The night in Gezana was unusually quiet.
Aaron stood alone in the upper corridor of the Pierce estate, where the moonlight spilled in long streaks through stained-glass windows, casting fractured rainbows across the stone floor. The silence was not peaceful—it felt watchful, like something ancient was holding its breath.
He reached the end of the hallway. Before him stood a mirror taller than any man, framed in black silver, with strange Skyborn runes etched deep along its edge. It had never caught his attention before. But tonight… it called to him.
"You feel it, don't you?" a soft voice whispered.
Aaron flinched and looked around—but no one was there.
He turned back to the mirror. His reflection didn't move.
Instead, it smiled.
For a moment, Aaron couldn't breathe.
The reflection wasn't him. Not truly. The eyes were brighter, glowing faintly like dying stars. And where his chest should've been was a swirling ember, pulsing like a second heart.
"Who are you?" Aaron asked, stepping closer.
"I am the one you left behind," the mirror-version replied. "The fire you tried to bury. The truth you were never told."
The surface of the glass rippled.
Suddenly, Aaron was pulled forward—not physically, but mentally, emotionally—into a vision. He saw flashes:
A throne engulfed in flames.
A child stolen from a bloodied woman.
Frankfurt kneeling before a man cloaked in feathers of ash.
And the sigil of the Skyborn… shattered.
He gasped and staggered backward, heart racing. The mirror was still. Normal. His own face stared back again.
But something had changed inside him.
Footsteps echoed from behind. It was Frankfurt, his face unreadable.
"You found the glass, didn't you?" he said quietly.
Aaron nodded.
Frankfurt looked at the mirror, then at Aaron. "Then there's no turning back. The fire inside you remembers, and now it will begin to burn everything false away."
The older man turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
Aaron stared at the glass once more.
His hand trembled—but he did not step back.