Back in the great hall, Nauthiz stood trembling before the mirror, his reflection still staring with unrelenting intensity. “You are a ghost,” he hissed, raising his hand. “A relic of the past. I will not be bound by you.”

The reflection’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “You already are.”

With a roar, Nauthiz slammed his fist into the glass. The mirror shattered, shards raining down around him in a cascade of silver and shadow. For a moment, the room was silent, the fractured pieces glittering like fallen stars at his feet.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But the reflection lingered, her face now fragmented across the shards. No matter where he looked, her eyes followed him, her presence inescapable.

Nauthiz staggered back, his breath ragged. The fire in the hearth flickered weakly, its light unable to chase away the cold that had settled in the room. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought to steady himself.

“You are gone,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “You are nothing.”

From the shadows, a faint voice echoed. “And yet, you cannot escape me.”

Nauthiz froze, his glowing eyes scanning the room. But there was nothing—no presence, no movement, only the fragments of the mirror scattered at his feet.

He turned sharply, his cloak swirling behind him as he strode from the room. The shards of the mirror remained, their broken reflections watching as he disappeared into the darkness.