With the first glimpse of the building standing high against the terrain, Ember's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like it from so up close—an architectural masterpiece defying all logic and appearing to belong to a different world altogether. Structure shimmered through the failing light with a glassy surface reflecting the broken images of the trees and the sky in there. It was as if the building itself was made of liquid, constantly shifting and changing with the light hitting the thing from all the different angles.
Huge arched windows dominated the front, shining with an unearthly brightness. Every pane of glass rippled like it was alive, and as Ember's eyes travelled across the façade, he could have sworn he saw reflections rippling inside the windows—independent from the rest of the world. There was a low stone wall around the building, which was modeled on its surface with such complicated carvings that it danced and twisted in the corner of his vision.
The nearer they drew, the more pulsing and throbbing seemed the building itself. Ember noticed the view shifted in the very slightest, similar to how it did in the hidden quarter.; it wasn't just the sheer visual show that sent Ember's heart pounding in his chest, but something deeper, more primal. Low, steady vibration seemed to hum the air itself, as though the stones of the building were breathing, alive. And he could feel it in his bones—that odd, electric feeling he'd learned to associate with magic.
The automobile came to a stop in front of a tall wrought-iron gate that led up a short stone path to the entrance. Carasan stepped out first, his movements as fluid and deliberate as ever, and Ember followed suit, though his legs felt a little unsteady beneath him.
The lamp-lined path cast long shadows that danced across the cobblestones with their soft, evening light. As they stepped to the entrance, Ember saw the doors mass: heavy, dark wood with silver inlays glinting like sparks in the fading twilight. The symbols carved into them he did not know, but they felt. old. Ancient, even. That was what the symbols felt. Symbols of power, symbols that meant something important, even if he did not understand what.
"This place," Ember breathed softly, unable to keep awe from his voice. "What is it?"
Carasan cast him a small smile. "You'll see soon enough."
And with that, he pushed open heavy doors, and Ember stepped inside.
Stepping inside The House of Mirrors, it felt like crossing into another world. The air felt cooler here, almost refreshing, yet carried with it the weight of centuries of mystery. The entry hall was vast—bigger than any room Ember had ever been in, with tall ceilings that arched overhead like the ribcage of some great beast. The walls were lined with mirrors—dozen upon dozens—and each one different from the next. Some had columns tall and narrow, gilt and ornate in their frames; others were squat and round, made of wood or stone. And not one of them was right.
As Ember moved by the mirrors, he saw that each of them reflected the room differently. Some reflected how he and Carasan had been, but others showed things that didn't exist. He gazed in one mirror to see a room alit with the soft glow of overhead chandeliers that shone down upon a room full of finely dressed people, himself standing in the middle of the great ballroom. In another, the room was vacant except for the ghostly silhouetted outline of what resembled a woman in some sort of long dress; her face, however, was shrouded by shadows.
And the mirrors, which displayed nothing at all, only swirled in colored lights as though they were merely windows to another dimension altogether.
Ember paused before one mirror, his reflection looking back at him through it. The surface of the glass rippled slightly, like water disturbed by a pebble, and for an instant, Ember thought he saw something—someone—moving just beyond the glass. He blinked, and the image was gone once more, replaced by his own reflection.
"What is this place?" he breathed, speaking to himself rather than Carasan.
Carlosan spoke quite calmly as he answered, "This is more than just a building. It's a gateway. A transportation hub, of sorts. These mirrors are not just for reflection; they're portals. Each one leads to a different place, some within this world, some. beyond."
But then Carasan opened his lips, displaying before him all the magnitude of that which he was trying to communicate to him. Portals? Toward other places? Stories had been told of such things, but to finally see them before him, it was too much to bear.
They went inside, beyond the great hall, to a long, narrow corridor, and till the farther they went, the quieter it grew, till the only sound seemed to be the soft echo of their footsteps on the marble floor. Then, at the end, down this corridor, a staircase spiralled into darkness.
"We are going downstairs," he said, his voice low and grim. "Downstairs is where the real secrets lie."
With every step they took, Ember's interest grew; he trailed Carasan down into the stairs, the air growing cooler and danker along the way. The walls here were different—rougher, made of stone, and lit by flickering
torches set on intervals. Earth and stone smell filled his nostrils, and magic—the same buzzing electric feeling he had when he had reached the upper floors—felt thicker, almost touchable here.
At the bottom of the stairs, a vast wooden door was there whose surface was worn and splintered with age. A rather crookedly hanging sign above it read "Closed for Maintenance." Carasan pushed open the door without hesitation. Beyond it lay a dimly lit room.
The basement was nothing at all like Ember expected it to be. It was huge and cavernous, stretching well beyond the confines of the building above. The floor was made of rough, granular stone, and the walls had lined hundreds of mirrors, but these mirrors were unlike any he had ever seen before, for their surfaces did not reflect with a smooth, glassy sheen but rippled, disturbed like the surface of a pond's skin by a gentle breeze.