Chapter 4 – The Whispering Glass
Duskfield, Summer 2005
Elian woke before dawn, the dim light barely filtering through the curtains. The silence in the house was thick, broken only by the faint creaks of settling wood. His breath was shallow, and he lay still, feeling the strange pull from the mirror in the hallway tugging at the edges of his mind.
He forced himself out of bed and padded barefoot across the cold floorboards. The house was quiet, as if holding its breath with him.
Standing before the mirror, Elian reached out slowly, his fingers trembling. The surface felt cool and smooth beneath his touch at first, but then a warmth spread — soft, pulsing, like a heartbeat beneath the glass.
His eyes widened as the mirror rippled, and suddenly, images began to dance within it.
A child's laughter echoed faintly, ringing through a sunlit forest. Leaves swirled in a sudden gust, hiding a shadow slipping between the trees — a figure too fast to catch. A worn photograph appeared, cracked and faded, showing a smiling woman holding a small carved box tied with frayed ribbons.
Elian felt his heart race; each flicker pulled at something deep inside him, a thread of memory he couldn't quite reach.
A whisper floated through the air, so faint he almost thought he imagined it.
"Elian…"
He blinked hard and stepped back, gasping for breath.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he wrestled with the flood of questions racing through his mind.
Who was the girl in the forest?
What secrets did the carved box hold?
Why did the mirror call his name?
Later, the sun climbed higher, spilling warm light across the wooden floor of the porch where Micah waited, arms crossed casually, watching Elian approach.
"You look like you didn't sleep," Micah said, raising an eyebrow.
Elian hesitated, unsure how to explain what he'd seen. "The mirror… it's not just a mirror. It shows things. It whispers."
Micah's face darkened with something like fear. "You're not the only one. The glass isn't just glass. It holds memories — memories the town wants to forget. Things that shouldn't be seen."
Elian frowned. "Why would the town want to forget?"
Micah shrugged. "That's the question, isn't it? Everyone acts like everything's fine, but there's a shadow hanging over Duskfield. And it's been there a long time."
Elian felt a chill settle over him. The warmth of the morning faded, replaced by a cold knot in his stomach.
That evening, alone in his room, Elian found his gaze drawn back to the mirror.
The house was quiet except for the ticking of an old clock in the hallway.
He reached out again, this time with purpose, placing his palm flat against the glass.
The shimmer returned instantly, brighter and more insistent.
The surface seemed to dissolve, turning into a window.
Through it, Elian saw the girl again — younger than he, with bright eyes full of wonder and sorrow. She held the carved box carefully, her fingers tracing the delicate ribbons that bound it.
Suddenly, she looked up, and their eyes met.
A voice whispered clearly this time — a voice both distant and familiar.
"Elian…"
He gasped, stumbling back from the mirror, heart pounding wildly.
He sank to the floor, overwhelmed by a flood of emotion he couldn't name.
Why did this girl's voice sound like it belonged to a part of himself long buried?
What did she want from him?
And why did the mirror feel like a doorway — not just to the past, but to something more?
Elian lay on the floor, the room darkening as the last light slipped away outside his window.
He stared at the mirror, the whisper still echoing softly in his mind.
There was no turning back now.
Something was waiting for him.
And he would have to face it.