He’d played football before, but never seriously; at least not as seriously as his seven-year-old mind imagined playing football. ‘Seriously’ for Keon meant playing five-a-side on a pitch with a coach and referee, instead of with Dad on a random patch of grass in the local park. As irony would have it, this was also the day he decided never to play football again.

He’d been picked to go up front. The position had an official name, but hell if he knew it. He figured he was picked because, being a runt, everyone assumed he was fast. He was, but it did him little good when he had poor eye-to-ball coordination. He eventually wound up at the back as a defender. That name he knew at least. When he proved adept at somehow putting himself between the ball and the goal (albeit, unwittingly), he was swapped out for the keeper. That was what landed him flat on his back cradling his stomach.

Whether the opposition caught on to the fact that he was basically saving goals through pure, dumb luck or not, the cocky blonde up front decided he was going to take out the competition—and teach Keon a lesson. Keon had seen this guy score all afternoon, so he knew it wasn’t an accident when he pelted the ball straight into his stomach.

It must have looked like one of those comic-book panels where the hero catches the villain square in the mid-section with a blow that curls his entire body around the fist. He would go on to embellish the story as the years went by, describing in vivid detail how he wound up at the back of the net, yet still managed to save the goal. The reality wasn’t nearly as glamorous. He’d keeled over more from shock than the impact of the ball. And that feeling as he lay there rolling from side to side like a wounded hedgehog—like Mum’s Akee and Saltfish was about to burn its way back up his throat—that was what it felt like now, only ten times worse.

He gurgled and gagged as he tried rolling over and his mouth half filled with freezing water. He’d slid all the way down the incline, over the edge of the waterfall, and washed up on the side of the riverbank between the hills of the valley. It was a miracle he hadn’t cracked his head open on the way down, nor frozen to death in the chilly waters. Even still, if this place was really the domain of a ‘Higher-Power’, maybe it wasn’t by chance he’d survived?

Come to think of it, what happened if you died in Underland? If his Mirror was the manifestation of his physical body, would killing him kill his body? Was it like the Matrix? (Which he probably shouldn’t have watched at the tender age of nine. Calamari still freaked him out). And did that make him—here—the mind?

It was still dark, which meant he hadn’t lost consciousness on the way down. It also meant the valley was still crawling with TnTs. Smearing droplets from his eyes, he crawled shakily onto the frosty grass, his drenched gambeson clinging to him like a baby koala. He was out of breath before he’d even made it a few metres. Then the knotting of the intestines kicked in again. Was ‘freezing sick’ a thing? Because that’s how he felt.

Collapsing onto his backside, he stuck his head between his knocking knees, taking deep breaths to stop himself from throwing up. This wasn’t natural. He needed to know what was going on with his Mirror.

His fingers grasped aimlessly for the satchel before they finally found it. Slipping the Codex out, he held it up between his knees, squinting at the back cover. Then, he peeled it open. It didn’t take long for the first words to scratch themselves across the Appendix.

green…

…twigs

moving…

…bouncing

The heck did that mean? He looked up; brows curled in thought. Green. Twigs. Moving. Bouncing. His gaze fell to the grass, random patches of soil and tree bark littering the ground. That’s what it was describing. It was like it was being carried. Or dragged.

“Flip!” he muttered.

How’d this bloody happen? Who the heck could have found his Mirror? Was it a band of Mynds? What would happen if they took it back to a Stronghold? Would he be pulled back into the real world without ever having saved his dad? Would all of this be for nothing? He went to get up when something caught his eye on the page. That was weird. He’d never seen that before.

“…now, bruv?…”

“…back…–nah-Dogu… choice…to follow…”

That’s right! According to Shem, the Appendix didn’t just tell him what his Mirror saw—but also what it heard. He was eavesdropping on a conversation between at least two people.

‘Bruv.’

They weren’t Mynds. Whoever they were, they were Londoners.

His eyes scrambled through his thoughts.

‘–nah-Dogu.’ Were they talking about Midnah-Dogu? That meant Moonlamps!

“Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!”

Aslan. It had to be!

That sly son-of-a-Moonlamp had actually found his Mirror! Keon hadn’t taken him seriously. And that quickly? After all that crap about wanting to help him! Obviously, it was a trap. He was baiting him. Or—he cursed inwardly.

This wasn’t about him at all. It was about Asya! They were using him to draw out Asya.

