Cracked Glass
It was a Tuesday when she found the mirror.
A cleaning scroll in one hand, her other holding a box of enchanted cloths, Kayla had wandered into the West Mirror Gallery—a room said to house the most damaged and dangerous relics of the First Rift War.
Most were draped in silk or sealed behind crystal runes. Mirrors that whispered to themselves. Mirrors that bled if you touched them.
One stood apart.
Cracked, half-covered in soot, it leaned against the back wall. No label. No runes. Just a jagged surface and a black iron frame that looked older than the capital itself.
And in its fractured face, Kayla saw herself—and something else.
A flicker. A sliver of motion.
A black-furred cat with violet eyes locked in battle with a monstrous lion-shaped beast. Their clash sent ripples across the mirror, distorting her own reflection.
She reached out.
The mirror shuddered.
A force like cold lightning bit into her fingers. Kayla yelped and fell backward. The mirror went still.
Behind her, a door creaked open. Footsteps. She scrambled up just as Archivist Brindle—an old woman with ink-stained gloves and a voice like gravel—stepped in.
Kayla bowed. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to—"
Brindle's eyes found the mirror. Her lips thinned. "That one is sealed. You're not to touch it again."
She walked away without another word.
Kayla's hand tingled all night.