"You think he wasn't alone?" Mason asked.Headmaster Orvel didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the shattered greenhouse wall, where vines still twitched with the echo of magic. He seemed older today. Not in years, but in burden.“The Varneth Eye is one of thirteen,” he said at last.The silence that followed was suffocating.Mason blinked. “Thirteen?”Orvel nodded, grim. “Thirteen mirrors. Each built from the same forgotten glass. Each connected to a different realm. Only one is at the academy. The rest... scattered. Buried. Lost. Or worse, hidden.”“Hidden by who?” Norra asked.Orvel’s voice darkened. “By the Cabal of Thorns. A secret order of scholars who believe the mirror realm isn’t a threat... but a key.”Aurora crossed her arms. “Key to what?”“To power,” Orvel said, “and to rebirth. They believe the realms should merge. That death is simply the first door.”Mason’s stomach turned. “And Grayson?”“One of their high members,” Orvel said. “I suspected for years, bu

The ocean was a liar. From above, it looked still, calm, even. But below the waves, secrets stirred.Mason adjusted the breathing rune on his neck, feeling the rush of cool magic tighten around his lungs. The others did the same, Elara, Norra, Aurora, and two new allies Orvel insisted on sending: Laren, a water mage who wore too many belts, and Holt, a storm channeler with permanent scowl lines.Their boat, a tiny skiff warded by ancient sea glyphs, drifted silently toward the dead reef. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of oars slicing water, steady as a heartbeat.The city below, Ys, was lost centuries ago, swallowed whole by a magical collapse. Most said it was cursed. Some said it never existed.But the mirror’s pulse was calling from the depths. And the Cabal had already been seen near the southern cliffs.“Elara,” Mason whispered, “are you sure the seal will hold?”She adjusted the satchel on her hip, fingers dancing across the clasp. “As long as we don’t get close to the gate

Mason dreamt of mirrors. Shattered ones. Spinning in a skyless void.Each shard reflected something different: Elara screaming, Norra bleeding out, Aurora turned to smoke, Orvel’s eyes glowing the same black as Vazquez’s. And in all of them… Mason stood still. Smiling.When he awoke, the sky was violet with morning, and the academy bell hadn’t yet rung.He sat upright, sweat cold on his back. The suit hung off the chair nearby like an obedient dog, lifeless and waiting. Except it wasn’t. It watched. Not with eyes. Not with intent. But with a presence. And this morning… it hungered.Mason met Aurora on the practice field. She wore her dueling robes and had already summoned two illusion dummies. “You need control,” she said before he even opened his mouth. “What you did yesterday, if you do that again in front of a council witness, they’ll exile you. Or worse.”Mason nodded. “Then teach me.”They sparred for an hour. She pushed him, hard. Every time his emotions surged, his magic chan

The skies above Argent Academy burned violet when Mason saw it. Fires dotted the towers.The protective runes that lined the outer walls sputtered like dying candles.And worse, figures in black, robed in swirling shadow, marched on the stone causeways. Their faces were hidden, their steps silent.The Cabal had come.Mason stood on the ridge just before the bridge, clutching the Severing Blade. Around him, Norra cursed under her breath.Elara whispered a ward of detection, and Aurora scanned the scene below, her face grim. “This isn’t a raid,” she said quietly. “This is war.”“The breach was only the beginning,” Mason said.They watched as a wave of magical energy rolled over the southern tower. The wards crumbled like sand under pressure. Dozens of students ran, screaming. Professors fought back, but the enemy came in numbers.And worse, mirror spirits shimmered between them, slipping through cracks in reality, laughing as they tore through stone and spell.“Orvel is still inside,”

It took them three days to reach the outskirts of Cireen. The journey south from Argent Academy passed through mountain ranges of bone-white stone and valleys so quiet the wind seemed afraid to speak. No birds flew overhead. No beasts crossed their path. Only dust, and the ever-present feeling that something, someone, was watching.Cireen had once been a shining trade city, famous for its underground vaults and crystal-lit streets. But nearly a century ago, an explosion of unstable magic had swallowed half the city whole. Now it was a hollow shell, haunted, abandoned, and officially cursed by every known mage council. The perfect place for a soul anchor.They set up camp outside the main gate at dusk. Aurora secured the perimeter with light wards while Holt drilled a line of salt into the dust. Elara unrolled her maps, marking tunnel entrances and collapse zones. Norra fidgeted with her satchel, muttering incantations under her breath.Mason stood alone near a broken statue of a r