that's not how this place works."
The double tilted his head. "This place doesn't show what you could have been. It shows what you tried to bury."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you?"
The reflection smiled. But there was no triumph in it. No malice. Just… acceptance.
"I'm the one who stopped fighting. The Ethan who decided it was easier to stay quiet. To watch the world happen to him and pretend that was enough."
He stepped closer. Ethan didn't move.
"I didn't make Nyros," the reflection said. "But I let him in. Because he offered something I never had the strength to ask for."
Ethan's throat tightened. "Control."
The reflection nodded. "And confidence. And clarity."
He looked to the memory-door again.
"I wanted to forget that day. So I left it in here. Now it watches me. And soon, it'll watch you."
The corridor darkened. The reflections grew louder — whispers overlapping, building like a storm behind glass.
Ethan's eye throbbed.
The fractured self stepped away from the wall, spreading its arms slightly. "You can't outrun us all. Eventually, you'll have to choose which version of you is real."
He began to fade.
But his voice remained.
"And when you choose… just remember: something else dies."
The corridor stretched ahead, doors opening on their own now — each revealing pieces of Ethan's past.
The next chamber glowed softly, beckoning.
And in its center stood a new figure — another Ethan.
This one wasn't sad.
This one looked angry.
Ethan clenched his fists.
"Let's get this over with."
...................................
The room was wide, circular — a cathedral made of mirrorpanes.
No ceiling, no clear walls — only distance, shifting and folding, endlessly reflecting itself until the horizon felt like a loop. At its center stood a single figure: another Ethan, motionless, dressed in the same black shirt he had worn the night Nyros first spoke.
Ethan stepped in, the echo of his boots ringing with surreal clarity. The figure looked up.
He saw himself — but not quite. This reflection was sharper, more angular. The eyes were colder. The posture was upright, confident, but too still. No breath. No life. Just... waiting.
"Is this it?" Ethan asked aloud. "Another piece of me?"
The reflection stepped forward. It didn't blink.
"No," it said. "I'm the one who was ready."
Ethan stopped.
"Ready for what?"
The double tilted his head, like a teacher about to explain something he'd grown tired of repeating.
"For them. For the world. For the judgment. You weren't. You clung to doubt like it was your last defense."
Ethan flinched slightly. The voice wasn't mocking — it was surgical.
"I'm the one who should've lived that life," the double continued. "The one who would've stood up to the bullies. Talked to Mia. Stayed with Mom."
"You don't get to say that," Ethan snapped.
The reflection blinked. "Don't I? You abandoned those moments. I merely watched. But Nyros… he acted."
That name sent a sting down Ethan's spine.
The reflection stepped closer — the mirrors in the room subtly tilting to follow him.
"Nyros is not your enemy. He's your successor. And I'm the bridge between you two."
Ethan's eye burned. "You're a lie."
The double smiled faintly. "And yet, you remember me better than yourself."
Without warning, the reflection raised its hand — and the space shattered.
Glass rained upward, sideways, folding around Ethan like razor-thin curtains. Each fragment showed a moment from Ethan's past — but wrong, twisted.
He was yelling at his mother.
He was laughing while someone cried.
He was turning away as Mia reached for help.
"Stop—" Ethan gasped, clutching his head.
"These aren't illusions," the reflection whispered, now circling him. "They're truths. Not of what you did — but what you wanted to do, and didn't."
The reflection lifted a hand. A blade formed — pure mirror, shaped like a dagger, hovering inches from Ethan's throat.
"Do you know why Nyros can live your life better than you?"
"Because he stopped pretending."
Ethan dropped to his knees. The pressure behind his eye surged — like fire behind glass. The pain was building, boiling. His reflection knelt in front of him, mirror blade at his chest.
"You want to kill me?" Ethan growled, breath shaky. "Go ahead. But if I survive..."
He looked up, and his left eye pulsed deep violet, cracks forming in the iris like lightning frozen in glass.
"I will not let Nyros have my name."
The reflection's face contorted — and lunged.
Ethan moved.
His hand shot forward, grabbing the mirror blade mid-air. Blood dripped instantly — but he didn't let go. His eye exploded in light, and with a furious cry, he unleashed a Mirror Pulse point-blank into the reflection's chest.
The arena fractured.
Light and shadow collapsed into the figure, ripping it apart from the inside — not with violence, but release.
The reflection screamed — and Ethan screamed with it — until only silence remained.
Shards fell like snow.
His own breath was ragged, broken. He was on his knees again.
But he was alone.
And the arena had changed.
Now it was a narrow corridor again, dim, lined with only one mirror. His reflection stood within it — this time, normal. Tired. Whole.
Ethan stood, limping.
A door at the far end creaked open, pouring pale blue light into the darkness.
He walked forward, step by aching step.
Lyra waited beyond the threshold, standing at the edge of a new chamber — arms folded, her chains resting behind her like a relaxed tail.
She looked at him carefully.
"You look different."
Ethan didn't answer.
He walked past her, and as he did, he said:
"I left something behind in there."
"Good," Lyra said softly, following him. "Now you have space to become someone else."
.......................................
The chamber beyond the maze was nothing like the one he'd entered.
No mirrors.
No voices.
Just a dome of soft, muted light — silver, not white — with a ground that shimmered like sand mixed with glass dust. A crystalline lake rippled quietly in the middle, untouched by any wind. Its surface was so clear it didn't reflect Ethan at all.
He stepped in slowly, his legs heavy. His body bore no new wounds — but the ache in his chest was unmistakable.
It felt like something had been carved out.
Lyra waited near the water's edge. She didn't speak at first, simply watching him. Then she said, without turning:
"You killed a version of yourself in there."
Ethan lowered his gaze.
"I didn't want to."
"You were meant to."
She finally looked at him. For once, her voice wasn't sharp or commanding. It was... measured. Almost gentle.
"Each reflection we carry is a truth. Some are shields. Others are scars. And some... are cages. The maze forces you to break one."
Ethan walked to the lake and sat beside it, staring at the still surface.
"I saw things. Things I forgot I thought. Things I thought I'd buried."
Lyra sat beside him.
"You didn't bury them. You locked them in the mirror. This realm feeds on that. It knows what you try to forget. It grows it."
Ethan's eye ached, but differently now. Not with pain — with weight. With presence.
"So what did I lose?"
Lyra paused.
"Maybe a weakness. Maybe a memory. Maybe something you'll never miss… until the day you do."
He nodded slowly. "Is that what happened to you?"
She didn't answer. But her silence was louder than denial.
"You seem so sure of everything," Ethan muttered. "But when I looked at him — that version of me — he didn't feel like a lie. He felt like someone I could've been."
"He was," Lyra said. "And he still is, somewhere."
She stood.
"Come."
He rose slowly.
They walked together, leaving the stillness behind. At the far end of the dome, a new structure appeared — like a tower folded in on itself. At its peak shimmered a floating sigil — a fractal glyph suspended in mirrored light.
Lyra gestured.
"That's where you'll find your first Mirror Key. If you want to get home, you'll need it."
"And Nyros?"
"He's waiting. Watching. Probably laughing."
"Then let him laugh," Ethan said, voice steady now.
"Because I'm coming back stronger than he remembers."
Lyra cracked a smile — the first real one he'd seen.
"Good. You're going to need that fire."