The Conclave shook. Platforms swayed violently beneath Aric's boots, each step a gamble against gravity's whim. Above, shards spun like crazed dancers, some glowing blue, some molten orange, others reflecting shapes that shouldn't exist. Salt air mixed with the faint metallic tang of Echo energy, coating every tongue and nostril.
Aric's fingers tensed on the invisible threads that anchored the nearest platform. A tilt, even slight, could send a foot or arm through the void below. He gritted his teeth. Another surge. Another chance to fail.
Lyra leapt across a narrow platform, boots clanging against the metal with precise timing. Her cloak whipped behind her, catching on shards that reflected her motion like broken mirrors. She let out a breathless laugh.
"You call this a friendly evening stroll, Vale?" she yelled, one hand gripping a thread, the other steadying a tilting shard. "Because I feel like a flying squirrel on crack!"
Aric didn't smile, though the mental image teased a twitch at the corner of his lips. "Friendly is a myth here. Surviving is optional." He twisted a thread with both hands, redirecting a rogue shard away from Lyra's path. The shard shot past her, spinning so close her reflection split across three mirrored shards. She yelped, barely regaining her footing, and cursed under her breath.
The kid stood at the edge of the nearest stable platform, tiny, unassuming, yet somehow commanding. Micro-gestures—a slight tilt of the head, a subtle flick of the wrist—shifted shards midair, stabilized tilting platforms, and kept the team alive. No words, just motion. Watching them, Aric's chest tightened with both awe and suspicion. This child was hiding something. Something big.
One shard, spinning faster than any Aric had seen before, careened toward the central rift. Its reflection shimmered, and for a moment, he thought he saw… someone. Not Lyra, not him, not anyone he knew. A flash of a face, older, sharper, with eyes that burned like tempered steel. He blinked, and it was gone.
"Vale, focus!" Lyra shouted, steadying another shard with her boots while gripping a thread with one hand. "I'm not dying to watch you daydream again!"
Aric snorted despite himself. "Funny, considering the same applies to you."
She shot him a grin. "Touché, thread-whisperer."
The term stuck in Aric's head, like a bell ringing in his skull. Thread-whisperer. It wasn't entirely inaccurate. Every movement of his hands, every adjustment to a platform or shard, was invisible communication. Not just with the Conclave—it felt like he was speaking to the anomaly itself, negotiating survival in a language it could understand.
The anomaly pulsed suddenly, a wave of energy rolling outward from the central rift. Platforms shuddered violently. Rogue shards spun unpredictably, colliding midair in sparks that sprayed the air like fireworks in molten rain. Aric's hands worked frantically, twisting threads in impossible angles. One shard, a molten orange sphere, split into two mid-spin, and one of them spun directly toward Lyra.
Lyra's eyes widened. Without hesitation, she launched herself sideways, feet hooking on the shard to redirect it into a smaller platform cluster. She landed on her stomach, panting, hair plastered to her face with sweat and brine.
"You okay?" Aric asked, voice tight, still managing threads.
Lyra smirked. "I was born ready. Unlike you, staring at a mirror shard like a love-struck idiot."
Aric gave her a flat look, but inside he felt a pang of guilt. The mirror shards weren't just dangerous—they whispered echoes, glimpses of memory, and sometimes, glimpses of things you weren't meant to see. And he had been staring too long, too curious.
The kid's gaze shifted. A single bell jingled faintly, almost inaudibly. Platforms under Aric's feet stiffened, rogue shards diverted just enough to buy them an extra heartbeat. Tiny guide, massive influence, Aric thought. How could someone so small control so much?
A sudden surge from the central rift sent a shockwave rolling through the Conclave. Platforms jerked violently; shards collided, throwing sparks into the air. One shard skidded toward Aric, its reflection twisting into a flash of… someone he didn't recognize. Just for a fraction of a second, the shard reflected an older figure, tall, wearing a long cloak that seemed familiar and alien at the same time.
Aric's pulse quickened. The kid. That flash had to be related. The kid's true identity—hidden, distant, dangerous—was teasing the edges of reality, showing itself in fragments.
Lyra grabbed his arm as he froze. "Hey, you there? You're not daydreaming again, are you?"
"Maybe a little," he muttered, redirecting a shard just in time. "But something is off. That shard—it showed… nothing, nothing I've ever seen before."
The kid tilted their head. Bell jingled. Another platform stabilized mid-surge, one rogue shard stopped spinning as if hesitant. Aric couldn't shake the feeling that the kid had seen him noticing the flash and had subtly guided it into view.
"Okay," Lyra said, catching her breath. "So the kid is secretly a puppeteer, controlling everything while we flail like idiots. Got it."
Aric forced a small smile. "Not flailing, just… adjusting."
The anomaly pulsed again. Stronger. Aric felt the threads pull in ways he hadn't anticipated. Reflexes alone wouldn't save him this time. He needed coordination, instinct, and yes—he needed the kid.
A massive shard, larger than any previously encountered, shot from the central rift. Its surface reflected the surrounding chaos: Lyra vaulting between platforms, Aric twisting threads, and in the corner of its mirrored surface… the kid. Their eyes glimmered with something older than time, an unspoken knowledge of everything that had happened—and everything that was coming.
Aric's chest tightened. Not human. Not entirely. And not a child, at least not in the way anyone could understand.
"Lyra," he muttered. "Watch the shard on the far edge. It's… not normal."
Lyra squinted. "You mean all of this isn't normal?"
Aric gave her a sharp look. "You know what I mean."
The shard spun faster, faster than thought itself. Threads alone wouldn't redirect it. Reflexes wouldn't save them. The kid stepped forward, bell jingling faintly. Platforms straightened subtly. The shard hesitated midair, almost alive, almost waiting for their command.
Lyra's jaw dropped. "I… I don't even… how is this happening?"
Aric exhaled slowly, focusing all his mind. "It's not just control. It's recognition. The anomaly… it listens to them. And now I see why."
The shard spun once, twice, then split in a perfect spiral. One half shot safely into the void, the other landed gently on a distant platform, harmless.
Lyra laughed, disbelief in her tone. "Okay… that's insane. Tiny guide, world-bending powers. Got it. Not creepy at all."
Aric glanced at the kid. They gave no answer, only a subtle tilt of the head and the faint jingling of a bell. But in that gesture, Aric felt a promise—or a warning. Something monumental was hidden in that small, unassuming figure.
The next pulse from the central rift began, stronger than before. Platforms shifted, shards spun, and the air thrummed with raw energy.
Aric's hands tightened on the threads. Lyra squared her stance. And the kid… simply stood, guiding, watching, waiting.
Something was coming. Something that would change everything. And they were the key.
The Conclave trembled, echoing the pulse of the unknown, as Aric whispered under his breath, "Let's see what you really are."