He shoved himself to his feet but stopped. Surely, they didn’t know he was here. If he could track them down and get the drop on them, he’d have the element of surprise. Then again, if Aslan had brought his entire crew with him, Keon was as good as dead. What if he summoned Helel ibn Shakar again? No. No, those things were territorial. If they were in a region that mapped onto France, they were outside of Helel’s domain.

He’d been stood there pinching the teeny stub of hair growing beneath his lip for a full four minutes before he came to an incommodious resolution. If they were taking his Mirror to Midnah-Dogu, he needed to slow them down, if not completely turn them around. And to do that—

He found a spot on the ground and thumbed the Codex open. Slipping out the graphite pencil, he jammed it between his lips then finally put it to paper.

‘Can you hear me?...Or read me?’ he wrote.

You mug…

He chuckled. Guess that was a yes.

“I want…to propose…a truce,” he mumbled as he scratched the pencil across the page.

His eyebrow arched at the response.

‘Kiss my mum with that mouth and she’ll slap it off you.’

Our mum…and I know…I’ve felt it.

‘Fine. Whatever. Our mum.’

He paused, exhaling.

‘Look, the guys that have you are gonna take you back to Midnah-Dogu, a Moonlamp Stronghold. I don’t want that and neither do you. So, like it or not, we’re in this together. If we’re stuck together, we may as well work together. What do you say?’

He stared at the empty page. Nothing.

“Come on…” he whispered.

Still nothing.

He huffed through his nose, eyelids closing on his ploy. Then the book rippled.

…what’s the plan?

* * *

“My man’s heavier than he looks bruv,” grunted Baris, heaving the Mirror to adjust the weight across his aching shoulder.

“You said that five minutes ago…and ten minutes before that,” said Ruslan.

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true init. We can switch any time you know!”

Ruslan chuckled.

“I’m good you know.”

“Seriously, why’d I bring you two idiots with me?” said Aslan, shaking his head.

“Want suttin’ done you better call Ruslan init,” he smirked.

“Clearly he didn’t want nuttin’ done then init…”

Ruslan shoved Baris’ free shoulder, knocking his cackling buffoonery off balance.

Aslan held up a fist. Instinctively, they halted, scanning the forest for any sign of movement. Whatever that sound was, it wasn’t coming from the trees. Aslan spun on his heel and stalked towards Ruslan and Baris, his nose sweeping left to right as though sniffing out a threat. He paused by Baris’ shoulder; the limp form of the bedraggled Mirror draped across it. Its lips were moving, murmuring something. Aslan leaned in closer, inclining his ear towards it.

“…going…th’wrong way…” it rasped.

He turned to face it full on, his grey eyes pinning it like arrows.

“What?”

The Mirror creaked its neck laboriously to look at him, that cheshire-cat grin arching the cracked corners of its chapped mouth.

“He’s here…he’s close…”

Aslan grabbed a fistful of sticky, matted locks and wrenched its head up at an awkward angle.

“Where?”

* * *

Keon crept between the pillars of jagged wood, periodically popping blueberries in his mouth one by one. Finding them wasn’t dumb luck either. France was one of the top ten producers of blueberries in the world, just missing out on a spot in the top five to Mexico. He didn’t need Shem’s hacks to figure that one out. He’d kept an eye peeled ever since he realised where he was. Given there wasn’t likely any mass production or harvesting here, he figured he’d find massive crops. Boy did they not disappoint!

He had to pace himself though. He’d originally ran about two miles from where he left the Mirror. It would take at least forty minutes to make it back; longer if he moved slowly. That would give enough time for the berries to work their magic. Assuming, of course, the digestive system worked the same way in Underland. Would it take that long to digest, or would things move quicker? Come to think of it, he’d eaten and drank all this food, but the whole time he’d never needed to—where on earth did it all go?!

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, realisation dawning.

He almost felt sorry for the Mirror, forcing a swallow to keep down the berries he’d just inhaled. He took a deep breath, exhaled and moved on.

* * *

Aslan, Ruslan and Baris retraced their steps to where they’d first found the Mirror; sprawled out flat in a clearing. They’d figured it had been sleeping, taking the opportunity to pounce and pound it into the ground so it wouldn’t wake up for a while. Aslan should’ve known better, but he couldn’t stop Baris and Ruslan once they got going. They hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d be nearby or that the Torchbearer might have somehow done this to his own Mirror. Now they were on the backfoot. For all they knew, his companions could have them surrounded. And what about Cebrail? The others may not have seen or understood what happened, but Aslan did. Something had stopped Cebrail’s assault. Something had made him flee. He didn’t want to reckon with whatever that was if it showed up again.

