“Don’t you fucking dare!” Jirtu screamed at the top of his lungs.

Cedric rotated his hands in the air between them. The space surrounding them warped into prismatic shapes and platinum colors — and then he was gone.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Jirtu kicked a chair away from the table, thrust his arm out, and incinerated it in a spray of magical fire.

Btooooooom!

Figures on every balcony turned to look. All over, countless eyes were on him.

He turned his ferocity upon them and they all shifted immediately back to their own businesses. Jirtu took a moment to compose himself. “Curious bastards… But I guess that was to be expected, here.”

And his attention turned back to his own current business: that childlike Etherian laying wounded and unconscious on the floor at his boots. Okella — the first traitor.

You can stay trapped here, damn whelp. That makes an adequate punishment for what you've done, though lenient it is. You should have your damn soul plucked out, left to rot in the deepest abyss of Kasmoden.

Ivalié squirmed slightly, asleep at the table. Jirtu scoffed at him, too, and his ire inflated tenfold.

Useless. I should have known from the first, I should have known! How I'd love to cut your damn throat right here and let you rot. Words cannot enumurate the stark hatred I feel for you at present.

But for now… I've got to focus on leaving this damnable place. You'll at least be stuck here, wake up only to step out into some god-forsaken manawarp realm with no food, no shelter, no…

Jirtu sighed. He shook his head, clamped his fingers around the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Up you come… I'm sure there's more use for you yet. Rykaedi would be pissed if I left you here after all of that work to create the fetal Okella... So close, now. So close..."

He easily pulled Ivalié up onto his back. One of his many devices – Thrigistin – gave him strength beyond reason, strength enough to warrant saving at least one of the traitors in his midst. Not for Ivalié's sake, of course — a dark smirk crossed Jirtu's lips at the thought of what would be done to him. His torture had only just begun.

It won't be long to get back to Calamon. I'll take the doorway to Ciessa, a ride along the river to Olvia, I'll commandeer their Disaster Gate for a little favor… It'll be as easy as snapping my fingers... And it'll only take—

"—Forever!" his voice echoed through white space.

Snow had piled high all around, still billowing down in dense clumps from the white sky above. It was nigh impossible to see anything anymore besides the sky and the ground — even his black robes were becoming white, even Ivalié with his arms thrown over Jirtu's shoulders, now a terribly heavy weight, a burden he should have refused to carry...

"I'm going to be here forever, with you!"

The gate to Ciessa – closed! What gall to turn me away! I'll have a word with their fucking prince when I'm back, that pretty-boy with all his charisma and platitudes… and I'll cut his damn eyes out!

Travel between dimensions is no joke. It's something only the highest upper-crust of scholars and magi are even aware of, let alone capable of. Other rings outside of the hierarchy — what madness. And what luck that this sacred tool is available only to mortal men, not Etherians or deities at all. Creatures like that are bound to their original plane, they are a consequence of the plane. But man has ever existed. Evra birthed man? Please. There have been a billion men before her and there will be a billion men after her. Just not so far as she's capable of being aware.

So now I'm here, in this shithole, with this shithead, because one shitting barbarian fucked me over.

"I should have fucking killed him…"

Ivalié murmured something.

Oh, and one thing I'd have been delighted to remember once upon a time: my devices do not work in other planes. Etherians do not exist here. The only merit by which I've survived is a planar invulnerability of sorts — a short duration in which the effects of a plane will do me no harm. But as soon as it wears thin...

He dropped Ivalié limply into the snow. The body sank some three feet deep through it then stopped. He rustled.

"Let's hope this'll do…" He waved his hand and chanted into the air. No luck. "A manawarp plane? By what manner of bullshit did I even arrive here? If no magic is capable of existing here, how did a door even open upon this plane?"

Indeed, how? he wondered, and slunk to the ground. Had the door ever been here, I'd have turned right around and opened it back up again. It was as though everything before ceased to exist the second this became my new reality. Some sort of mad magic is going on here, and I suspect it's more sinister than just a simple error with a door.

A silhouette began to emerge in the haze before him. Jirtu tensed, stood again. No magic. If he attacks, I'll have to whip out some of that old hand-to-hand I'm oh-so-familiar with. In other words, I'll be shit out of luck.

A sound of chains lingered in the air after the silhouette. A sound like a dog's collar, rattling keys, clattering metal tins…

Jirtu held up his left hand. A bulb of violet magic appeared. Ah, good. So raw magic still works, though not by any ley system so far as I can tell. Whichever mechanism this dimension works by, I'll have to discover it. And fast.

"Reveal yourself, shade. I still have mana to spend."

"Have you, now?" asked the figure. Details became clearer as he approached. An intricate white robe, silver trim and accents, a moon and sun… and a silver-framed mirror for a head. “And you expect your spells to outwit me? Give me fright? I should pray not, lad.”

“What manner of thing are you? Is everyone in this plane as such?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I am the only one. The only one of thousands, tens of thousands, and once, millions, who wears the mirror.”

“So what should I call you? Mirror Man?”

“You may call me whatever you like. I prefer the name Jirtu.”

“That’s oh-so-funny, isn’t it?”

“It'll be clear in time what I mean. For now, stay your energy for the coming trek."

"So what's this, then, the prelude to some poorly written play? You're going to ‘reflect’ my past, all the people I've known, all the pain I've ever felt, teach me some kind of lesson? I would hardly believe you could force a change out of me."

