Protagonist Name: Elira Wren

---

Elira Wren had always felt like the world passed her by, as if she was watching life from behind glass—close enough to see it, but never quite able to touch it.

She moved like a shadow through the halls of Blackridge High, her footsteps soundless against linoleum tiles worn smooth by generations of indifferent students. Teachers barely remembered her name. Classmates never invited her out. The only person who had ever truly seen her was her grandmother, and she’d died the year Elira turned eleven.

Since then, silence had been her companion.

And now, five years later, Elira sat alone again—perched at the farthest edge of the school’s abandoned library basement, a place forgotten by everyone except for the dust.

She shouldn’t have been there. No one should have.

The entrance had been sealed years ago with heavy chains and a rusted “Condemned” sign bolted across the stairwell. But Elira, with her too-quiet presence and clever fingers, had found a way inside. A loose window behind the janitor’s shed, high enough to keep out most students. Just low enough to tempt someone like her.

The basement smelled of mildew and ancient paper. Cobwebs curled in the corners like skeletal hands. But she liked it there. It was the only place where the air didn’t buzz with judgment or the loud emptiness of other people’s lives.

And it was there, tucked beneath a collapsed bookshelf near the back wall, that she found the book.

It hadn’t looked like much at first. Thin, almost weightless, bound in black leather so faded it seemed more gray than anything. There was no title, no author, no library tag or barcode. Just a strange sigil burned into the front cover—an eye encircled by thorns.

She should have left it alone.

But something about the book called to her. Not with sound—but with a kind of gravity, as if the moment her fingers brushed it, the world leaned in.

---

She brought it home in her backpack beneath a stack of unrelated textbooks, careful not to crease its spine. That night, she locked her bedroom door and turned off the overhead lights. Her desk lamp flickered once, then steadied.

Outside, the sky was thick with clouds, and thunder rumbled distantly like the earth sighing in its sleep.

Elira opened the book.

The pages were hand-written, filled with runes and looping symbols she didn’t understand. Some had translations scrawled beneath them—Latin phrases, or what looked like them, and strange diagrams that seemed to shift when viewed too long.

It wasn’t until she reached the last page that her breath caught.

Unlike the rest, this one was written in crimson ink that had soaked deep into the parchment. The edges of the page were burned. At the center, circled in delicate script, was a single word:

Ashkar.

And below it, a chant:

> “Umbra vocat, et ego respondeo…

Oculos claudo, cor meum tibi do.

Sanguis meus fluit, veritas revelatur.

Audi me, Ashkar… ex speculo surge.”

She whispered the words aloud, once, tasting them.

Then again, louder.

---

At first, nothing happened.

She sat in silence, watching the mirror across the room—the old one her grandmother had gifted her, framed in peeling white wood shaped like ivy vines. It had always made her feel safe. Somehow gentler than her reflection should allow.

Minutes passed. The candles flickered.

A whisper of wind danced across the room, even though the window was shut. The temperature dropped. Elira pulled her sweater tighter.

Then it happened.

The surface of the mirror quivered.

Just slightly. Like water.

Elira blinked.

The glass rippled again, and a fine crack spread from the center outward, delicate and soundless like frost blooming across ice.

She stood, heart thundering. “What—?”

The candle flames guttered.

And then—he stepped through

---

He emerged like a shadow given form.

Not all at once—first the outline of a hand, long-fingered and graceful, followed by the silhouette of a tall figure cloaked in black, his robes moving like

---

He emerged like a shadow given form.

Not all at once—first the outline of a hand, long-fingered and graceful, followed by the silhouette of a tall figure cloaked in black, his robes moving like smoke caught in wind. And then, finally, the eyes.

They glowed like embers buried in ash. Not bright. Just enough to burn.

Elira stepped back until her knees hit the edge of her bed. Her breath came shallow and fast, fogging in the air.

The man—or whatever he was—took a slow step forward, barefoot on her bedroom floor. He was barefoot. Elira didn’t know why that detail mattered, only that it made him seem... real. Not an illusion or a ghost, but something ancient wrapped in human skin.

He studied her. No words. Just silence, stretched and thick.

Elira found her voice. “Who are you?”

A smile curled at the edge of his mouth. It was not warm.

> “Ashkar,” he said simply. “You called me.”

His voice was low—like distant thunder. Soft, but impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly. “It was just words from a book. I didn’t think—”

> “Intent is a mortal luxury,” he interrupted. “And magic does not care what you think.”

Elira took a half step back.

Ashkar’s gaze drifted to the open book still lying on the desk behind her. He tilted his head. “That book,” he murmured. “It should have been lost long ago.”

“I found it in the library,” Elira said, still clutching her sleeves. “In the basement.”

Ashkar turned his head toward the mirror. Its surface now looked solid again, though faintly distorted—like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone.

> “That mirror is older than you know,” he said softly. “Older than this house. Older than your bloodline.”

Elira swallowed. “Are you a demon?”

Ashkar smiled. “That is one word for what I am. There are others. Not all of them are lies.”