“What’s with you bruv?” said Baris, noting his restlessness.

He shook his head, chin firmly set.

“I don’t like this.”

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“Yeah. Not exactly how I expected things to go down either.”

They whirled round at the voice, Aslan’s Kodeks already open.

Keon stepped gingerly over a bush, both hands up in ‘peace’ rather than ‘surrender.’ His breath caught at the sight of his Mirror, complete with Baris’ bulging bicep wrapped around its throat. He gulped, suddenly aware of an invisible, vice-like grip curling around his neck. He wanted to rub at it, knowing full well he’d find nothing there. Jeeze, that was weird.

Even in the poor light of the forest, the Mirror’s eyes flashed and glinted at him. Was that relief he saw?

“I’m alone,” Keon offered, seeing their unease.

“Why you out here alone, cuz?” said Ruslan.

Keon popped a shrug, palms still out.

“One of their rituals init. I have to confront my Mirror alone.”

“So, you bought into their lies then?”

Aslan almost sounded disappointed.

“What’s it to you?” Keon frowned.

It was Aslan’s turn to shrug, pursing his lips.

“Thought you were smarter than that bro.”

Keon cocked a grin.

“My mum always said I was pretty dumb for a smart guy.”

“This guy’s chattin’ breeze bruv. Let’s just end this!” said Baris.

Keon blinked in thought.

“I mean, it was a bit chilly earlier…”

“What?”

“The wind. Like…there was a breeze...”

“Is this guy serious cuz?” said Ruslan to Baris.

“Blew right through the…like…the trees…”

“Shut up, all of you!”

All eyes fell on Aslan.

“Where’s my flippin’ sister?”

It was less a question than a demand. Keon faltered, unsure of what to say next.

“You wanna roll with the Torchbearers, fine. No skin off my teeth. But my sister is my business. Take me to her and our beef is squashed.”

“Are you serious bruv?” said Baris, turning to Aslan who shushed him out the corner of his mouth.

“I ain’t taking you to her…” Keon replied, shaking his head.

Before he could react, Aslan had forged and flicked a yatagan at the neck of his Mirror, stopping within a hairsbreadth.

“You know what happens if I kill your Mirror bro?” He inched the blade closer and the Mirror wriggled. “‘Cause I don’t.”

Keon held his palms higher.

“If you let me finish…I ain’t taking you to her…unless you say the magic word.”

Ruslan and Baris scrunched their noses in incomprehension. Aslan’s cold, grey eyes held Keon’s. He exhaled through his nostrils, then cocked his head to one side.

“And what’s the magic word?”

“Please,” said Keon, matter-of-factly.

Aslan let his sword arm drop, shaking his head.

“You realise you could’ve just lost your life bro. You joke too much.”

“Bad habit.”

“Well I ain’t saying ‘please’…”

“You kinda just did.”

Aslan huffed a chuckle.

He signalled Ruslan with a nod of his head towards Keon, and he stepped forward. Keon could barely see over this guy’s shoulder as he approached. Who made fifteen-year-olds so tall? It wasn’t natural. The human wall shoved his shoulder, spinning him round.

“Lead the way cuz.”

* * *

So far so good. He’d gotten them to turn back and convinced them to follow. That was the easy part. Thirty minutes later, he led them through the forest to where frost blanketed the area. He could hear the big two shuffling and complaining behind him. They hadn’t anticipated the shifting seasons. Finally, they broke through the naked trees and out onto the terraces overlooking the valley. Baris and Ruslan shot still, their eyes sweeping across the bursting blue lights flashing throughout the valley. Keon glanced at them out the corner of his eye. Just as he’d thought, these guys had never seen TnTs before either.

“The heck is this bruv?!”

He ignored the question, stepping down onto the next level of the grassed terrace. He pointed to the top of the dragonblood tree dwarfing the forest on the other side of the valley then looked back at Aslan.

“That’s where our camp is. Your sister’s up there.”

Aslan’s eyes narrowed.

“How’d you get all the way up there?”

Keon tapped the tip of his nose with a grin.

“That’s a Torchbearer trade secret.”

He chanced a glance at his Mirror. The one carrying it (who Keon had dubbed ‘the Idiot’) was still distracted. The Mirror matched his glance. Its strength was returning. Everything rode on what happened next. Maybe it was foolish to trust this thing, but it was the best chance they had.

