Rikk’s lungs burned as he crashed through the woods, the mirror digging into his chest with every desperate step. The shadows were close—too close—a creeping chill brushing the back of his neck like icy fingers. Branches snapped behind him, too loud, too deliberate, and he risked a glance over his shoulder. The cloaked figures glided through the trees, their forms flickering between solid and smoke, their eyeless faces fixed on him. They didn’t run—they flowed, relentless and silent, and that terrified him more than anything.

He tripped over a root, sprawling into the mud. The mirror slipped from his grip, skidding across the wet ground, and for a panicked second, he thought he’d lost it. He scrambled forward, snatching it up just as a shadow loomed over him. Its smoky hand reached down, and Rikk rolled away, the cold grazing his arm like a blade. He stumbled to his feet and ran again, heart hammering so hard it echoed in his ears.

The woods thinned ahead, opening into a stretch of overgrown grass near the edge of town. He burst out of the trees, gasping, and skidded to a halt. The air shimmered, warping like a mirage, and a sound like tearing fabric ripped through the silence. A jagged line of violet light split the space, widening into a portal, and through it, he glimpsed that strange sky—gold-streaked and alien.

Lysara stepped out.

She was taller than he’d imagined, her presence sharp and commanding, like a storm contained in human form. Her silver eyes locked onto him, and she raised a hand, palm out. “Stay behind me,” she ordered, her voice cutting through his fear.

Before he could respond, the shadows erupted from the woods, six of them now, their forms stretching impossibly long. Lysara didn’t hesitate. She thrust her other hand forward, and a wave of violet light surged from her fingers, slamming into the nearest figure. It shrieked—a sound like metal grinding on glass—and dissolved into ash. The others recoiled, circling like predators, but Lysara advanced, her cloak billowing as energy crackled around her.

“Get to the portal!” she shouted, not looking back.

Rikk’s legs moved on instinct, sprinting toward the glowing tear. The mirror pulsed in his hand, warm and alive, and as he neared the portal, something shifted inside him. His vision blurred, sharpened, and a jolt ran through his body—like static, but deeper, pulling at his core. He stumbled, clutching the mirror tighter, and caught his reflection in its glass. His gray eyes were gone, replaced by a piercing silver that glowed faintly in the dim light. His brown hair darkened, turning midnight black, strands falling into his face like ink spilling over paper. This was him—his true self—revealed in the mirror’s unyielding truth.

He didn’t have time to process it. A shadow broke from the pack, lunging at him. Lysara spun, a whip of light snapping from her hand, and the creature disintegrated mid-air, but another took its place, faster, closer—

A second figure emerged from the portal, a man in dark robes, staff blazing with violet fire. He thrust it forward, and a shockwave knocked the shadow back, giving Rikk just enough time to dive through the tear. He hit the ground hard, rolling across smooth stone, the mirror still clutched tight. The air here was thick, spiced with cinnamon and iron, and he pushed himself up, staring at the world he’d tumbled into.

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Towers of black stone rose against a sky threaded with violet and gold, their surfaces etched with glowing runes. The ground was polished obsidian, reflecting the strange light like a dark mirror. The portal flickered behind him, and Lysara and the man—Kael—stepped through, the tear sealing shut with a hiss.

Rikk staggered to his feet, his silver eyes wide, his black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “What—what’s happening to me?” he demanded, voice shaking as he held up the mirror. His reflection stared back, unfamiliar yet undeniable.

Lysara turned to him, her expression softening slightly. “You’re awakening,” she said. “I’m Lysara. This—” she gestured to the man beside her, “—is Kael. And you’re Rikk—or rather, the name you’ve carried. Your true name is tied to this place.”

“What?” His voice cracked, the mirror trembling in his grip. “What do you mean, awakening?”

Kael lowered his staff, the glow fading. “You’re not of that world, boy. You never were. This is your home—what remains of it. The mirror’s calling your blood awake.”

Rikk shook his head, the words piling up like stones. “What were those things?”

“Shades,” Lysara said, stepping closer. “Servants of those who want you dead. They’ve hunted you since your birth.”

“Why?” He hated how small he sounded, how lost.

Lysara met his silver gaze, her own eyes mirroring his. “Because you’re the last of the Aetherian line. A prince of this realm. Your blood holds power—power tied to mirrors and reflections, a gift of your lineage they’ll kill to extinguish.”

Rikk stared at her, the weight of it crashing down. Prince. Power. Reflections. It was absurd, but the mirror pulsed again, and his silver-eyed reflection nodded, as if confirming her words. “If I’m... this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “why was I there? In that other place?”

“To protect you,” Kael replied, his tone gruff. “Sixteen years ago, your family was massacred. We swapped you with a child from that world to hide you. The Morgans raised you, but they’re not your kin.”

Rikk’s stomach churned. Mom’s pancakes, Dad’s lame jokes—none of it was real? “You’re lying,” he whispered, but the mirror’s warmth, the change in his eyes and hair, told him otherwise.

“We don’t have time for denial,” Lysara said, her voice firm but not harsh. “The Shades found you because the sigils concealing you are failing. More will come. We need to move.”

“To where?” Rikk asked, gripping the mirror like a lifeline.

Lysara pointed to the tallest tower, its peak piercing the violet-gold sky. “The Spire. The last bastion of your bloodline. There, we can shield you—and teach you to wield what’s waking inside you.”

“And if I don’t want this?” he snapped, anger cutting through the fear. “If I just want to go back?”

Kael snorted. “That world’s not safe for you now. They’ll follow, and they won’t spare your ‘Mom and Dad.’”

Rikk’s breath caught, the thought of those shadows near his parents—real or not—twisting his insides. He didn’t want this, but he didn’t want them hurt either.

Lysara stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was steady, anchoring. “You’re not alone, Rikk. We’ve waited sixteen years for you. Let us guide you.”

He looked down at the mirror, his silver eyes staring back, his black hair framing a face that felt both foreign and right. Slowly, he nodded, the truth settling over him like a second skin. “Okay,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “Let’s go.”

Lysara’s lips curved faintly, and she turned toward the Spire. Kael fell in beside her, staff tapping the stone. Rikk followed, the mirror thrumming in his hand, his reflection whispering of powers yet to come. This world, this self—it was his now, and there was no turning away.