Elliot Gray was, in all the ways that mattered, entirely ordinary.
He was not the kind of kid who discovered he had secret superpowers. He had never been chosen for anything more exciting than passing out worksheets in math class. He had not, to his knowledge, been born into a secret royal bloodline.
And he was fine with that.
At least, he had been. Until the day a mirror decided to ruin everything.
The Antique Shop
The Gray & Co. Antique Shop was not particularly exciting.
It wasn't the type of place with hidden treasures or secret passageways behind bookshelves—although Elliot had checked. Many, many times. Instead, it was filled with old furniture, delicate teacups no one was ever allowed to touch, and things that smelled like they had belonged to very boring people from very long ago.
Elliot sighed, slumped over the counter, and tapped his fingers against the glass display case. "Mum, remind me why I'm here?"
His mother, standing on a step stool and dusting the top shelves, shot him a look. "Because we own the shop?"
"I mean, why am I here, instead of literally anywhere else?"
She didn't answer. She just handed him a rag.
Elliot sighed again. Louder this time. With feeling. "That's not an answer."
His mum smirked as she climbed down. "We close-up early on Thursdays. Besides, you could use the extra responsibility."
"I could also use a nap," Elliot muttered, dragging the rag half-heartedly over the counter.
His mum gave him 'The Look'—the one that meant do the thing or else.
Elliot groaned dramatically and got to his feet. "Fine, fine. I'll be useful."
"First time for everything," she teased.
Elliot gave her a deeply wounded look and shuffled toward the back room.
The storeroom was cramped.
Stacks of chairs leaned against one another like sleepy giants, bookshelves loomed in the dim light, and crates sat piled atop one another, their labels long faded. The whole place smelled like dust and old paper.
Elliot ran his rag half-heartedly over a shelf, disturbing a small cloud of dust. He coughed. "We should really get a vacuum back here."
"Mm-hmm," his mother called distractedly from the front, clearly not listening.
Elliot rolled his eyes and turned—
And froze.
Tucked between two old cabinets, half-buried under a stack of newspapers, was a mirror.
It wasn't particularly large. Four feet tall, maybe. Its wooden frame was carved with swirling symbols that looked ancient and important and probably cursed.
More importantly, it wasn't dusty.
Which was weird, because everything in this room was covered in dust. If dust could file for property rights, it would have claimed this shop a decade ago.
Elliot stepped forward slowly.
The closer he got, the stranger it felt. The air around it seemed… thicker, heavier.
He hesitated, then reached out and wiped the glass with his sleeve—though there was nothing to wipe away. The surface was already perfectly clear.
And that's when he saw it.
A field.
Not the backroom. Not his reflection. Just an endless, open field bathed in silver light. The sky above it was deep indigo, filled with stars that didn't look like the ones he knew. And, hanging overhead, glowing like silent sentinels—
Two moons.
Elliot's stomach twisted.
No. Absolutely not. This was not normal.
With a sharp inhale, he turned his head, checking the real world behind him.
The backroom was still there. Stacks of wooden chairs. A taxidermy owl missing one glass eye. No endless field. No twin moons.
Slowly, hesitantly, he looked back at the mirror.
And his own reflection stared back at him.
His pulse jumped.
No more silver field. No strange sky. Just his own face, his dark brown eyes wide and startled, his messy hair falling over his forehead, the boring, perfectly normal storeroom behind him.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
It had been real. Hadn't it?
Hadn't it?
"Elliot?"
Elliot flinched violently.
His mother stood in the doorway; eyebrows raised. "I called your name three times. What are you doing back here?"
Elliot opened his mouth—then hesitated.
What was he supposed to say? Hey, Mum, I think I just saw another world in an old mirror, but no worries, everything's totally fine!
"Uh." He cleared his throat, willing his voice to sound normal. "Nothing. Just… moving stuff around."
Her gaze flickered over him, as if she could see the way his pulse was still racing.
"Uh-huh," she said slowly.
Elliot grabbed a nearby newspaper and casually tossed it back over the mirror. "Did you need something?"
His mum studied him a moment longer, then sighed. "I was going to say we're done for the night. Are you coming?"
Elliot nodded very quickly. "Yep. Totally. Just… wrapping up."
His mum gave him one last long, suspicious look before turning and walking back toward the front.
Elliot let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
He glanced at the mirror again.
It looked ordinary now. Like any other dusty antique.
But Elliot knew better.
Something was wrong with it.
He just didn't know what.
And part of him—the part that had always wanted the world to be bigger than it was—hoped he would never have to find out.
A Night Like Any Other
That night, everything was normal.
His mum made spaghetti. His little brother, Simon, declared war on vegetables. Homework was attempted, then swiftly abandoned in favour of more important pursuits—such as lying on his bedroom floor, listening to music, and trying not to think about the mirror that had reflected a place that did not exist.
Eventually, he fell asleep.
And he dreamed.
He had been having strange dreams lately. Not normal ones, where you forget your locker combination or show up to school wearing a bathrobe. No, these were different.
They felt too real.
In them, he wandered through impossible landscapes—forests with silver leaves, golden deserts that stretched forever, rivers that flowed backward. Sometimes, he saw a city in the distance, its towers carved from the sky itself. Sometimes, he saw a field beneath two moons.
Just like the one in the mirror.
But whenever he tried to reach it, he woke up.
Just like now.
Elliot's eyes shot open. His bedroom was dark and quiet, except for the faint hum of the old ceiling fan. His heart pounded in his chest, the strange dream already fading like mist.
He let out a slow breath and rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
Everything was fine.
Everything was normal.
Except.
At 2:47 AM, something slipped into his room.
And everything changed.