He turned back to the dragonblood tree and made off down the terrace. They had to believe there was no choice but to follow. He swallowed, silently praying they’d bite.

“You think I’m just gonna walk right into your camp bro? D’you think I’m stupid?”

Crap.

Keon turned back.

Aslan jabbed with his sword towards the ground.

“Bring ‘er here.”

Keon popped a shrug.

“Yeah, ‘cause that makes sense. They send me out to get my Mirror and I come back to get your sister. How am I ‘sposed to explain that?”

“Listen yeah,” he began, pacing, “I dunno what you think you know about my sister bro, but you’re wasting your time trying to protect her. I spent my whole life doing that; making excuses for her, taking the blame for what she did, and all she’s ever done is lie and scheme to get her own way. So, whatever else she’s told you, whatever you think it is you’re doing to help her, trust me; she’s up to something else.”

Keon glared up at him, wordless.

“So, I don’t care how you do it bro. That ain’t my problem. But your problem’s pretty simple,” he stomped over to Baris, raising his sword to the Mirror’s neck, “Fetch—my flippin’—sister.”

It was now or never.

Keon caught his Mirror dead in the glinting eyes—and nodded.

The Mirror clamped its claw-like hands around Baris’ forearm and with one almighty heave, flung the Idiot over its shoulder.

Keon, Ruslan and Aslan could only watch as Baris cartwheeled through the air like Simone Biles, bounced off the grass and rolled into the midst of the icy valley. But the Mirror wasn’t done. It bit down on the blade nearing its neck and with two balled fists broke it in three pieces.

“Awww ‘low it bruv! ‘Low it! What the heck is this bruv?!”

Baris scuttled about on his hands and knees, azure apparitions blurring and bursting in and out of existence on every side. Several of them were closing in around him. Just as Keon had hoped, the Giant followed. Ruslan slid down the incline, skidding to a stop next to his brother-in-arms. Pulling a chain, he flung his Kodeks over his shoulder, tore a flapping sheet out and forged a crescent-like sabre.

“I got you cuz!”

Keon and his Mirror turned to stare down Aslan. He half-popped a shrug, his broken yatagan still in hand.

“What? You think you’ve won bro?”

He tossed the shattered blade to the floor. Keon felt his back bristle, then the air pealed with a high-pitched ringing. There was a flash of gold between Aslan’s closed fists and a shadow emerged, ploughing into Keon’s Mirror. The two Mirrors barrelled down the hill like entwined boulders, dredging up dirt and grass in their wake.

“Cool,” Keon said, nonplussed, “Now it’s just you and me.”

Aslan huffed a smirk.

“What makes you think you can handle ‘you and me’ bro?”

Aslan dived into a roll, grasping a shard of the sword just as Keon leapt back, landing several feet away and missing Aslan’s swipe by inches. He’d flicked it into a full-sized, jagged blade.

“Well, I have a theory…” said Keon.

He dived right as Aslan swung again but didn’t regain his footing fast enough to dodge a kick to the chest. It took a second to catch his bearings, but thankfully Aslan was relishing the moment, toying with his food.

Scrambling to his hands and knees, he yanked on the harness, swinging out his Codex. He thumbed an earmarked page and flapped the book open. It would work this time. It had to. He had everything he needed to forge this weapon now. Unfortunately for him, there was one thing he still lacked—skill.

He fumbled the last fold just as Aslan sprang into action. There was nothing else for it but to flick. The ill-formed sword burst to full size, half its blade hanging off at an angle. Aslan somersaulted through the air, the blade curling around him like a sickle. Suddenly it whipped into the whirlwind of flying fabric and a boot shot out, connecting with a crack against the back of Keon’s skull. Sparkling light flooded his vision. For a split second all went black. Then he rolled onto the grass, his legs flailing over his head.

The stiffened emerald blades crackled like broken glass beneath Aslan’s feet as he stomped towards Keon. He, rocked to his feet, holding the wonky blade aloft. Aslan feigned an overhead stroke and twisted the shard into a jab. It nicked Keon’s shawl but didn’t penetrate. He twirled into a half-baked leg sweep, using the momentum to launch himself into another spinning kick. His heel pounded the wind out of Keon’s chest, the impact snapping his head forward. The sword nearly slipped from his grasp as his back hit the grass.

