The walk to the Spire was quiet, the faint hum of runes along the obsidian path the only sound besides Rikk’s sneakers scraping the stone. Lysara and Kael walked ahead, their steps steady. His silver eyes darted to the violet-gold sky and the jagged towers ahead, then to the small hand mirror in his hand. His black hair fell into his face, unfamiliar. He pushed it back, feeling the mirror’s warmth—a hint something inside him was changing.

He couldn’t stop worrying about Mom and Dad—the Morgans—back home. Were they safe? Had those Shades gone back? He imagined Mom finding his room empty, Dad scratching his head, and his stomach twisted. He also needed to know what this “awakening” was that Lysara kept mentioning, the thing that had turned his eyes silver and his hair black.

Lysara stopped at a tall archway lined with glowing crystals. She pressed a rune, and the air buzzed. The crystals flashed, opening the arch to a large hall. “Inside,” she said, stepping through.

Rikk glanced at Kael, then followed. The air was cooler, tinged with cinnamon and iron. The hall was wide, mirrors of all sizes on the walls reflecting bits of the sky. His silver-eyed reflection stared back from every angle. He gripped the mirror tighter. “What is this place?” he asked, voice rough.

“The Spire of Reflections,” Lysara said, moving deeper. “The heart of Aetherian power. Your ancestors built it to harness mirror magic—gateways, visions, truths. It’s where your bloodline’s strength lives.”

“Mine?” Rikk stopped, sneakers squeaking. “I’m not a prince with magic. I don’t get what’s happening. You said I’m awakening—what does that mean? Does everyone change like this? And what’s my real name?”

Lysara turned, her silver eyes steady. “Awakening is when your magic kicks in, between fifteen and nineteen. It’s different for everyone—some get sparks, others physical shifts like your eyes and hair. Yours is tied to reflections, rare and strong.”

Kael grunted, staff tapping the floor. “Most don’t change like that. Your Aetherian blood woke through the mirror. Means you’ve got power.”

Rikk nodded. So it wasn’t always this obvious. “Why me, though? And my name—what is it?”

“It’s Raethar—Raethar Aetheris,” Lysara said. “But you’ve been Rikk for sixteen years. We’ll call you what you want.”

Raethar. It felt heavy, not his yet. “I’ll stick with Rikk,” he said. “It’s who I am now. Maybe I’ll change it later.” Rikk’s from Mom and Dad, he thought.

Lysara nodded. “Rikk it is.” She led them to a round chamber with a mirrored ceiling. A pedestal stood in the center, a groove matching his mirror. “Place it there,” she said.

“Why?” Rikk asked, clutching it.

“It’s the key to the Spire’s defenses,” Lysara said. “It’ll shield you from the Duskveil Line. Their Shades will lose your trail—for now.”

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Rikk frowned. “Who are the Duskveils?”

Lysara’s jaw tightened. “A side branch of your Aetherian family. They broke off generations ago, chasing power.”

Rikk blinked. “Wait—they’re my family? Then why don’t they have mirror magic too?”

“Mirror magic only passes to the firstborn heir of the main line—you,” Lysara said. “It’s tied to the Spire, your birthright. Others in the family might awaken different powers—shadows, fire, whatever their mana shapes. When they do, they often take new names to mark it, start a new branch. The Duskveils chose their name because of their power over shadows.”

Kael added, “Only the firstborn gets the full Aetherian gift. The rest forge their own path—or turn on us.”

Rikk took that in. Duskveils were relatives who’d gone rogue. “What about the Morgans? The people who raised me? If these Shades are after me, will they go after them?”

“The sigils that hid you cloaked them while you were there,” Lysara said. “Now you’re here, the trail’s cut. The Duskveils won’t find them—not yet.”

“Not yet?” Rikk’s voice rose. “What if they figure out where I was?”

“They’re safe for now,” Kael said. “Shades track your blood, not theirs. Place the mirror—it’ll keep it that way.”

Rikk stepped forward, still uneasy, and set the mirror in the groove. It clicked, and a hum filled the room. The wall mirrors flared, showing scenes—a burning palace, a woman with silver eyes screaming, a baby carried through a glowing tear.

“What’s that?” Rikk asked, stepping back, heart racing.

“Your past,” Kael said. “The Spire remembers. That’s the night we hid you.”

Rikk watched, throat tight. The woman—his mother?—fought as flames swallowed everything. The baby—him—vanished into the portal. “And the Duskveils did this?”

“Yes,” Lysara said. “They wield shadow magic and wanted the throne. Sixteen years ago, they wiped out the last of the Aetherians—your parents—to take it. You were the last threat, so we hid you.”

Rikk’s fists clenched. “They’re my family and they killed my parents?” The thought of them targeting the Morgans next burned in his chest.

“Yes,” Kael said, moving to a window slit. “They rule now, but you’re back. Your gifts could take it all back.”

“Gifts I don’t have yet,” Rikk muttered, brushing his hair back.

“You will,” Lysara said. “But we’ve got to be careful. The mirror’s cloaked you—the Shades can’t track you now—but your enemies won’t stop hunting. You need to train, keep your power secret.”

“Train how?” Rikk asked.

“At the Academy of Veils,” Kael said. “A school in this realm for young mages. You’ll blend in, learn magic, but keep your reflection gifts hidden. The Duskveils can’t know you’re alive—not till you’re ready to face them.”

“A school?” Rikk said, caught off guard. “With other kids?”

“Students,” Lysara corrected. “Some your age, some older. They’ll think you’re a novice. Only a few we trust will know who you are. Your mirror magic’s Aetherian—rare. If the Duskveils suspect it, they’ll come fast.”

Rikk glanced at the mirror in the pedestal, his silver eyes staring back. “So I pretend?”

“For now,” Lysara said. “The Spire’s wards hold tonight. Tomorrow, you go to the Academy. You’ll train, and when the time’s right, you’ll claim what your parents died for.”

Kael tapped his staff. “Shades may be off you now, but they’ll scour this realm. They will send their people looking for you. Be ready.”

Rikk nodded, the weight settling in. A school, magic, a throne—all while hiding from relatives who’d kill him and maybe the Morgans too. He’d keep them safe somehow. “Okay,” he said, voice steady. “I’ll train. I’ll keep it secret.”

Lysara’s lips twitched, a hint of approval. “Good. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, your lessons start.”

The chamber quieted, mirrors dimming. Rikk’s reflection watched—a prince named Raethar Aetherian stepping into a future he’d face one reflection at a time.