Silence stretched between them.

Elira stared. There was no denying what he was. No dream could conjure this level of detail. His features were too precise. The way his long hair fell around his face, the pale silver tone of his skin, the strange way his robes didn’t quite cast shadows. He did not belong in her world.

And yet, he had come through.

“I didn’t think magic was real,” she whispered.

Ashkar's smile faded.

> “Magic is a language. Forgotten by most. Twisted by others. But it is real, girl. As real as your heartbeat.”

He paused. “Or the fear in your throat.”

Elira didn’t deny it. Her pulse thundered. But what surprised her most… was the absence of terror. She should have been afraid. Terrified, even. But her curiosity outweighed the panic. Something deep within her had been waiting for this—for him—even if she didn’t understand why.

Ashkar took another step forward, his movements soundless.

> “What do you want from me?” she asked.

He regarded her for a moment, then replied simply,

> “I don’t know yet.”

---

Elira sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tight in her lap. Ashkar remained standing, arms loosely at his sides, watching her with a kind of wary amusement.

She asked the question that had been building inside her since the mirror cracked:

> “Why me?”

Ashkar didn’t answer right away. He glanced around the room—at the flickering candles, the old books on her desk, the quiet, faded loneliness painted into every corner.

> “Because you were listening,” he said. “The world speaks. Most humans forget how to hear it. But you… you were listening. And the mirror listens, too.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “There is more to you than you know, Elira Wren.”

The way he said her name sent shivers down her spine.

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” she murmured.

Ashkar chuckled—low, dark, and unexpected.

> “No. It’s supposed to be true.”

---

The candles dimmed, and for a long time, they didn’t speak. Elira didn’t know what to do with him. Could she send him back? Should she try?

As if reading her thoughts, Ashkar turned back toward the mirror and laid a hand against it. The glass rippled beneath his fingers—but did not open.

> “This door closes behind me,” he said. “At least… for a while.”

“For how long?”

Ashkar’s gaze lingered on her face. “That depends on you.”

She looked down. “I didn’t mean to bring you here.”

> “Intent,” he repeated, his voice almost amused, “is irrelevant. You did bring me here. That cannot be undone.”

Elira’s hands curled into fists on her lap.

“But what do you want now? What are you going to do?”

Ashkar walked to the edge of her desk and picked up the book. He turned it over once, then set it down with a sigh.

> “That depends on what kind of girl you are.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her—really looked. His voice was calm, but there was an edge buried beneath it.

> “Most who summon me seek power. Or revenge. Or love.”

Elira blinked. “I didn’t summon you for any of those.”

Ashkar smiled faintly. “I know.”

“So what do I want, then?”

He leaned forward, just slightly, and his glowing eyes held hers.

> “That, Elira Wren… is what I intend to find out.”

---Elira didn’t sleep that night.

Even after Ashkar had settled—if what he did could be called settling—she remained perched on her bed, arms around her knees, watching him from across the room like one might watch a sleeping wolf.

Not that he slept.

He stood still for hours, near the mirror, head slightly bowed. Occasionally he would move—study the chipped paint on the walls, run his fingers along the woodgrain of her desk, or trace the cracked windowsill with idle curiosity.

Once, Elira dared to ask, “Don’t you ever sit down?”

He only smiled and said, “Do you want me to?”

She hadn’t answered. She wasn’t sure yet.

At some point, she must have dozed off because when the soft glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, she was still curled on the bed. Her neck ached from sleeping upright. Her candles had long burned out, leaving puddles of wax on her desk.

But Ashkar was still there.

Only now, he was sitting in the desk chair, turned to face her, one leg crossed over the other with the stillness of a statue. His coal-like eyes caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly gold.

“Did you watch me sleep?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

He nodded. No shame. No irony. “I watch everything.”

Elira pulled the blanket tighter around her. “That’s not creepy at all.”

Ashkar tilted his head, as if considering the word. “Your kind fears being seen. That’s… interesting.”

There was something in his voice—an odd, almost wistful edge that didn’t belong to the image he projected. Elira sat up straighter, uncertain whether to speak or remain quiet. The air between them held something fragile and sharp, like a thread pulled taut.

“I have to go to school,” she said, eventually.

Ashkar rose with fluid grace. “Then go.”

“You’ll stay here?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if the question surprised him. Then he gestured toward the mirror. “I cannot return through the portal yet. And I won’t follow you. I do not belong outside this room.”

Elira nodded once, grabbed her backpack, and paused at the door. “Don’t touch anything.”

Ashkar’s smile was pure mischief. “No promises.”

---

That day at school, everything felt different.

The colors of the world were sharper. The hallway noises louder. People seemed more real, somehow—and yet more distant than ever. Elira moved through it all as if she’d been peeled away from her body and pressed into another layer of reality.

Pearl, her lab partner in Chemistry, waved to her. “Hey! You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t,” Elira said, surprised to hear her voice crack slightly. She wasn’t used to people asking about her. Especially not with concern.

