The next morning dawned gray and heavy, the sky a bruise over Rikk’s sleepy town. He barely slept, the mirror’s weight pressing against his back through the backpack he’d kept close all night. Every creak of the house had him bolting upright, expecting that cloaked figure to reappear, but nothing came. By the time Mom called him for breakfast, his eyes were gritty, and his nerves were frayed to threads.

“Rough night?” she asked, sliding a plate of pancakes across the counter. Her tone was light, but her gaze lingered on him a little too long.

“Yeah,” Rikk mumbled, poking at the food. “Storm kept me up.”

Dad shuffled in, coffee mug in hand, already dressed for work. “Looks like it’s clearing up out there. You’ll survive the walk to school.”

Rikk nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. The mirror. The voice. That thing outside his window. He couldn’t tell them—couldn’t even imagine how to start. They’d think he was cracking up, and maybe he was. He shoveled a bite of pancake into his mouth, barely tasting it, and grabbed his backpack. “Gotta go. See you later.”

The walk to school was a blur of wet pavement and familiar faces—kids on bikes, cars idling at stop signs. Rikk kept his hood up, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the backpack a constant reminder of the secret he carried. He didn’t look at the mirror again, not yet, but he felt it, like a heartbeat pulsing against his spine.

At school, he drifted through the morning classes, doodling in the margins of his notebook instead of listening. Jake caught up with him at lunch, plopping down at their usual table in the cafeteria with a tray of questionable pizza.

“Dude, you look like death,” Jake said, tearing off a bite. “What’s up?”

Rikk hesitated. Jake was his best friend—stocky, loud, with a grin that got him out of trouble more often than not—but this wasn’t something he could explain. Not without sounding insane. “Just tired,” he said, pushing his own food around. “Didn’t sleep.”

“Chem homework’ll do that,” Jake said, oblivious. “You finish it?”

“Barely.” Rikk forced a smile, but his eyes flicked to his backpack, propped against his chair. He’d stashed the mirror in the front pocket, wrapped in an old gym shirt, but he swore he could hear it humming faintly, like a distant radio signal.

The bell rang, and they split for their next classes. Rikk’s was history, a subject he usually liked, but today he couldn’t focus. The teacher droned on about some war centuries ago, and Rikk’s gaze drifted to the window. Rain streaked the glass, and for a split second, he saw it—a flicker of violet light, like the swirl he’d glimpsed in the mirror. He blinked, and it was gone, just gray sky and wet trees.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

By the time the final bell rang, Rikk was done pretending everything was normal. He slipped out a side door, avoiding Jake’s usual post-school hangout spot near the bike racks, and headed for the woods behind the school. It wasn’t much—just a tangle of pines and muddy trails—but it was quiet, private. He needed to figure this out, and he couldn’t do it with people around.

He found a clearing, a patch of mossy ground under a canopy of dripping branches, and dropped his backpack. His hands shook as he unzipped the pocket and pulled out the mirror, still wrapped in the shirt. He peeled the fabric away, holding his breath. The glass was dark, reflecting only his own face—gray eyes, pale skin, a smudge of dirt on his cheek from the walk. No silver. No voice.

“Come on,” he muttered, tilting it in the dim light. “Do something.”

Nothing. Just silence, the patter of rain, the rustle of leaves. He was about to shove it back in the bag when the ground trembled—not an earthquake, but a pulse, like something massive had exhaled beneath him. The mirror flared, blindingly bright, and Rikk stumbled back, dropping it into the moss.

The glass didn’t show his reflection anymore. It showed a woman—tall, sharp-featured, with silver eyes that pierced through him. Her dark hair was pulled back, and she wore a cloak that shimmered like liquid night. Behind her, a sky of violet and gold stretched endless, framed by jagged black towers.

“Rikk,” she said, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “You need to listen.”

He scrambled back, heart slamming against his ribs. “Who—who are you? What is this?”

“My name is Lysara,” she said, unflinching. “And you’re not where you belong. They’re coming for you—faster than we thought. You have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” His voice cracked. “I don’t even know you! What’s happening?”

“There’s no time.” Her image flickered, static rippling across the glass. “The mirror is your key. Keep it close. When the portal opens—”

The ground pulsed again, harder, and a low growl rumbled from the trees. Rikk whipped around, but the woods were empty—until they weren’t. Shadows peeled off the trunks, coalescing into shapes: tall, cloaked figures like the one from last night, their edges blurring into the air. Their hands—or what should’ve been hands—were wisps of darkness, curling like smoke.

“Lysara!” Rikk shouted, grabbing the mirror. Her image was gone, replaced by his own terrified face, but her voice lingered, faint and fading.

“Run.”

He didn’t think. He bolted, mirror clutched to his chest, backpack abandoned in the moss. The shadows lunged, silent but fast, their presence a cold weight pressing against his back. The woods blurred past—branches snagging his hoodie, mud sucking at his sneakers—but he didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t let them catch him.

In the obsidian tower, Lysara slammed her fist against the scrying pool’s edge, water splashing over her boots. “They’ve crossed fully,” she snarled. “The veil’s too thin.”

Kael paced behind her, staff glowing brighter now, its tip crackling with energy. “The portal’s not stable yet. If we pull him now—”

“We don’t have a choice,” she cut in, turning to him. “He’s defenseless. Get it open, Kael. I’m going through.”

“You can’t,” he protested. “If you’re lost—”

“Then you’ll finish it.” Her silver eyes burned with resolve. “He’s our last chance. I won’t let them take him.”

Kael muttered a curse but raised his staff, violet light spiraling from its core. The air in the tower shivered, bending, as the portal began to form—a jagged tear between worlds. Lysara drew her cloak tighter, stepping toward it. She didn’t look back. Her prince was out there, running for his life, and she’d tear the realms apart to reach him.