"I only wish to show you, not change you. And in any case, how long has it been since you've seen a friendly face?"

Jirtu threw the bolt. It bounced off the air before the Mirror Magus, blasted back at Jirtu with immeasurable speed. He braced himself—

THOOOM!

"Ooph!" The force bolt struck his gut. He collapsed into the freezing snow.

The Mirror Magus half-turned away. He said, "You are in Ciliamont. Walk two miles north to arrive in a city called Gom. It was not always as snow-covered as this."

And he vanished into the storm.

Fucking mirror — how am I even supposed to know which way is north?

He choked, coughed up bile into the snow. And then he began to shiver.

And how do I not die before then? My immunity is wearing thin…

“Fio.” he said, and a spark lit up from his fingers. A bit of the snow melted away. It wasn't possible to light a fire here. It wasn't a survivable place out here. He had to think quickly, and smartly.

How unfortunate it was that he had limited survival experience, dating back some two-thousand years or so in his home plane.

Ciliamont, eh? That name is so familiar, but…

More importantly, let's see if I can't subvert this system of magic for my own gain. No fire… maybe raw heat?

"Fia." he whispered. His body became warm. Some of the snow turned to water and clung to his skin and robes. He looked down to the hole in the center of his black robe, straight through to the bruised flesh underneath.

And it seems I'll need a new robe, too.

It was nearly three hours later that Jirtu stumbled frostbitten into a town — a place called Gom by the frozen wooden sign that welcomed him to the place. The paths had all been packed in with snow in match with the rooftops which spanned excessively into stone cityscape beyond. It was an immediately desolate and somber scene; in all likelihood, he'd have to walk another hundred miles before he found a single living soul in the massive place. And whether they were human, whether they were sinister or kind, whether they were sentient or bestial… was all a roll of the dice.

Jirtu's eyes flitted over to a lantern. It was still glowing over what he assumed to be a snowed-in tavern. No smoke from any of the chimneys save the one over that peculiar building… The path was dug out, too. Someone was unmistakably within.

Jirtu pressed into the ley. There was not a large congestion of lines here, but there were enough, maybe three or four at most with numerous intersections. He would be able to defend himself. And with that in mind, he muddled through the snow to the door, and pressed hard into it until it opened.

He nearly stumbled inside when it suddenly swung in, but grabbed the doorknob at the last second. Good on him as well, or he'd have plunged down a steep set of sharp steps all the way to the stone floor below — just as he had accidentally allowed Ivalié to slip from his back and clatter down the steps himself. He continued down with a wince for the mage, continued into the cellar which became only warmer and warmer until it was almost sweltering. And to his delight: a man was stood behind the dirty, dusty counter hidden inside. Their eyes met, and the man averted his gaze. Jirtu shuddered, tried to grin though his face refused to budge.

He leaned down with shaking hands to wrestle Ivalié back up, dragged him by his shoulders to a stool and desperately tried to lift him into it.

"A little... help?" he groaned, fighting fruitlessly again, tirelessly to lift his accomplice.

The barkeep looked over without a shred of interest.

It was another set of hands which appeared from beside Jirtu, who helped him lift the man into his seat, helped slouch him onto the countertop like a drunkard.

Jirtu sighed, glanced back to his sudden ally — and gasped. His bulging bug eyes blew up like balloons. “C-Cassius!”

He was old, gray-haired, wrinkled, strongly square-jawed but shriveled up like a prune. His own face contorted in abject horror at Jirtu's warped features, his gaunt cheeks, his dark eyes...

…and he merely gasped out, “Jarus!”

X

The girl jumped to her feet from the floor. Just a child, dark blue hair, dark blue eyes, dark freckles across her smooth, soft cheeks…

Elos didn't even flinch when she thrust her small hands forward, clenched her eyes shut in desperation.

He merely called for the silence. And her ability was upended.

Then Pek stomped around to her side, pulled her back by her hair.

"We'll have to be continuous with our silence." said Elos, rubbing his chin.

"Or," suggested Pek before demonstrably striking her on the side of the head, knocking her out in one swift motion.

"Hmm. I didn't know daemons could be knocked out like that. Seems rather mundane, no?"

"Who was it that said, 'sometimes the most simple solution is the correct one'?"

"I don't know. But I like it."

Elos turned up to the library, scoped out the impressive scene. "I'll be damned. However they built this thing, I can hardly imagine. Etherian construction can certainly astound the senses."

"I can't quite feel the ley…"

Elos took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "No. It's quiet. Or too loud. This place is swarming with… Something. We very well may have found the library of Shogal-Bäz. Vei'kali."

Pek nodded enthusiastically. “The library of Shogal-Bäz, an Etherian girl, the black blade Grivonym… We've scored big so far. This will be a big benefit to the capture of Calamon. Elos?”

Elos had lost himself in following a trail of blood, had wandered some twenty paces away and counting. The fight scene was already evident from the scorched books and the exploded wooden debris — but if one of their quarries was still on the run…

Pek followed him, slid a hand into his pocket, threw Okella over his shoulder with his other.

Then there was the door: light-blue with an ornate golden handle, dark azure inscriptions all around its edifice. A glowing gemstone was inlaid at the very top.

“Where do you think this leads, Pek?”

“I don't know. Where do you think?”

Elos smiled. “I don't know either. But I'd certainly like to find out.”

And he cracked the door open to a fierce gust of wind that threatened to suck them out into the devastating snowstorm beyond…

Pek smiled in kind — and through the doorway they stepped.