The light of the Mirror Gate blazed, its edges splintering with silver fire. Aria stood motionless, heart hammering in her chest, as a hand made of spirit-smoke reached through the fractured surface. Rowan shouted her name, but the world around her faded—only the pulse of the gate remained, and the echo of her own doubt.
She stepped forward.
The veil of the Mirror Gate swallowed her whole.
For a moment, there was nothing. No ground beneath her feet, no sky above. Just a hollow void, like the world had been stripped of shape and sound. Then, without warning, the mirror realm unfolded around her—shards of memories, infinite and rotating, catching flashes of her life like reflections on broken glass.
She stood in the center of it all, barefoot on a floor made of moonlight, surrounded by thousands of versions of herself.
