The fall had no end.
Aamir's breath caught somewhere between a scream and silence as light dissolved around him — then reassembled, twisting into shapes that defied sense.
He landed — softly, impossibly — on a floor that looked like water but felt like glass. Ripples spread beneath his feet, reflecting not his face but a thousand versions of it. Each reflection blinked at a slightly different time.
The test begins, whispered a voice that wasn't a voice — it seemed to bloom inside his skull.
Aamir turned in a slow circle. Around him stretched a hall of mirrors, endless and shifting. Every reflection showed something different — one where he was a child, clutching a broken toy; one where he was older, standing in front of a grave; one where his eyes glowed gold.
"Okay," he muttered. "Dream sequence number three… great."
He touched one mirror. The surface rippled — and the version of him inside moved independently.
The reflection smiled.
"Still pretending you're just ordinary, Aamir?" it said, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
Aamir stepped back. "I've had weirder days, but you're definitely top five."
"You think humor will save you?" the reflection said. "You've always hidden behind it. Even when—"
It paused, and suddenly the mirror filled with a scene he remembered too well — a hospital room, white light, the smell of antiseptic. His mother's hand, frail and cold in his.
He froze. "Stop."
The reflection ignored him. "You were supposed to stay. But you ran, like you always do."
Aamir slammed his fist against the glass. The mirror shattered — but instead of breaking, the shards hung in the air, swirling around him, each one whispering fragments of his own thoughts.
"She wouldn't have wanted you there."
"You were scared."
"You left her alone."
He covered his ears. "Shut up!"
The floor rippled again, and the shards fused into a new mirror — this one showing Nura. She stood in the Court, arguing with the masked elders.
"She believes in you," said the voice. "But she doesn't know what you are."
"What am I?" he demanded.
The voice laughed. A sound like cracked glass.
"You are a reflection that forgot it wasn't real."
---
The hall trembled. The reflections began to move on their own — stepping out of the mirrors, solidifying into shadowy versions of him. Dozens of them, circling.
Each held a different expression — anger, grief, arrogance, fear.
The closest one sneered. "You can't fight us. We are you."
Aamir swallowed hard, backing away. "I've seen this movie. The hero punches his trauma until it evaporates, right?"
He swung — and his fist passed through the figure like smoke. But the reflection's return blow hurt. He staggered, gasping.
Pain felt too real.
"Okay. Not a dream."
He darted aside, grabbing the satchel as it slid near his feet. It pulsed with faint light, symbols flaring like heartbeat.
"Call it," whispered Nura's voice — not from outside, but from within his memory.
He didn't know how, but he opened the satchel and whispered, "Please."
Light exploded outward — a burst of gold and white, dissolving the nearest shadows. The satchel's contents shimmered into visibility for a heartbeat — a small, ornate mirror shard, pulsing like it was alive.
He stared at it. "This… came from them, didn't it?"
The shadows hissed. "That belongs to the Tilism!"
"Maybe," Aamir said, lifting it, "but it answers to me now."
He thrust the shard forward. The light rippled — brighter, wilder — and the shadows screamed as they were pulled back into the mirrors, one by one, until the hall was still again.
---
When silence finally fell, Aamir collapsed to his knees, breath ragged.
The voice spoke again — quieter this time, almost gentle.
"The first truth is found. The liar must learn honesty."
The hall began to fade, melting into light.
Then — with a rush of air — Aamir was standing back in the Hidden Court. The masked figures watched in silence. Nura's face softened in relief.
"He survived," she murmured.
The bronze mask inclined. "He bears the mark indeed."
A faint symbol — the same runic spiral from the Tilism — glowed for a moment at Aamir's wrist before fading.
He blinked, dazed. "Okay… did I just pass a cosmic therapy session, or…?"
"You faced your reflection," Nura said. "Few return whole."
"Whole is overrated," he said, half-smiling. "Can I sit down now?"
The elders exchanged glances. Then the oldest one spoke, voice echoing through the chamber.
"The heir of the Ayyars has awakened.
The Tilism stirs once more.
The Shadow Courts will move against us soon."
Aamir exhaled. "Yeah, cool. No pressure."
Nura placed a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the war behind the mirrors."