She wondered if Cassian had seen the system's latest announcement. He probably would've leaned in by now, voice low and bone-dry with amusement:
"You do realize your system's humor protocol is either malfunctioning… or sentient and actively trolling you, right?"
Arctha shook off the thought and flashed him a smile that screamed I'm fine, totally not losing it. Her gaze snapped back to the mirror—now glaring at it like it had just insulted her ancestry.
"Can I punch the reflection?" she asked abruptly.
Variel didn't blink. "Only if you want to lose."
"Cool. So it's a trap. Emotional devastation and a potential concussion. Great." She tossed her hands up. "I should've gone to elemental engineering school. No one makes you soul-wrestle in there."
Variel didn't dignify that with a response. Just gestured to the mirror again. "The Trial won't wait."
A low hum pulsed from the glass. And for a moment, Arctha swore she didn't just see her reflection—she saw herself. Older. Weathered. Changed. Standing behind the glass with a look equal parts pity and promise.
"I already hate this," Arctha muttered.
Cassian, unusually serious, stepped closer and grabbed her arm. "If it starts pulling, anchor your mind. Breathe. Don't fight it head-on."
Her heart thudded at the sudden gravity in his voice. "Wait, you've done this?"
"No," he said. "But you've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm-about-to-make-a-snarky-comment-before-dying' look."
She bit back a retort. Fair enough.
The mirror shimmered.
Variel's voice dropped. "Last chance, Arctha."
Her fingers trembled slightly. Static buzzed through her gauntlet like a heartbeat.
One breath.
Then another.
She stepped forward.
The mirror met her fingertips with a ripple. Cold. Electric. Like dipping into starlight that didn't want to be touched.
Then—snap.
She was pulled in.
The world twisted. Colors blurred.
Then—silence.
She stood alone.
No chamber. No Cassian. No Variel. No crowd.
Only a void.
And in its center—her.
Or something wearing her face.
The eyes were wrong. Too calm. Too certain.
The reflection smiled. "Took you long enough."
Arctha blinked. "Oh, awesome. Creepy doppelgänger. Love this for me."
"This isn't about love," the reflection replied, stepping closer. "It's about truth."
"Neat. I'll take a lie and go, thanks."
The reflection didn't flinch. "No. You'll take what you've buried. Every doubt. Every failure. Every joke you cracked to keep from breaking."
The air shifted, thick and tight around her like a fist.
And suddenly—memories ignited like wildfire.
Her mother's disappointment.
That gnawing belief she'd never measure up.
The laughter that followed her every mistake, cutting deeper than blades ever could.
The reflection didn't strike.
It unraveled her.
Piece by piece.
Her system voice buzzed, frantic: "Warning: Emotional integrity threshold approaching critical limits."
Arctha clenched her fists. "Override."
"Override what?"
"The breakdown, smartass. I'm not done."
The mirror-self faltered. The first crack in its certainty.
Arctha stepped forward. "I get it. I've messed up. I hide behind jokes. I deflect. I'm terrified I'll never be enough."
The reflection tilted its head. "And?"
"And I don't care."
It blinked.
"I'm still standing," Arctha said. "Still here. And if this is my trial—then I'm walking through it with every fractured piece I've got."
Her gauntlet lit up—bright, violet, alive—pulsing from her chest like a heartbeat made of stars.
The reflection smiled.
And bowed.
The void shattered.
Light poured in.
She stumbled out of the mirror, breathless, hitting the chamber rug hard.
Cassian was instantly there, hand out. "You good?"
She took it. "Define 'good.'"
Variel raised a brow. "Most don't return with their core magic awakened."
Arctha blinked. "…Come again?"
Her gauntlet hummed.
"Congratulations," it said smugly. "Emotional crisis resolved. Subclass unlocked."
Cassian laughed. "Told you. You had the look."
Arctha groaned. "If this subclass is something dumb like 'Melodramatic Duelist'—"
The gauntlet beeped: "Unlock confirmed: Ideal Self Blueprint – Inner Upgrade."
She stared.
Cassian doubled over laughing.
Variel just turned away, muttering, "We'll deal with that later."
Still catching her breath, Arctha managed a wobbly grin. "Told you this school was cursed."
But inside the mirror—something smiled back.
It had her face.
Her eyes.
Older. Sharper. Black hair like ink steeped in starlight. Violet eyes burning with silent grace. Arctha didn't scream. She didn't run.
She froze.
And the reflection reached out—
—and dragged her back in.
The system activated mid-panic: "Downloading Ideal Self Blueprint…"
"You absolute traitor," she snapped. "I'm not good enough for you now?"
"Correct," the system said flatly.
"Wow. Just—wow."
Even as she tumbled back into reality—gasping, shaking from emotional whiplash—a pressure clung to her chest. Not something she could see, but something she felt.
Like something stayed behind.
Or worse—something else came back.
She looked to the mirror.
Still. Silent.
Not empty.
Inside: the older version of her. Calm. Powerful. Watching.
It smiled.
Arctha didn't smile back. Too busy trying not to scream. Or cry. Or both.
"What the hell are you?" she whispered.
The figure didn't answer.
But the system did.
"Ideal Self Blueprint download in progress…"
It got heavier with each second. Like a tidal wave of memory, fear, and expectation crashing all at once.
Her knees buckled. Breaths came sharp. Shallow.
Just when she thought she'd break—
The mirror expelled her.
Like a body rejecting a rhythm that didn't belong.
She hit the ground hard.
Variel caught her mid-fall.
"You did well," Variel said quietly. "That's enough."
Then turned, barking orders.
Arctha stayed there, crumpled near the chamber's edge. Not quite in shock. Not quite broken. But something in between.
Like a truth had been extracted—and left a hollow in its place.
She said nothing.
And for once, no one tried to fill the silence.
She stayed on the floor longer than she should have, letting her pulse slow and the static in her gauntlet fade to a low, twitchy thrum. The air felt thinner now, like the room had exhaled with her, but the weight in her chest stayed put. A phantom pressure. Like someone had rearranged her insides while she wasn't looking.