He scrambled again to his feet, his sword arm suddenly heavy. Seeing his staggered foe, Aslan ran. As he swung down, Keon blocked. The shard wedged itself half an inch into the middle of Keon’s sword. He braced his full weight against it, wishing in that moment that he had Dawit’s build. Through the crossing weapons, Aslan’s glowering grey eyes—sharper than the blades barring their path—burned intent on his demise.

The swords grated past each other, shards of paper shearing off like sparks. The broken yatagan sawed another half inch into the blade. It was starting to buckle. Aslan drove hard his advantage, sliding Keon back several paces. With one last heave, he shoved him off, cleaved his sword in two and swung a backhanded swipe that sliced his upper arm.

The flash of the blade through the meat of Keon’s flesh foreced him to clamp his hand over the cut as he dropped the broken sword. Its effect was immediate. This wasn’t like a cut back home. It burned like Deep Heat, the warmth writhing up his arm like a fiery vine towards his neck. He tried wriggling away but couldn’t. It was under his skin. Then it was in his mind like a poisonous barb. A thorn of a thought. Everything you think you know is a lie; far be it from him to have an heir.

Aslan dropped his guard, satisfied he’d made his point. The Torchbearer had put up a decent fight, more than most of his kind; but there was only so much you could do against the Kapitan of the Walls.

Keon slunk back, his arm oozing from the cut. Aslan could see it was already working its magic. He pointed with the blade.

“How’s that theory working out for you bro?”

Keon shrugged his injured arm and instantly regretted it.

“Ow. Perfect, actually.”

Aslan cocked his head to the side, perplexed, then it suddenly snapped the other way. He reached up and tenderly touched his lip, staring down at the crimson imprint it left on his finger. He rocked backwards, blinking back stars that only he could see. His jaw convulsed with an ache that radiated up and over his face, enveloping his entire head. Then, he jerked and bowled over, clutching his stomach and dropping to his knees.

“Nnngh! The hell’s happening?!”

“So…my theory,” said Keon through the shivers wracking his frame. “I’ve seen you use your Mirror twice now in a fight…once against Dout…once against Shem. And I’ve seen what they can do…they’re stronger than us…so you never pit your Mirror against another Mirror.”

He shuffled forwards.

“Everything in Underland…seems to work backwards. Me and you…we’re defined by what’s up here.” He pointed to his temple. “Knowledge is power, so knowledge is what makes you stronger…not muscle…and I reckon you’re a bit of a neek, just like me…but!” He held up a single finger for emphasis. “I bet you’ve never had a real fight in your life…That’s where he comes in.”

He angled a thumb over his shoulder, down the hills to where Keon’s Mirror had Aslan’s pinned to the ground.

“See…I have. And I may not remember every hit. Every punch. Every fight I’ve ever been in…but he does.”

Another pound to the Mirror’s face sent Aslan reeling onto the grass.

Keon’s arm dropped low, gravity dragging its dead weight towards the ground. He clenched harder on the cut, as much to hold the arm up as to stop it from bleeding.

“Which means…to beat you, I don’t have to beat you at all. All I need…is to let my Mirror beat the crap out of yours…”

A guttural roar tore through Aslan’s mouth, mirrored by his wildly vibrating counterpart as it thrashed on the ground. Another punch silenced both man and Mirror.

“Do you mind?” said Keon, cleaning his ear out with his little finger.

He shuffled over to where Aslan lay and kicked away the broken yatagan.

Aslan leapt at him, fingers clawing for his legs, but an invisible force knocked him off balance.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you bro.”

The Mirror punctuated his words with savage blow after savage blow. Aslan’s head snapped left to right, flinging him like a rag doll. Each hit sent a wave of exhilaration rushing up Keon’s spine—but with it came an unnerving sense of shame.

He shook it away. He needed to finish this, to make sure this guy didn’t get back up. Then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t Aslan anymore. It was Gabriel Reid. It was the fight all over again. Turning to his Mirror, he froze.

Gone were the long, matted locks and desaturated skin. The mouldy rags and clawed fingernails. He was looking at himself as he saw his own reflection everyday, but—from the outside. His gaze fell to hands that weren’t his own. The skin was dull and dirty, almost grey. His fingers tussled for his mushroom of tight curls but found nothing but twisted locks of sticky hair.

What if I’m the truth and you’re the reflection?…You’re the mask that keeps me hidden.

The Mirror’s words echoed through the corridors of his mind, sticking to every surface like cobwebs that wouldn’t budge.

