Dawn rose over Vindhor just as Kaelen Veyr finished his circuit of the city. Rumors of victory had swept through the streets, yet tension still lingered in the narrow alleys. Workmen repaired charred beams, blacksmiths reforged shattered blades, and priestesses of the Glass Spring performed their rites in public squares. Every stone and every breath testified to the city's budding strength.
Yet Kaelen found no rest. He had issued precise orders—fortify the south bridge, reopen trade routes, strengthen watchtowers, organize a local militia under the Shadow Guard's banner—but in the darkness the Chamber of Azareth was weaving its nets, poised to strike when least expected.
He paused before the Broken Oak Inn, where Lys was already questioning witnesses to last night's chaos. Pushing open the door, he found the common room nearly empty. An old storyteller sat by the fire, chewing his hat, while the innkeeper flitted among tables, worry etched on her face.
— Sire Veyr, she murmured with a bow, forgive the intrusion, but…
She pressed a rolled parchment into Kaelen's hand. Unfurling it, he saw a single word hastily scrawled: "Mirrors."
— What does—? he began, but the woman fled, leaving behind the scent of ash and gunpowder.
Kaelen frowned and unrolled the map of Vindhor marked with a red circle around the northeast district and an "X" at the site of the Mirror Workshop—once a place where artisans crafted glass pieces for the old kingdoms. A chill ran down his spine.
— Lys! he called. We must investigate the Mirror Workshop at once.
A few yards away, he found Lys and Maelis bent over the same drawing.
— We've received reports of traitors inside, Lys explained. They're hiding among the artisans, warping reflections to sow confusion.
— The Chamber strikes again, Maelis concluded. If they control the mirrors, they can spy on every room, corrupt our ceremonies, falsify reality.
Kaelen's jaw clenched as the Black Crown throbbed against his temple, warning him of the danger.
— Muster our men, he ordered. We'll cleanse the workshop and question every artisan.
---
I. The Workshop of Deceptive Reflections
The Mirror Workshop stood at the end of a cobbled alley: a pale stone building whose windows gleamed like curious eyes. Kaelen pushed open its heavy metal door, Lys to his right, Maelis to his left, Telron and two guards in ambush behind them.
Inside, silence reigned. Workbenches, bars of raw glass, and polished metal lay scattered among countless mirrors—some concave, some convex, a few pocked to hold magical lenses. Artisans slumbered on their stools, faces pale in torchlight.
— No one move! Kaelen commanded.
One craftsman sat up, trembling, his hand over his chest in a ritualistic gesture—perhaps to hide fear… or guilt.
— Who here touched these mirrors after sunset? Kaelen demanded.
The artisans exchanged uneasy glances, then one by one raised their hands. At last, a young glassblower collapsed, screaming:
— I swear I only framed them! I did nothing else!
Maelis stepped forward, her hawk's-eye gaze fixing him.
— Your magic prints show a concealment spell, she said. You knew exactly what you were doing.
Tears streaked down the boy's cheeks.
— They threatened me… said if I didn't comply, they'd kill my sister…
Anger flared in Kaelen.
— Who threatened you? he pressed gently.
— A hooded man… he spoke of the Eye of Shadow, of the Crown… and told me to sabotage the reflections to break the people's trust.
Kaelen exchanged a look with Lys.
— Maelis, record his testimony. And protect this poor soul—he's a victim, not a criminal.
Maelis bowed. Kaelen turned to Lys:
— You and I will uncover who's manipulating these artisans.
---
II. The Chamber in the Shadows
Meanwhile, in the hushed corridors of Azareth's Chamber, Ceylen Arveth followed the Seventh's orders. Velvet carpets, mercury candelabras, and ebony stained glass lent the room a funereal air. Seven figures cloaked in black stood around an obsidian table where a broken glass statuette—a miniature mirror—rested.
— The Crown struck hard at Vindhor, intoned the First Voice. They've reclaimed the workshop.
— And with the Eye of Shadow in our hands, the Fifth added, if we combine it with the Mirror of Twilight, we can imprint our will on every reflection.
Ceylen stood silently, uncertain he approved. Yet he had given his oath: serve the Crown—or betray it if need be.
The Seventh's voice rumbled:
— Prepare for tomorrow night. We will shatter Vindhor's certainties with corrupted reflections, and the people will turn on their king.
Ceylen closed his eyes, wrestling with his loyalty. Am I shadow—or watchman? he wondered.
---
III. In the Reflection of Betrayal
Kaelen and Lys advanced through the workshop, passing unaffected mirrors that each showed a different fragment of the city. One reflected a collapsed bridge; another, a market ablaze. Yet another showed Kaelen hollow-eyed, a ghost of his own undoing.
— They've bewitched these mirrors, Lys whispered. Each reflection is a lie.
She held up a small hand mirror and turned it to Kaelen. In its glass, he no longer saw himself, but a broken man—a premonition of his downfall.
Kaelen shivered.
— They don't just aim to destroy the city—they want to crush the people's faith in me.
Lys laid a hand on his armored arm.
— We will smash these mirrors. One by one. Retrieve the Eye of Shadow, and I will cleanse the rest.
He nodded.
---
IV. The Clash of Lances and Shattered Glass
As they prepared to break the first mirror, a shout rang out:
> — To arms!
Masked guards charged in, lances leveled at Kaelen and Lys. Behind them, indoctrinated artisans swung small axes. The Chamber's saboteurs had sent assassins to retake the workshop.
Kaelen drew his sword; Lys notched an arrow. Blades sparked in the workshop's gloom. Mirrors exploded around them, hurling enchanted glass shards like falling stars.
In a lightning lunge, Kaelen disarmed two attackers with precise strikes. Lys, swift and sure, loosed arrows that found the corrupted armor's weak points. Maelis burst in from the rear, hurling vials of pure light to banish shadows and rally the guards.
Within moments, the saboteurs realized they were beaten and fled. One wounded man slipped through an exit. Kaelen caught him by the collar.
— Who sent you? Kaelen demanded, sword at his throat.
Behind the black-helmed man's visor, only a mocking laugh.
— You cannot stop me, king… your mirror will tell the truth I've not yet spoken.
He breathed a gout of black flame, shivered Kaelen's gauntlet with its heat, then vanished in a cloud of smoke.
Kaelen staggered back, hand burning. All around lay broken mirrors, their shards reflecting distorted glimpses of a night far from over.
---
V. Return to Vindhor and Lingering Doubts
When Kaelen left the workshop with Lys at his side, Vindhor felt more uncertain than ever. Guards boarded up windows; artisans threw cursed shards into the forge's fire; priestesses intoned purification prayers. Yet in every pair of eyes he met, Kaelen saw a flicker of unease: What if all we've built is an illusion?
He clutched his burned hand.
— They test us, he murmured. They want me to doubt the Crown, myself, and all of you.
Lys met his gaze.
— You do not doubt, Sire. You are the one who shatters shadows.
He managed a bitter smile.
— I am but a man with a blade and a crown. Yet I swear: we will cleanse every reflection. We will root the Chamber out of these cities. And I will prove that a king is no ghost trapped in glass.
Together they walked back through the misty streets, the workshop behind them, ready to confront an enemy as elusive as a mirror's lie.
To be continued…