The temple's mirrors were liars.
Kael knew it the moment he crossed the threshold. Moonlight speared through cracks in the domed ceiling, fracturing into spectral beams that danced across walls etched with forgotten runes. The air hung thick with the stench of decay and old incense—a tomb for gods long abandoned. Glass shards crunched under his boots, each step echoing like a hammer strike in the silence.
Lyra lingered at the entrance, her dagger trembling in her grip. "Your reflection's lying," she whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. "Mine's screaming."
He turned. In the nearest mirror, her doppelgänger raged—pounding the glass with bloodied fists, her mouth stretched in a soundless scream. Kael's own reflection fractured into a dozen lies: a king cloaked in flames, a beggar gnawing on rat bones, a hollow-eyed monster with Gideon's smirk.
"Why help me?" Kael demanded, rounding on her. "Varyn's hooks are in your mind. You're his puppet."
"He doesn't own my nightmares." Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to the mirror. The glass fogged under her breath. "These show what could be. What was."
The surface rippled. A memory surfaced: Lira, alive, laughing as she braided Kael's hair beneath the willow tree in the palace gardens. Sunlight dappled her face, her smile brighter than the crown he'd never wanted. Her fingers brushed his neck, warm and steady. "You'll be a good king," she'd said. "Better than your father."
Lyra gasped. "Who is she?"
Kael's throat tightened. "Someone I failed."
The image twisted. Flames erupted, devouring the willow. Lira screamed, her skin blistering, her braids unraveling into ash.
"No!" Lyra slammed her fist into the glass. It cracked, blood welling between her knuckles. "Make it stop!"
Kael grabbed her wrist. "Don't—"
The mirror exploded.
Shards rained down, slicing his cheek. From the wreckage, a creature unfolded—skeletal, its body a mosaic of jagged glass and shadows. Time warped around it, the air humming like plucked harp strings. Moonlight bent unnaturally, casting its silhouette in seven directions.
"Run!" Kael shoved Lyra behind him.
The creature lunged, glass claws screeching against stone. Kael swung his obsidian shard, but the blade passed through its chest like smoke. Not real. Not yet.
Lyra hurled her dagger. It shattered against the creature's skull, spraying diamond dust. "Use your power!"
"I don't know how!"
The creature seized his arm. Cold flooded his veins, visions erupting: a woman with his eyes strapped to an altar, her screams raw as Gideon carved a clockwork scar into her chest. Mother. Her blood pooled into gears, ticking like a dozen hearts.
"No!" Kael wrenched free, time roaring in his veins. He lunged, gripping the creature's throat.
Steal its seconds. Steal them all.
The creature aged—glass yellowing, joints creaking, bones crumbling to dust. Its death rattle echoed through the temple, a discordant chime that shook the walls.
Kael staggered back, his right hand withered to a skeletal claw. Lyra stared, her face pale.
"What are you?"
Before he could answer, the remaining mirrors erupted. Reflections of Kael's past and future clawed at the glass: a boy weeping over his mother's corpse, a tyrant drowning a city in time-stolen rust, a corpse rotting in a pyre.
One mirror pulsed—a shadowed figure stepped forward. Gideon, his face half-hidden under a hood, smirked. "You're late, little prince."
Lyra seized Kael's mangled hand, her grip icy. "We need to go. Now."
As they fled, Kael glanced back.
His mother's reflection stared from the last intact mirror, her lips moving silently:
"Find me… before he does."