"To gaze too long into a mirror is to forget which side you stand on."
—Sayings of the Mirror Sage
.....
The wind keened through the winding pass, sharp as a blade drawn from ancient scabbards. Snow fell not in flurries, but in spectral veils that blurred the world into a ghostly white. Jagged ridges of the Shardpeak Range loomed above like the teeth of a waiting beast, half-swallowed by drifting cloud and frost. Ash pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, every step forward echoing through the silence like a defiance of fate itself.
The stone path beneath their boots was old—older than empires, older perhaps than the Shattering. Cracks ran across it like veins in glass, and in places, long-cooled scorch marks hinted at battles fought in forgotten tongues. Strange runes, buried under ice, pulsed faintly when Ash passed near. The shard at his chest stirred in response.
Kael led, his sword sheathed but close at hand. Steam curled from his breath with every exhale. Selene trailed behind, silent save for the occasional tap of her staff against frozen stone. None of them had spoken since leaving Veilstone. The silence was heavy, not of comfort—but of something looming, waiting.
Ash glanced behind them again.
"You feel it too," Selene said, her voice a low murmur.
Ash nodded. "Something's following us. I don't know what, but... it's old."
Kael didn't reply. But his hand hovered just a little closer to his blade.
The trail twisted steeply upwards. On either side, collapsed cairns stood like broken sentinels. A shattered statue leaned precariously over the path, its face weathered into nothingness. Ahead, a ruined monument, half-buried in frost, caught the fading light of day.
"To the Mirror Sage—He who saw too much."
Ash stopped cold.
"The Mirror Sage?" he whispered.
Selene stepped forward. She knelt, brushing snow away from the base. Beneath the ice, fine carvings glimmered faintly—symbols not unlike those etched into Ash's shard.
"He was the last mortal to enter the Astral Beyond and return," she said. Her voice was reverent, almost fearful. "He foresaw the Shattering. They say he left pieces of himself behind—reflections that still wander the mountains."
Kael scoffed. "Reflections don't kill. People do."
But the moment he spoke, the air changed.
A sound—a vibration—hummed beneath their feet. The snowfall ceased midair, frozen in place like suspended breath. The fog thickened unnaturally, curling and twisting like it had weight.
Out of that fog, a figure stepped forward.
It wore a robe the color of starlight reflected on still water. A mask of polished silver covered its face, and upon that mask danced flickering images—wars, shattered thrones, burning skies, and faces contorted in triumph or agony. They passed too quickly to understand but left behind the sickening weight of memory.
Ash's breath caught. The shard at his chest pulsed violently.
The figure raised a hand—not in warning, but beckoning.
"You are not ready," it said, its voice splintering the air like breaking ice.
Kael drew his blade. "Identify yourself!"
The mask shimmered. For a fleeting instant, Ash saw his own face staring back at him, mouth open in silent scream.
"I am what was left behind," the figure replied. "The remnant of the ones who dared to see."
Then the ground cracked.
Mirrors erupted in a circle around them—tall as towers, curved like the inside of a dome. Each pane shimmered with distorted light, showing twisted versions of reality. In one, Ash stood alone atop a throne of corpses. In another, he burned with fire too bright to bear. In yet another, Selene crowned herself beside his lifeless body.
"No," Selene whispered. "These aren't illusions. They're futures."
Kael's blade trembled.
The Mirror Sage's voice came again, echoing from every reflection.
"Every shard fractures fate. Each path you walk creates another you leave behind."
Ash turned to the original figure—if it still existed. Its outline was breaking, merging with the mirrors, dissolving into fragments of possible selves.
"Why show me this?" he demanded.
"To prepare you. You are the pivot, Ash Lysarion. The crown will find you, or destroy you. You must choose what remains."
The mirrors shattered.
In the blink of an eye, the illusion was gone. They stood again in the cold mountain pass, the wind howling as if nothing had happened.
Only the faint glow of Ash's shard, and the haunted looks in their eyes, remained.
Kael broke the silence. "What in the gods' names was that?"
Ash said nothing for a long time. Then: "A warning. Or a promise."
They continued forward, wordless. Behind them, the broken monument to the Mirror Sage crumbled just a little more—its face cracked open in what might have been a silent scream.
And the wind whispered across the heights:
"All crowns cast shadows. And some shadows never leave."