She don’t even know you. Not really. But she got a glimpse—that night when you and me met in the forest by the pool. Remember?…

He blinked and he was watching his Mirror again, fists rising and falling; his own hands back to their smooth honey-brown.

Now, if I remember correctly, she didn’t quite like what she saw, did she?…

…And what do you think she saw in you? …You think she was impressed ‘cause you knew where a flippin’ hospital would be built in the 1800’s rather than the fact that you bashed Gabriel Reid’s face in?

He could see her face.

Zahara.

She didn’t know him. Not really. She didn’t know that he was a mask. That this was the truth he’d hidden beneath the surface. This beast. He had to get a grip. He had to take back control.

“Stop…”

He staggered towards the Mirror, dragging his arm along for the ride. Where it was searingly hot before, it had grown cold. The bleeding had stopped at least, but his vision was blurring.

“That’s enough!…”

A maniacal cackle howled from its frame as fist after fist continued to fall.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

He tackled the Mirror before he’d even registered what he was doing, the pain and dead weight in his arm forgotten.

The Mirror rolled off him, skidding back across the frozen grass. Its locks flapped over its face, draping its countenance in shadow. The flicker of its reflective irises shone through the vapour hissing from its mouth. It eyed Keon like prey; prey that had just cost it a catch.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, fam?! Isn’t this what you wanted? Wasn’t this the plan?!”

“Not like this! That’s enough.”

“Why do you always do this?” It said, arms flapping. “Every time we’re about to get suttin’ done, you get in the way!”

“I’m protecting us!”

“From what?!”

“From you! From me…from our mistakes!…Things we can’t come back from. This isn’t what he would have wanted and you know it! You were there, right?!”

He didn’t get how, but the more he spoke, the more he faced it, the more strength seemed to return to his body.

“And if you’re really me, then you care about what happens to him as much as I do. What he says matters. What he thinks of us matters… and if that’s true…this hurts you as much as it does me. Maybe it affects you differently. But I bet you feel it. Like— ” he clawed at his stomach. “Right here.”

His Mirror stared him down, its chest heaving with each intake of breath.

He licked his drying lips, looking for the words; blinking through moistening eyes.

“It’s like, how’s life even gonna make sense without him? Like…how do you deal with each day knowing he won’t be part of it?” he sniffed.

The Mirror glanced down in thought, then back up at Keon.

“You know what I do with all that? All that ‘ish you just said?”

Keon’s expression dropped.

“I put it somewhere else…I point it at someone who deserves it!”

Keon shook his head.

“I know. But I don’t wanna do that anymore. I don’t wanna be like you!”

The Mirror lunged, its fist cutting wide through the air—and Keon caught it. Arm pressed against trembling arm, yet and still he held it firm. The Mirror’s eyes widened.

“And that’s the secret, init?” said Keon through a grin. “As long as I don’t wanna be like you, I don’t have to be.”

He bent the Mirror’s fist back and, with a shove, sent it careening through the air, its arms windmilling wildly, grabbing at nothingness. It landed on its side and rolled back several feet. The Mirror clawed the grass, pushing itself to its hands and knees as a cackle rattled from its frame. It flung itself up onto two feet, swaying slightly.

“You can’t help but be like me fam,” it said, shuffling forward. “You are me.”

Keon huffed a chuckle.

“You know what? You’re right…and there’s nothing I can do about that. But maybe that’s what everyone’s been tryna tell me…that I can’t keep running away from you…from me…not forever. So...”

He spread his arms wide in a ready embrace.

“Come at me, bro.”

The thing faltered. Was it a trick? Did it even matter? Everything was right where it wanted. All it had to do was reach out and take it.

Its toes dug deep into the dirt, curling around stones and roots. A deep intake of breath flooded its tensed muscles. Then it burst forth, its feet ploughing the ground. Arms whipping at its side, it stretched its hands out as it neared him. Needing. Wanting. Thirsting for freedom. Then it reached him and all went black.

Aslan watched the Mirror run. Swollen eyes tracked its path across the grass. The idiot Torchbearer stood there like a dunce waiting for it. Such a waste. He blinked and the Mirror had already closed the distance. And then it vanished! Disappearing through the Torchbearer as though through a doorway. The Torchbearer swayed backwards like he’d been rocked by a mighty wind. He blinked, his face expressionless. Then, he tumbled straight back. His back hit the ground—and he too vanished.