The darkness was alive. It pulsed, slow and methodical like a predator savoring the scent of prey. Ash's hand, pressed to the icy stone wall, trembled despite his efforts to still it. The sigil on his wrist pulsed in tandem, a dull ache spreading with each heartbeat. The air was thick, suffused with the stench of old paper and something coppery, bitter enough to taste.
His eyes narrowed at the warped mirror stretching across the wall, its surface quivering like oil. Hundreds of eyes blinked from within, each one reflecting a different fragment of him rage, terror, longing all twisted into parodies. But it was the center reflection that chilled him most. His own face, smirking with eyes black and empty.
The reflection moved before he did. Lips curled into a smile that bared too-white teeth."You can't run, Ash," the reflection purred, voice low and almost amused. "Not from us. Not anymore."
Ash's pulse thundered in his ears, a raw mix of terror and defiance. His eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists even as the chill gnawed at his resolve. "Us?" he spat, forcing steel into his voice. "You're just a bad trick. A cursed mirror and some cheap illusions"
The eyes blinked in unison, the glass shivering."Is that what you tell yourself to sleep?" The reflection's smile widened. "You've already started to change. Or have you not noticed?"
Ash grit his teeth, chest tight with the growing urge to smash the mirror, to claw at the eyes until they stopped watching. But he forced himself to stay still, forced the rage down. The book's whispers were louder here, skittering at the edges of his mind, urging him to listen.
"Change?" he growled, jaw clenched. "You're a worse liar than the damned book."
"Oh?" The reflection's head tilted, eyes glinting with dark amusement. "Then why are your hands shaking?"
His fingers twitched dammit. He grit his teeth harder, nails digging into his palms."Shut up."
But the reflection only leaned closer, eyes glimmering with something ancient and hungry."You can't even admit it to yourself, can you? You're afraid. Not of us, but of what you're becoming."
The mirror warped, glass rippling like water. Eyes blinked faster, reflections stretching and twisting until Ash's surroundings bled into a dark corridor lined with towering shelves of books. The walls breathed, shadows curling and uncurling in jagged patterns. It was a place Ash had seen only in dreams too dark, too cold, with whispers that scratched at the edges of sanity.
He took a step back, heart hammering. This wasn't possible. He was still in the manor's hall, wasn't he? But the air was sharp and biting, carrying a coppery tang that pricked the back of his throat.
"The Archive," the reflection drawled, voice echoing from all sides. "You wanted answers. Don't look so surprised."
Books groaned, pages fluttering as if a breeze had passed. Titles glinted in the dim light'The Writ of Severance,' 'The Forgotten Epochs,' and others in scripts that writhed and shifted when Ash tried to focus. His eyes narrowed, instincts prickling with unease. The book at his side pulsed again, hotter this time, like it was reacting to the presence of the other volumes.
"You're wasting time," the reflection sneered. "Every second you hesitate, they rewrite another chapter. Another memory. Or did you really think your mentor's silence was just bad luck?"
Ash's breath caught, a sick feeling churning in his gut."What did you do?"
"Me?" The reflection smirked. "Nothing. But the Keepers? Well. They were thorough."
Rage flared, white-hot and all-consuming. Ash moved on instinct, hand slamming against the mirror only for his fingers to pass through with a cold that numbed to the bone. The world shifted again, spinning, and suddenly he was back in the hallway, stumbling and breathless. The mirror was intact, smooth and unblemished, reflecting only his own wide eyes and pale face.
His hand throbbed, the sigil's pulse erratic. For a moment, he just stood there, breaths harsh and ragged, fingers flexing and unflexing.You're losing it. Get a grip.
But the book was warm, almost feverish, whispers bleeding into clarity'The truth lies beneath ink and blood.'
Slipping through side passages and avoiding the patrolling guards, Ash moved swiftly, keeping to shadows. The corridors twisted in unfamiliar patterns, leading deeper into the manor's hidden wings. It wasn't long before he found the door oak, reinforced with iron, a faint glow seeping through the cracks.
He knocked once, twice. No response. Scowling, he pressed his palm to the wood, focusing. The sigil's pulse flared, heat seeping into the wood, unlocking wards with a soft hiss. The door creaked open, revealing a room cluttered with charts, maps, and arcane instruments.
And there, hunched over a desk, ink-stained fingers flipping through pages, was Everett.
Everett's eyes flicked up, glinting with faint annoyance. "You look like hell.""And you look like a bastard," Ash shot back, stepping inside and slamming the door. "We're even."
The door rattled, a heavy knock reverberating through the room. Both of them stilled, eyes snapping to the entrance. A pulse of power cold and suffocating leaked through the cracks, carrying whispers that clawed at Ash's mind.
Everett's eyes narrowed, mask slipping for a fraction of a second."Too late," he muttered, voice tight. "They've found us."
The door groaned, splinters cracking.
Ash's breath caught, fingers flexing around the book's spine."How many?"
Everett's gaze was grim. "Enough to rewrite this entire city."
And then the door exploded inward, shadows pouring in.