Azel looked around his shack and smiled. He wasn't going to miss this place, nor was he going to miss the annoying Siamese cat staring up at him. It's head was cocked in a half turned fashion, almost as if it was questioning what the large leather bag resting on his shoulders was for.
Azel didn't have many belongings, just the four sets of clothes Colwyn had bought him and the far more expensive outfit from when he worked with Gryphon. Other than that the zombie didn't have much to take with him. Ignoring the feline as it quietly followed his steps down the ragged street.
The plan was to meet at Gryphons store, and then together head to the gateway. Colwyn should already have procured the necessary gate key that would take them as far south as possible. Then they would have to travel the rest on foot. Azel had gotten his hopes up, but after looking at a map he realised that the southern continent was an incredibly long spit of land that stretched from one side of the parchment to the other.
Despite the monks of fireplume mountain and the suspected location of 'Draken loch' both being at the most southern point of the southern continent, they may as well have been separated by an ocean. So unfortunately, Azel decided to follow the original plan of helping Colwyn kill Rio and then use the drake knights connections to reach the monks later.
Stopping in front of Gryphons store, Azel paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the door knob. After he stepped through this door, they would leave to Draken loch. It was a big step, especially considering that the only clue to it's location was "far south", the small group could be wandering around aimlessly for quite a while...
Entering the store, Azel frowned briefly. The usual warm, inviting glow of Gryphon's shop was absent. The lights were off, and the interior was dim, illuminated only by the faint sunlight filtering through the dusty windows. The air was still, heavy with an uncharacteristic silence that made Azel's skin crawl.
"Gryphon?" Azel called out, his voice cutting through the silence. There was no response.
Walking to the counter, the zombie froze. resting against his desk was a very familiar mirror. The cursed relic that Gryphon had said came from the... Shadow spire, was it? Previously, Gryphon had told him not to use it, out of fear of the mirrors origins. But now, the supposedly dangerous object was just out in the open, it couldn't be that bad... right?
Gingerly lifting the mirror of the counter, Azel held it out in front of him. Despite the shadowy mist that swarmed the image in the mirror, Azel could clearly recognise his own visage. The zombie's ashen hair was now reaching his neck, his fake chestnut eyes glowed with a warmth Azel did not truly feel and of course his look was completed by the empty expression playing across his face.
He should put it down. He knew that. Gryphon had warned him, had been unusually serious about the mirror's dangers. And yet, the old man had just left it here, practically inviting curiosity.
Azel's gaze flickered toward the door. Still no sign of Gryphon or Colwyn. If something had happened, wouldn't there be a sign of struggle? A mess? The store was eerily untouched. The silence was thick, pressing in around him.
He turned back to the mirror.
"What exactly do you reveal?" he muttered, tilting it slightly in his grasp.
The answer came slowly. His reflection remained at first, but then… his lips moved.
Azel stiffened. He had not spoken. Yet the mirror showed his mouth forming words, silent, unreadable. His heart—or whatever passed for it now—remained still in his chest, but a cold sensation trickled through him.
Then, abruptly, the reflection changed.
A figure stood behind him.
Azel spun around, dropping into a defensive stance, but the shop was empty. When he turned back, the mirror's glass was rippling like disturbed water, his reflection and the shadowy presence both gone.
His grip tightened. He should drop the damn thing. Shatter it. But instead, he found himself whispering, "Show me."
The mirror obeyed.
At first, the image seemed unchanged—his reflection staring back at him with its usual vacant expression. But then, the shadows swirling within the glass settled, and the Azel in the mirror shifted.
Gone were the dull red orbs and lifeless demeanour. Instead, intelligent green eyes gleamed with sharp awareness, a confident smirk tugging at the lips of a man who was unmistakably him—yet wholly unfamiliar. He was draped in fine merchant attire, his coat embroidered with golden thread, rings glinting on his fingers. He looked… alive. Not undead, not hollow, but a man of wealth and status, standing with an air of effortless charm.
Azel's grip on the mirror tightened.
Was this a trick? A vision of the past? Was this the Azel who was once alive?
Before he could linger on the thought, the mirror rippled again, the image distorting like ink spilled over water. The merchant Azel melted away, and another took his place.
This one was drenched in crimson.
Blood soaked his clothes, staining the ragged fabric a deep, grotesque red. A jagged scar stretched from the corner of his lip up past his cheek, splitting his face into a twisted half-smile. His chest heaved with ragged, heavy breaths, as if he had just torn through something—or someone. His eyes, which were back to a dull crimson, locked onto Azel with something he couldn't quite name. Hunger? Madness?
The longer he stared, the more he felt something stirring in his gut. Not fear. Not quite. But something close.
The reflection took a step forward.
Azel dropped the mirror.
The glass hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, miraculously unbroken. Shadows curled away from its surface, dissipating like smoke.
Gryphon was still missing, and Colwyn was nowhere in sight. The unnatural stillness of the shop pressed in around him, thick as tar.
For the first time, Azel noticed something else. A faint metallic scent tinged the air. Blood.
His eyes darted toward the counter, where a few small drops of crimson darkened the aged wood. Fresh.
He was moving before he could think, following the sparse trail of droplets that led toward the back door. He reached for the handle—only to pause, ears straining. Silence. Too silent.
He pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the dimly lit backroom. Except... He wasn't in the backroom, Azel was back at the entrance of the shop, almost as if he had just entered the store for the first time.
And yet it was completely different. The candles were lit, and the warm light shone across the room. And unlike before, both Gryphon and Colwyn were sitting at the counter, seemingly waiting for Azel.
Azel stood frozen at the threshold of Gryphon's shop, his mind reeling. The warmth of candlelight bathed the room in a familiar golden glow, the shelves were stocked as they always were, and the scent of aged parchment and rare herbs lingered in the air. It was as though nothing had happened. No unnatural silence, no eerie mirror, no scent of blood.
And yet, his fingers twitched as if they could still feel the weight of the cursed artifact.
Colwyn and Gryphon were seated at the counter, deep in conversation. The knight lounged in his usual relaxed slouch, one arm resting on the back of his chair, while Gryphon, ever the merchant, gestured animatedly with his hands. At Azel's entrance, they both looked up, their expressions entirely normal.
"You took your time," Colwyn said, his voice laced with his usual dry amusement. "I was beginning to think you got lost on the way here."
Azel's gaze flickered around the shop, searching for any sign of what he had just experienced. The counter was clean—no drops of blood. The back door was closed. The mirror was nowhere in sight.
Had he imagined it?