Elyon sat on the floor by the window, knees drawn close, watching the candlelight drag its gold across the tiles. The castle was utterly silent now - not even the guards' armor echoed through the corridors.
She should have been asleep. Instead, she found herself staring at her hands.
They looked so ordinary: pale, slender, unremarkable. And yet only moments ago, those same fingers had made the world tremble.
She turned them over slowly, palms upward. "It's just nerves," she whispered. "It has to be."
But the air seemed to listen, expectant.
Her gaze drifted toward the mirror across the room - tall and rimmed with carved oak, its surface gleaming faintly in the dark. Something about it called to her, subtle as a heartbeat.
Elyon stood. Her feet made no sound against the marble as she crossed the space between them.
In the reflection, the room appeared slightly different - the light dimmer, the shadows longer. Her own face stared back with cautious curiosity.
She lifted one hand and let her fingers hover near the mirror's surface.
The glass quivered.
It wasn't an illusion. She felt a faint warmth pulsing against her skin, as though the mirror itself were alive. Her breath caught. "What are you?" she murmured again.
No answer.
Then, a flicker. A brief flare of gold raced across the surface like lightning under ice. Elyon snatched her hand back, startled - but the pulse didn't stop. The light rippled again, brighter this time, as though responding to her heartbeat.
Her fear gave way to fascination. Slowly, she extended her hand once more, pressing her palm flat against the mirror.
The glass felt strangely soft - not liquid, not solid, but something between. Tiny sparks crawled along her fingers, harmless but alive.
Her reflection blinked a moment out of rhythm with her, and her chest tightened.
She stepped back, breaking contact. The light faded. The glass cooled.
For several long breaths, she stood motionless, trembling. The rational part of her mind screamed that this was madness - the same forbidden force that had destroyed countless lives under her father's rule. And yet, some deeper instinct whispered: This is you.
A gust of wind stirred the curtains, though the windows were closed. The candles flared again, their flames bending all at once toward the mirror.
"Enough," she whispered. "Stop!"
The gust ceased. The room fell still.
Elyon's breathing was shallow, uneven. She turned from the mirror, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to smother the wild energy thrumming through her veins.
And then she felt it - that sensation, unmistakable and cold - the feeling of being watched.
Not by guards. Not by Amara.
By something else.
Her eyes flicked to the corners of the room. Shadows clung to the walls like ink, deep and unmoving. The candles burned low.
"Who's there?" she whispered.
No reply.
Only the faint hum of the wind outside and the echo of her own heartbeat.
She took a step toward the window, peering out into the dark courtyard. The torches below had burned out, leaving only patches of moonlight.
And there - just for an instant - she thought she saw it.
A figure, cloaked in black, standing among the hedges. Too still to be human. Watching her window.
Elyon gasped and stumbled backward, her heart pounding. When she looked again, the figure was gone.
The night air seemed to press closer to the glass.
She whispered to herself, "You're imagining it. You have to be."
But the mirror behind her shivered faintly - once, then stilled.
Elyon backed toward her bed, drawing the curtains closed around her like a shield. Yet even as she lay down, eyes open in the dark, she could feel that unseen gaze still upon her.
Not threatening.
Not kind.
Simply... waiting.
The silence in the palace deepened, and somewhere far off, the wind carried a whisper that almost sounded like her name.