The bronze door sealed behind Reyn with a sound like a tomb closing.
He spun, fingers tightening around Oathkeeper's Edge—the rusted sword he'd foolishly grabbed—but the door showed no handle, no keyhole. Only those same strange symbols, now glowing faintly blue.
Then the torches ignited.
Fire roared to life along the walls, revealing a circular library carved from black marble. Books floated in midair, their pages turning without touch. A massive star chart dominated the floor, its constellations shifting like living things. And everywhere... statues. Not warriors, but scholars, their stone faces frozen in expressions of terror or revelation.
At the room's center stood a mirror taller than two men.
Reyn's reflection stared back... and smiled.
"Welcome, Reyn of Nowhere." The voice came from everywhere—the walls, the books, the sword in his hand. "You stand in the corpse of Atheria. Let me show you why it died."
The mirror's surface trembled like disturbed water, then cleared to reveal a history written in smoke and blood.
1. Atheria – The Vanished Kingdom
The vision showed a city of luminous towers, their bridges woven from living crystal, where scholars of all races debated under floating orbs of light. At its heart stood a grand archive, and within it—Oathkeeper's Edge, resting on a pedestal of white stone.
"The first kingdom Shadowmere sought to conquer," the mirror whispered. "But when their armies marched, the earth itself rebelled. Forests turned to mist. Rivers flowed upward. And in a single night... Atheria was simply gone."
The image dissolved into swirling fog.
2. Valoria – The Broken Anvil
The scene shifted to mountain halls choked with smoke. Dwarven warriors made their last stand on bridges of burning iron, their beards singed, their axes glowing red-hot. Above them, a horned figure in spiked armor raised the Stormforged Gauntlet—lightning dancing between its fingers.
"The first to fall after Atheria vanished. Shadowmere drowned their forges in molten rock and took their relic. Now, the gauntlet's lightning cracks the bones of Veridia's elves on the battlefield."
3. Solara – The Poisoned Sun
Golden fields burned. Temple arches collapsed as black-clad soldiers dragged a weeping priestess away from the Argent Chalice, its silver now streaked with veins of rot.
"They blighted Solara's crops first. Starved them into surrender. The chalice still heals... but only Shadowmere's chosen."
4. Veridia – The War of Roots and Blood
Now the mirror showed trees aflame. Elven archers fired from crumbling branches, their arrows bouncing harmlessly off shields made of living shadow. Somewhere in the smoke, the Bone Harp played a discordant note—and an elf fell screaming, clawing at his own eyes.
"The war that never ends. Veridia still stands, but their forests grow smaller each year. Shadowmere toys with them, feeding the harp their worst memories for sport."
5. Empyrea – The Sleeping Target
A quiet village much like Reyn's—but soldiers in obsidian armor moved through its wheat fields, taking measurements. One held up a pendant of cracked crystal—a shard of the Hourglass of the Eclipse—and grinned.
"Your home is next. They prepare the ground, plant their poisons in the soil. When the Hourglass turns, Empyrea won't even see the knife coming."
6. Crystalia – The Unseen Kingdom
A cavern of glittering silence. Gemstone veins pulsed gently in the walls as grey-skinned miners worked, untouched by war. The Mirror of Forgotten Truths stood covered in a black shroud, undisturbed.
"Shadowmere hasn't struck yet. Perhaps the mountains hide them too well. Or perhaps..." The mirror's voice dropped. "Crystalia already made a deal."
7. Shadowmere – The Gathering Storm
The final vision: a black-armored host assembling before a citadel of bones. At their forefront, a horned king raised the Obsidian Crown—and the very shadows at his feet twisted into screaming faces.
"They won't stop until all seven relics are theirs. And you, Reyn of Empyrea, just picked up the only blade that can kill a god."
Oathkeeper's Edge hummed in Reyn's grip, its rust falling away to reveal voracious silver steel.
"Why me?" he choked out.
The mirror laughed. "Because your father didn't just run from that village... he ran toward you. Now, little knife, let's see if you're sharp enough to carve history anew."
The mirror's surface darkened as the visions faded, leaving Reyn standing in the silent library, his fingers clenched around Oathkeeper's Edge. The sword had shed more rust now, its exposed silver veins pulsing in time with his heartbeat—as if it, too, could feel the coming trial.
"The Trial of Meditation," the mirror murmured, its voice echoing through the floating books. "Where Atheria's mages learned to hear the world's breath. Where warriors became stormcallers. Where the unworthy... forgot how to scream."
A section of the wall slid away, revealing a circular chamber beyond. The air inside shimmered like heat off a forge, and at its center floated five silver orbs, each rotating slowly above a shallow pool of liquid light.
But it was the statues lining the walls that made Reyn's throat tighten.
They were frozen in various poses—some kneeling, some standing—but all shared the same features:
Eyes wide with terror or ecstasy, mouths open in silent songs and hands clasped around their own throats
The newest statue wore farmer's clothes.
"What is this?" Reyn whispered.
"The price of power," the mirror replied. "To wield magic, you must first let it wield you. The orbs will teach you to hear mana's song—but listen too long, and you'll forget your own voice."
Oathkeeper's Edge thrummed in his grip, its warmth spreading up his arm like liquid fire. For the first time, Reyn noticed it—a pressure in the air, a hum just beneath his skin. The same feeling he'd had when his father...
"You feel it, don't you?" The mirror's reflection leaned closer. "That tug in your blood? That's what Shadowmere's king fears."
The first orb brightened, its light casting long shadows. The pool beneath it rippled, showing fleeting images:
A child (him?) summoning sparks between cupped hands. His father's silver pendant glowing as it teleported him. The Oathkeeper's Edge drinking lightning from the sky
"Enter," the mirror whispered. "And when you emerge, the world will burn at your fingertips."
Reyn took a step forward—
—And the door slammed shut behind him.
The orbs flared.
The first whisper of mana coiled around his fingers.
And somewhere, deep in the dark, the sword laughed.