The forest felt different that day.
No longer dangerous—just attentive.
Maxinni walked near the boundaries of Nolwen, where the trees began to space themselves farther apart and the light cut through the canopy more directly, almost uncomfortably. It wasn't a forbidden area. But it also wasn't a place one walked through without a reason.
She didn't have a clear one.
Just the need to leave.
To breathe away from voices, away from expectations, away from Elowen—who had been far too busy these past nights.
The silence there wasn't natural. It was organized.
That was why she noticed the error first.
Footsteps.
Not those of an animal. Nor of someone who knew the forest. They were too careful. Calculated.
Maxinni stopped.
The air seemed to cool slightly.
— You felt that too, didn't you? — a male voice said, to her left.
She slowly turned her head.
Two people emerged between the trees. A man and a woman, both dressed far too practically to be mere explorers. Neither carried visible symbols. No weapon in sight.
But Maxinni felt it.
Not immediate threat.
Investigation.
— Lost? — the woman asked, wearing a practiced smile. — This region doesn't usually receive visitors.
Maxinni kept her posture relaxed.
— I live here — she replied. — And you?
The man tilted his head, studying her the way one studies an unstable reflection.
— Curious — he said. — About old stories.
The name followed soon after, tossed into the air like bait.
— Iniciativa Velada.
The world seemed to tilt for a second.
Maxinni felt her chest tighten.
— Never heard of it — she lied.
The woman sighed.
— They always say that.
The man took a step forward.
— Hector Virell believes something specific passed through here recently — he said. — Something that should no longer exist.
A chill ran up Maxinni's spine.
— He calls it the Mirror-Born.
The silence that followed was absolute.
She didn't run.
Not because she was brave—but because her body did not recognize that as an option.
The woman moved first.
Too fast.
Maxinni felt the impact before she understood the attack. The ground rushed up to meet her, the air torn from her lungs. She rolled on instinct, dodging something that sliced through the space where her head had been a second earlier.
She didn't see the weapon.
But she saw the reflection.
The world before her warped.
Not like before.
Not calm.
Something inside her answered—not to the threat, but to the decision.
Survive.
The air ahead rippled, and then the mirror appeared.
Fragmented. Unstable. Tearing reality into irregular surfaces that reflected the forest at impossible angles.
— What the hell— the man began.
Too late.
Maxinni saw three versions of him appear in the reflections, each moving with a slight delay, like echoes out of sync.
She didn't think.
She reached out.
A blade formed—not in reality, but in the reflection.
And then it crossed through.
The strike did not come from her.
It came from the reflected version.
The man screamed as he was hurled against a tree, the dry impact snapping branches and air.
The woman retreated immediately.
— She's active! — she shouted. — Visual confirmation!
Maxinni felt something pulling from within.
As if every reflection were demanding attention.
Pain began to spread behind her eyes.
The woman attacked again—this time directly.
Maxinni raised her arm on instinct.
The mirror appeared too late.
Or too early.
The blow passed through the reflection—and emerged on the other side.
Not in her.
In the attacker herself.
The impact threw the woman backward, her body sliding across the leaf-covered ground until it stopped, unconscious.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Unstable.
The mirrors began to crack—not in the world, but in her mind.
Maxinni dropped to her knees.
Her heart pounded far too hard.
Her vision darkened at the edges.
— Not… now… — she murmured.
Then came the flashes.
Blood on her hands.
A city in flames.
The metallic taste of mana in the air.
A different blade—made of water, not light.
A scream.
The sky torn open.
She saw herself dying.
And living again.
The weight was too much.
Maxinni fell forward, the world going dark in shards of glass and memory.
The last thing she felt was someone holding her head before it hit the ground.
And a voice—distant, urgent.
— I told you not to reach too deep…
Then, only darkness.
Very far from there, two reports began to be written.
And Hector Virell smiled, for the first time in a very long while.