The Academy had an old saying: when the mirrors shatter, the masks come out.
It was meant as a joke, a proverb whispered by seniors during exam season, but tonight it felt like prophecy.
The Headmistress had declared the Masque a "gesture of tradition, unity, and strength." It was supposed to remind them that despite the Hunt, despite the fear, the Academy stood unbroken. Yet everyone knew the truth — the Ball was a theater of surveillance. Masks to hide the faces, music to muffle whispers, and eyes everywhere, watching for the faintest slip.
The Grand Hall had been transformed for the occasion. Chandeliers of fractured crystal hung overhead, their light refracted through dozens of hovering glimpse-threads that drifted above the dancers like ghostly ribbons. Mirrors lined the walls, enchanted to shimmer with illusions: one moment they reflected the dancers as they were, the next they twisted them into monstrous parodies.
The students wore masks of every kind — gilded, feathered, grotesque, delicate. But beneath the silk and lacquer, tension simmered. Every laugh was edged. Every gesture weighed.
Anaya adjusted the simple black mask across her face, its edges trimmed with silver. Rafael had chosen it for her. "No frills," he'd said. "You'll stand out more if you try to dazzle. Stay invisible in the crowd."
Easier said than done. Since the Seers' probe, she felt as if the whole Academy watched her.
They entered as a group, carefully staggered. Rafael and Mira arrived first, though Mira had been coerced into their "circle" for appearances. Kato and Leila followed a quarter hour later, masks plain, expressions tight. Anaya came last, her pulse pounding.
The music swelled — a haunting waltz that tugged dancers into orbit around the room. Anaya drifted along the edges, scanning. The Headmistress stood upon the dais, a mask of bone-white porcelain obscuring her face, flanked by Seers in matching veils. Her presence radiated both command and warning: celebrate, but do not forget you are prey.
Somewhere across the hall, Mira had already gathered a cluster of admirers, her crimson mask glittering with shards of glass. Her laughter rang bright, but her eyes flicked toward Anaya like knives.
Leila slipped to Anaya's side. "Too many Seers here," she murmured. "I can feel them brushing against my thread."
"Stay calm," Anaya whispered. "That's what they want — someone to panic."
Leila nodded but kept her gaze down.
The first sign of danger came during the dance.
A masked boy spun past Anaya, his hand brushing her wrist. She thought it accidental — until she felt the scrap of parchment pressed into her palm. Her heart lurched. She slipped it into her sleeve and moved away, pulse hammering.
In a shadowed alcove, she unfolded it. Three words scrawled in jagged ink:
"They know. Run."
Her breath caught. She looked around sharply, but the boy was gone, lost in the swirl of dancers.
When she showed it to Rafael, his smirk faltered for the first time. "Trap," he said. "Classic misdirection. They want you to bolt so they can pounce."
"Or it's real," Leila whispered. "What if someone's trying to warn us?"
Anaya clenched the parchment. The mirrors on the wall rippled, and for an instant she saw herself reflected a dozen times over — each version masked, each version afraid.
The Ball turned sharper as the night deepened.
Games began — masked riddles, tests of courage where students wagered glimpse-threads as tokens. The laughter grew shrill, desperate. A student stumbled in the dance, his mask slipping. In that instant, a Seer declared his resonance fractured. Guards dragged him out screaming. The music never stopped.
It was a performance: joy painted over terror, masks over faces, mirrors over truth.
Anaya and her circle gathered near the balcony, away from prying ears. The night air was cool, the stars blurred through wards.
"This is madness," Kato hissed. "They're baiting us to move. One wrong word, one wrong step—"
"Then we don't step wrong," Rafael cut in. "We endure. That's the game."
Leila leaned on the railing, her hands trembling. "But for how long? Every day more vanish. The journal says—"
She stopped, realizing too late what she'd revealed. Mira, standing a few paces away, tilted her head.
"The journal?" she said sweetly. "Do tell."
The group froze.
Anaya stepped forward, mask hiding her glare. "Drunken talk. You misheard."
Mira's smile curved sharp beneath her crimson mask. "Perhaps. But perhaps not. Masks don't silence the ears of Seers." She glanced meaningfully toward the dais, where blindfolded heads already seemed turned their way.
Rafael swore under his breath.
The climax of the night came with the final dance — the "Unmasking Waltz."
Tradition dictated that, at the stroke of midnight, every dancer removed their mask, revealing themselves to the mirrors. It was supposed to symbolize trust, but in truth it was a ritual of exposure. Anyone who hesitated was marked.
The music swelled. Couples whirled. The chandeliers pulsed brighter, shards of crystal refracting rainbow fire.
Midnight struck.
Masks slipped away one by one. Faces bared. Threads shimmered above their owners like banners of light.
Anaya's hands shook as she reached for her mask. She felt the weight of the bracelet Leila had given her, the concealment rune burning hot. If she removed the mask, would it hold? Or would the Seers see everything — the journal, the rituals, the fractures they had caused?
Kato whispered, "Do it. If you hesitate, they'll know."
Anaya drew a breath. She lifted the mask.
The mirrors flared. Threads shimmered.
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw her secret unravel — Kaelen's shadow rising behind her, fire burning in the weave. But then the rune seared hot, flaring. The vision collapsed. Her glimpse-thread appeared faint, uncertain, but intact.
The Seers murmured. Headmistress Veyra's porcelain mask tilted slightly, as though in acknowledgment.
Then the music ended. Applause filled the hall.
The Masque was over.
Later, as they slipped back to their dormitory passages, Anaya's hand brushed the folded parchment in her sleeve.
They know. Run.
Was it a trap? A warning? Or both?
One thing was certain: the masks had come off, but the hunt had only sharpened.
And somewhere, hidden even from the Seers, Kaelen's words pulsed like fire in her chest: To wear a mask is not to hide — it is to choose what the world will see when it comes to tear you apart.