Caelan found himself standing outside Lyra's chamber, a black dress draped across his arm. The fabric shimmered faintly, as though woven from shadows themselves, and delicate black roses adorned the bodice and skirt. The roses seemed alive, their petals shifting with an almost imperceptible motion. He stared at the door for a long moment, his usual mask of indifference in place, but deep inside, a quiet unease stirred.
"She'll ask questions," Eryss had warned, her golden eyes sharp. "And for once, Caelan, you might actually have to answer them."
Caelan clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the dress. He didn't care about her questions. He cared even less about her comfort. This was about the curse. About control. About ensuring she didn't unravel everything.
With a sharp breath, he pushed the door open.
Lyra was sitting by the small window, her knees drawn to her chest. The light of a single flickering candle cast her face in soft shadows. She turned abruptly, her wide eyes narrowing when she saw him.
"What now?" she asked, her voice clipped.
Caelan stepped inside, his movements deliberate. Without a word, he held out the dress.
Lyra blinked. "What… is that?"
"A dress," he said flatly.
Her gaze darted between him and the garment, suspicion etched into every line of her face. "Why?"
"Because you can't wear that to the Hall of Glass," he replied, motioning to her current clothes—a simple, worn white dress dusty from her earlier fall in the garden.
Lyra frowned, rising slowly. "The Hall of Glass? What is that?"
"You'll see."
She crossed her arms, her defiance palpable. "And what if I don't want to?"
Caelan's icy gaze met hers, unyielding. "You don't have a choice."
For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension in the room thick. Then Lyra snatched the dress from his hand, muttering under her breath. "Fine. But I'm not wearing it for you."
"Good," Caelan replied, already turning to leave. "You'll have five minutes."
The Hall of Glass was colder than Lyra expected, even for a castle as oppressive as this one. The grand doors creaked open, revealing a vast chamber bathed in eerie silver light. Mirrors of every size and shape lined the walls, their surfaces glimmering faintly as though holding secrets just out of reach. At the center of the room stood an ancient pedestal carved from black stone, its surface inscribed with runes that seemed to hum with dormant energy.
Lyra hesitated on the threshold, the black roses on her gown catching the faint light and shimmering like living shadows. She caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors and froze. The reflection looked like her—but different. Her eyes seemed brighter, her features sharper, almost ethereal.
Caelan's voice broke through her thoughts. "Don't linger in the reflections. They have a way of… pulling you in."
Lyra tore her gaze away and followed him to the pedestal, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "Why are we here?"
Without answering, Caelan reached into his cloak and withdrew a small, intricately carved key. He inserted it into the pedestal, turning it with a deliberate motion. The runes flared to life, their light cascading through the room.
The mirrors shimmered, their surfaces rippling like water. Then, one by one, they began to show images—scenes from another time.
Lyra gasped as she saw a woman who looked almost exactly like her. The woman stood in the middle of a sunlit field, surrounded by blooming flowers and golden light. She reached out, and the earth itself seemed to respond, vibrant life spreading from her touch.
"That's…" Lyra began, her voice trembling.
"Not you," Caelan interrupted, his tone as cold as ever. "But close enough."
The images shifted, darkening. The same woman was now in a forest, her face etched with fear. Shadows crept closer, and a figure stepped out—a man cloaked in black, his eyes burning with unnatural fire. The mirrors showed her captured, trapped in a tower that looked eerily like the castle they were in now.
"Her name was Elara," Caelan said, his voice low. "She was said to be the Bringer of Life, destined to break a great curse. But she failed."
"Failed?" Lyra echoed, her throat tightening.
The images flickered again. Elara was gone, and the castle appeared, its walls crumbling as darkness consumed it. The mirrors showed flickers of Caelan himself, standing at the center of the chaos, his face devoid of emotion even as the shadows enveloped him.
"She wasn't strong enough," Caelan continued. "Her power wasn't enough to stop the curse, and when she fell, the castle became what you see now—a prison for the damned, ruled by the very darkness she sought to destroy."
Lyra took a shaky step back. "What does this have to do with me?"
The mirrors shifted once more, this time focusing on her own face. The resemblance to Elara was undeniable, but there was something different—something brighter, stronger.
"You're the first since Elara to show her power," Caelan said, his gaze locked on the pedestal. "The curse stirs because of you. The castle awakens."
Lyra shook her head, her voice rising. "I don't even know what I'm doing! I didn't ask for any of this!"
"Neither did she," Caelan said coldly. "But that doesn't change what you are."
Lyra's mind raced, panic clawing at her chest. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "And what exactly am I?"
Before Caelan could answer, the light from the pedestal flared violently. The mirrors trembled, their images distorting. A new voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the chamber.
"She has come at last."
Lyra spun around, her breath hitching. In the largest mirror, a figure began to form—a towering silhouette cloaked in shadow. Its eyes burned with the same unnatural fire she'd seen in the earlier visions.
"Who—what is that?" Lyra whispered, backing away.
Caelan's expression darkened, his hand moving instinctively to the hilt of his sword. "The one who cursed this place."
The shadow's gaze locked onto Lyra, its voice sending shivers down her spine. "You cannot escape your fate, child. You will fall, as she did before you."
The room shook, cracks splintering across the mirror's surface. The shadow seemed to reach for her, its form spilling out of the glass like liquid smoke. Lyra froze, her heart pounding in her chest.
Caelan stepped in front of her, his sword drawn, its blade glinting with dark magic. "Get back!" he barked.
But before either of them could move, the shadow lunged forward, enveloping them both in darkness.
And then, everything went still.