Chapter 8 The Mirror Test
The blade trembled in my grip.
Not from fear. Not from fatigue.
It was something else. Something deeper. A tension I couldn't name like the edge between inhale and exhale, like the silence before a scream.
"Stop," Aeren said.
I froze mid-swing. The tip of my blade hovered an inch from the log he'd set up as a dummy. A rough cut. Too shallow.
"You're holding back."
"I'm trying not to lose control."
He walked toward me, slow and steady, eyes unreadable.
"That hesitation? It'll kill you before any sword does."
I grit my teeth. "If I go all out, I might kill someone."
"Good."
That stopped me cold.
"You've tasted blood without needing to. I'd rather you learn how to live with that than pretend it's not there."
He dropped a pouch at my feet. It smelled faintly of crushed herbs, smoke, and ash.
"We're doing something different today."
---
We didn't train that afternoon.
Instead, Aeren led me deeper into the forest.
Past the flattened clearing. Past the ruined tree I used to stretch beside. Past even the moss-covered stone he told me never to touch.
Eventually, we reached a glade where the air turned heavy. Still. Like the whole forest held its breath.
Veluna's grove.
The ground was soft with layered leaves. Shadows fell where they shouldn't, curling against the trunks even with the sun above. It was too quiet. No birds. No wind.
The goddess of secrets had touched this place.
Aeren knelt near the center, pulling out small tools from his pack-flint, a ceramic bowl, a flat stone.
"This is a ritual," he said. "Not magic. Not quite. Just a way to turn yourself inside out."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're going to see what you've buried."
---
The fire was small and blue. Smokeless. It flickered with a strange rhythm, like it was breathing.
Aeren passed me a bowl of dark, thick liquid. It shimmered in the light like oil, swirling too slowly to be just water.
It smelled like burnt metal and wet stone.
"You sure this is safe?" I asked.
"No."
Not a hint of humor.
I raised the bowl and drank.
It was bitter. Sharp. Tasted like old blood and dust.
I blinked.
And the world vanished.
---
I was in a hallway I'd never seen but knew too well.
Fluorescent lights flickered above. The air was stale. Metal grates lined the floor beneath my boots, combat boots. My hands were gloved, sweating.
Somewhere, a siren wailed. Distant. Muffled.
My heartbeat didn't feel like my own.
I turned a corner and found a room filled with mirrors.
But not glass.
Each stood on its own warped steel frames holding smoky, shifting surfaces.
In one, I saw myself kneeling in desert sand, rifle raised.
In another, I was dragging someone from rubble. My face blank.
In the third, I was holding a medal like it was a dead thing.
And in the center…
There he was.
---
He stood in perfect balance.
Feet planted. Shoulders squared. Weapon raised.
Only it wasn't quite a sword.
It shimmered between forms—sometimes a blade, sometimes a rifle, sometimes just a reflection of fire.
His face was mine. Almost.
But the eyes were wrong.
Empty. Void.
"You're not real," I said.
It smiled. Just slightly.
"Real enough," it answered.
Its voice was low. It was my voice but without guilt .
"You made me," it said. "Every time you flinched. Every time you fired. Every time you said it was just a mission."
I stepped forward, blade ready. "You're just a ghost."
"No," it said. "I'm what you became to survive."
And it attacked.
---
I blocked on instinct.
Sparks flew. My arms ached with the force of the clash.
We traded blows, steel on steel, echoing through the endless mirrors. Every movement it made was calculated. Sharp. Economical.
I fought like a survivor.
It fought like a machine.
A strike to my ribs. I grunted.
A parry to its throat, it twisted away.
We moved in a deadly rhythm.
But I was slower. Weaker.
It pressed harder, relentless. Cold.
Finally, it slammed my sword aside and held its blade to my throat.
It didn't move.
It just… waited.
"You hesitate," it said. "I don't."
"You kill," I replied. "I choose."
"Choice is a luxury you didn't earn."
It stepped back.
Let me rise.
I stared at it, chest heaving.
"You're not me," I said.
It tilted its head. "Then why do I feel more real than you?"
---
I gripped my sword tighter.
"You kept me alive," I admitted. "In another world. A world of guns and orders and silence."
"But this isn't that world anymore."
"You think peace is real?" it sneered.
"I think I want to try."
It was quiet for a moment.
Then...
It smiled.
Not mockingly. Not cruelly.
Just… understanding.
"Then bury me properly," it whispered.
---
The mirrors faded.
The hallway melted.
And I woke up on the forest floor, gasping.
---
My limbs shook. My back was wet with sweat. My fingers clenched air.
The fire was out.
Sky above, no stars.
Aeren sat a few paces away, silent.
"You saw it," he said.
I nodded, swallowing hard.
"Did it kill you?"
"No."
"Did you kill it?"
"…No."
He looked at me for a long time.
"Then you're still human," he said. "Good."
---
We didn't talk much as we walked back.
My head was full of echoes. sword clashes, whispers, sand.
Was that really part of me?
Or was it always waiting for a crack to crawl through?
When we reached the cabin, I stopped short.
Aeren stepped ahead of me.
He walked to the old training post near the firepit. Pulled my wooden sword from where it leaned.
He looked at it for a moment.
Then set it down on the stones.
Carefully.
Not like he was discarding it.
More like a grave marker.
"You won't need that one anymore," he said. "Let it rest."
---
[Quest Incomplete]
Title: The Mirror Test
Partial Progress Recorded:
Confrontation acknowledged
Instinct restrained
Trait Unlocked: [Buried Flame]
You carry suppressed strength within. Dormant. Waiting. Untamed.
---
I sat outside that night, watching the wind move the leaves.
I didn't dream of war.
Didn't dream of fire.
But I did feel something shift.
The old me whatever he was. He was still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
But now I knew his name.
And I knew mine would come soon.
---