THE SHATTERED SIGIL: CHRONICLES OF THE LAST DAWN

Chapter 8: The Mirror of Vareth

Chapter 8: The Mirror of Vareth

The morning mist clung thick over the plains as the ruins of Vareth Keep loomed ahead like the ribs of some ancient beast. The fortress, once proud and golden, now lay half-swallowed by time — its towers shattered, its gates overgrown with thorn and ivy.

Alysandra felt a chill crawl down her spine as they approached. The shard in her pocket pulsed faster now, resonating faintly with something unseen within the ruins.

“This is it,” she murmured. “The mirror’s here.”

Varin gave a low whistle. “Fantastic. Nothing like breaking into a cursed ruin at dawn. I’m sure nothing bad will happen this time.”

Kael grinned, adjusting his sword belt. “You worry too much. It’s only cursed ruins and undead assassins. A relaxing day, really.”

Varin shot him a glare. “Remind me why I agreed to travel with you again?”

“Because,” Kael said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m charming.”

“Because you’re insane,” Varin muttered.

Alysandra cut between them, her gaze fixed on the towering gate. “Quiet, both of you. Something’s… wrong here.”

The air felt heavy — charged, almost alive. A faint hum echoed through the stone, like the heartbeat of the fortress itself. The closer they got, the louder it grew.

Inside, the corridors were swallowed in shadow. Faded banners hung in tatters, bearing the sigil of a winged crown — the mark of the old Vareth line, rulers before the war. Their footsteps stirred centuries of dust.

Alysandra traced her fingers along the wall, whispering a small light spell. Blue fire flickered to life in her palm, casting their surroundings in ghostly glow. The light caught on fragments of murals — kings, queens, and a mirror at the center of every scene.

“The Mirror of Souls,” Varin murmured. “It was here all along.”

Kael frowned. “Why build a fortress around a mirror?”

“Because it’s not just a relic,” Alysandra said softly. “It’s a gate.”

Varin froze. “A what now?”

“A gate between life and death,” she said. “Between memory and reality.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed. “And we’re sure we want to open it?”

Alysandra didn’t answer. She only followed the pull of the shard — through hallways and crumbling stairs until they reached a massive iron door, half-collapsed but still sealed by glowing runes.

The shard pulsed faster.

“This is it,” she whispered.

It took all three of them to pry open the door. Beyond lay a vast circular chamber — the Hall of Echoes. The ceiling had long since fallen away, letting shafts of pale sunlight filter down onto the broken marble floor. In the center stood a colossal mirror framed in black stone, its surface dull and lifeless.

Varin whistled softly. “That’s… bigger than I expected.”

Kael circled the room cautiously. “No guards, no traps, no monsters. That’s worse than an ambush.”

Alysandra stepped forward, drawn to the mirror like a moth to flame. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the surface — but it wasn’t quite right. The eyes looking back were colder. Older.

“Alysandra Veyne,” a voice whispered from the glass.

She froze. “Who are you?”

The reflection smiled — not her smile, but something crueler. “I am what your father left behind.”

Kael tensed, hand on his sword. “Aly, step back.”

The mirror rippled like water. A figure began to take shape within — tall, cloaked in gold, with a mask of pale bone.

Varin’s breath caught. “The masked man…”

The figure’s voice echoed, deep and resonant. “You found the second shard. How diligent of you.”

Alysandra’s pulse quickened. “You’ve been watching us.”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “Since the moment you stepped into the Whispering Hall. You awakened something you don’t understand.”

Kael moved between them. “Then why send your assassins to kill her?”

“To test her,” the masked man replied simply. “And to see if she was truly her father’s daughter.”

Alysandra clenched her fists. “You knew my father.”

A pause. Then: “I was your father’s brother.”

The world seemed to stop.

“What?”

He stepped closer to the glass. “Before the war, before the curse, I was Lord Kaeron Veyne — heir to the golden crown. Your father stole my birthright and cast me into shadow.”

Kael muttered, “Well, that explains the family tension.”

Alysandra’s voice shook. “That can’t be true. He said he was betrayed, not the betrayer.”

The masked man’s laughter was soft, hollow. “Betrayal is a matter of perspective, dear niece. He bound my soul to the Mirror, so I would never die — and in doing so, he doomed himself as well.”

Varin swallowed. “Wait… if your curse keeps you alive, then when she restores her father—”

“—She restores me,” the masked man finished. “We are bound. Two halves of a single curse.”

Alysandra took a step forward, trembling. “Then tell me how to break it.”

“You cannot.”

The mirror flared, light spilling across the chamber. “But you can choose which of us to free.”

The reflection began to change — flickering between the masked man’s face and her father’s, their voices overlapping.

“Save me…”

“End me…”

“Choose…”

Alysandra staggered back, clutching her head as whispers filled the air. Kael caught her before she fell.

“Aly! Focus!”

She gasped, her voice breaking. “I see them — both of them — they’re the same curse!”

The shards at her belt began to glow, drawn toward the mirror. The surface rippled violently, pulling at them with invisible force.

Varin shouted, “It’s trying to take them!”

Kael grabbed Alysandra’s arm. “We’re leaving!”

“No!” she cried. “If I run, it wins!”

Her eyes flashed with blue fire. She tore free of Kael’s grip and raised both hands toward the mirror. Magic surged around her like a storm, the shards spinning in midair.

“By the oath of blood and flame,” she shouted, “I bind the gate between you!”

The chamber shook. The mirror screamed — a sound like breaking worlds. The reflection of the masked man shattered into a thousand fragments, scattering across the walls.

Alysandra fell to her knees. The shards dropped to the ground, dim and silent once more.

Silence returned, broken only by the slow dripping of water from the ceiling.

Kael knelt beside her. “You alright?”

She nodded weakly. “I… I think I sealed it. For now.”

Varin exhaled shakily. “Good. Let’s never do that again.”

But Kael wasn’t convinced. He looked at the mirror — still cracked, but faintly glowing at the edges. “It’s not gone, is it?”

Alysandra’s gaze was distant. “No. He’s still there. Both of them are. Waiting.”

As they left the ruins, the wind picked up again, howling through the broken towers. The shard pulsed faintly once more, as if in defiance.

And deep within the mirror, beyond the cracks and the shadows, two figures stood side by side — one in gold, one in flame.

“Let her think she’s won,” the masked man whispered.

The other voice — softer, sorrowful — replied, “When the last shard is found, neither of us will remain hidden.”

The mirror shimmered once, and the voices were gone.