Chapter 8: Echoes Beneath the Veil
Morning mist still clung to the rose-laced hedges of the eastern garden when Elias von Durell opened his eyes. A dull ache pulsed between his temples—a symptom of his latest trial with the Echo-Mind trait. Its influence was growing bolder, sharpening his perception but warping the way he stored sensory memory. His thoughts layered atop one another like the echoing of a cathedral bell, each ring delayed yet undeniable.
He sat on the marble balcony of his private study, clothed only in a dark silk robe cinched around his waist. The morning breeze teased at his collarbone, brushing through his silver-blonde hair, tousled from sleep. Below, the estate slowly roused: maids sweeping dew off the stones, young pages delivering scrolls, and in the distant courtyard, the first training bells of the day began to toll.
Velindor Hall had grown no less magnificent in his five years of life. If anything, Elias's perception now dissected its grandeur into fine detail: the way crimson tapestries absorbed sunrise like blood-stained velvet, how the polished white columns bore engravings of old saints and forgotten runes, each a mystery to unravel. But today, the estate would host a guest. And not just any.
"The Lady from the Sanctum arrives by the ninth bell," said Nalia, one of his handmaidens, as she adjusted the collar of his coat.
"Then I suppose I should act my age for once," Elias murmured, lips curling into an amused line.
Nalia blushed, though she was nearly ten years his elder. "You act older than all of us, my lord."
He made no comment. Let them believe what they would. Elias had long learned to play the game of duality: a noble child by day, and something far older, far stranger, behind the stillness of his violet eyes.
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The Veiled Guest
She arrived shortly after midday in a glass-carved carriage drawn by four onyx-plumed steeds. The woman who stepped down wore violet velvet lined with amethyst beadwork, her waist narrow, hips full, and her bodice shaped to lift and frame an ample bosom with artistry no accidental seamstress could match. Her face, however, was hidden behind a latticework veil of translucent silver lace.
"Lady Selendra of the Sanctum of Mirrors," the steward announced, bowing low.
Elias stood beside his father in the reception hall. Duke Arcten Durell nodded once, but it was Elias who drew the full focus of the visitor's gaze.
"So," Selendra said, voice like brushed silk, "this is the boy with the mind that remembers its echoes."
He stepped forward and bowed with practiced elegance. "And you, my lady, are the veiled whisper in court tales."
She laughed—a low, intimate sound that curled like incense. "Let us test whose reputation is more deserved."
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The Trial of Mirrors
They led her not to the main drawing room, but the eastern observatory, where sunlight fell like liquid fire across white stone. Elias stood in the center of an etched summoning circle, one hand gloved in leather, the other bare. Selendra paced the perimeter, hips swaying with every step, gaze drinking him in through her veil.
"You've never faced a Sanctum duel," she said.
"No. But I've read all three forbidden treatises on mirrorbind theory."
"You naughty thing."
The duel began with a snap of her fingers. Magic exploded from her presence like perfume—light-bending illusions, mirrored doubles, whisper-thought illusions meant to confuse and seduce the senses. Elias breathed it in and welcomed the chaos. His Echo-Mind categorized her patterns, her mirrored movements, the slight shift in her hips when she prepared an offensive glyph.
In mere minutes, he had her rhythm. And then he disrupted it.
A blast of focused mana struck her veil. It tore—a single slice—and the silver mesh fluttered to the ground. What lay beneath was... breathtaking.
High cheekbones, deep garnet eyes, lips like stained rose petals. Her skin was smooth with a faint golden undertone, and her dark auburn hair fell in disciplined waves to her waist.
She did not flinch.
"Most who see me bare fall to their knees."
"I would, if I thought it a reward instead of a trap," Elias replied.
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The Invitation
Later, in the velvet hush of the library's upper chamber, Elias reclined on a chaise as Selendra approached. She did not wear her veil now. Only a half-buttoned coat of violet silk that revealed just enough of her chest to stir the young noble's pulse.
She poured him tea herself. Her fingers lingered on the cup.
"You see deeper than your years allow. That will make you powerful. It may also make you... very lonely."
He sipped slowly. "Power and loneliness are lovers in their own right."
Selendra leaned down, her face close. Her perfume was a blend of myrrh and moonflower.
"There is a Midnight Salon tomorrow night. Only those old enough to speak without fear attend. I can get you in."
Elias raised a brow. "And what must I trade for such a privilege?"
She placed a fingertip beneath his chin. "Just your word that you'll come unmasked."
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System Update
> Trait Unlocked: Mirror Reflex
You may copy a visible spell effect once per day and replay it with 80% efficiency.
> Status Updated: Psychological Maturity Approaching Adaptive Threshold
Hormonal adaptations stabilizing. Mental shielding recommended.
Elias smiled.
"Let the night fall," he whispered.
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End of Chapter 8