“Rough night?”

“Something like that.”

Pearl hesitated, then offered a half-smile. “Well, if you need help with the homework—”

“I’m fine,” Elira said, a little too fast.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. Teachers seemed to glance her way more often. Students who had never spoken to her whispered when she walked past. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d changed, even if she looked exactly the same in every mirror she passed.

---

When Elira returned home, the house was empty, as usual. Her parents were always away—working late, traveling, sending texts instead of coming home.

She climbed the stairs two at a time, heart beating with a strange anticipation.

Ashkar was where she left him.

He sat on the floor near her bookshelf now, legs folded, thumbing through one of her grandmother’s old poetry books with the quiet intensity of someone deciphering ancient scripture.

“You’re still here,” she said softly, closing the door behind her.

Ashkar didn’t look up. “Where else would I go?”

She crossed the room and stood beside him, hesitating. “You can read?”

“I can read all languages,” he said simply. “But this one is… beautiful in a way I didn’t expect. The words hide more than they say.”

Elira smiled faintly. “That’s what poetry is for.”

Ashkar looked up at her then—those burning eyes briefly gentled. “Your world is loud. But your room… is very quiet.”

“I like the quiet,” she said.

“I know.”

---

They spoke little that evening, and Elira didn’t push for answers. She sensed that if she pried too much, Ashkar would retreat—not physically, but inwardly.

The next few days blurred into a rhythm that Elira never could have predicted.

She would wake. Go to school. Come home. And find Ashkar still there, like some impossible shadow stitched into the fabric of her room. He never demanded anything. Never left the mirror’s reach. But his presence was undeniable, like the weight of a storm just beneath the horizon.

She learned small things about him.

He liked silence—but not because he hated sound. He said it was the only time he could remember his own voice.

He didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. Didn’t sleep.

And yet, he could touch things. He would trace her bookshelf, pick up objects, stare at them like he was trying to remember what they meant.

He once held her music box in his hands for over an hour. When she asked why, he said softly, “The sound is broken… but something inside still sings.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the music box—or her.

---

Elira noticed other changes too.

Her dreams became vivid—filled with symbols and faces she didn’t recognize. Sometimes she’d wake with faint markings on her hands, like bruises shaped like runes. They faded before she could show anyone.

Birds had started to land on the windowsill outside her room. Black-feathered, bright-eyed, still as statues. They didn’t move until Ashkar looked at them. And when he did, they always flew away.

One night, she found a red flower blooming on her pillow. No stem. No root. Just the flower. She stared at it for a long time, then held it in her palm. It smelled like winter.

When she asked Ashkar where it came from, he didn’t answer. He only said, “My world leaks.”

---

One evening—four nights after the summoning—she returned home from school and closed the bedroom door behind her. Her backpack hit the floor with a dull thud.

Ashkar was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees.

Elira watched him for a long moment, then sat opposite him, mirroring his posture.

He opened one eye and raised a brow. “Imitating me?”

“Studying you,” she replied.

Ashkar’s smile was a brief flicker. “You should be careful. Curiosity is dangerous.”

“I live with a demon. I think I’m past careful.”

“You don’t live with me, Elira. I live because of you.”

Her breath caught at the weight of those words.

“You’re bound to me, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

Ashkar nodded. “Not by chains. Not by spells. But something… older.”

Elira frowned. “The book never mentioned a price.”

“It never does.”

“Then what did I give?”

Ashkar opened both eyes, and for a moment, they glowed brighter than she’d ever seen.

“You gave your voice to the mirror.”

“What does that mean?”

He reached toward her—not to touch her, but to hover his hand just above hers, his fingers trembling slightly.

“It means,” he said slowly, “that something inside you called out… and the mirror answered. You summoned me not with words—but with longing. That is the most dangerous magic of all.”

Elira was quiet for a long time. “Can I undo it?”

Ashkar’s expression didn’t change, but his voice grew softer.

“Would you want to?”

---

Later that night, Elira lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Ashkar remained near the window, standing so still he could have been carved from stone.

She couldn’t sleep.

The feeling was spreading—that strange tether between them. She didn’t know if it was magic or madness, but it clung to her like smoke. Not heavy. But inesc

The next morning, Elira didn’t want to get out of bed.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time, her arms folded beneath her head. The house was silent. No footsteps downstairs. No voices on the phone. Her parents hadn’t returned home the night before, but that was nothing new.

Outside her window, the sky was overcast. Pale and washed out, as if the world itself had turned cold overnight.

Ashkar hadn’t moved from where he sat, near the mirror. He didn’t sleep, but he also didn’t speak unless spoken to. He simply existed — still and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you miss it?” Elira asked.

Ashkar turned his head slightly. “Miss what?”

“Your world. Whatever it was before it became a wound.”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly:

> “No. There is nothing left to miss.”

That should have been the end of it.

But something in his voice pulled at her.

Elira rose slowly from the bed, crossed the room, and sat beside him — not too close, but not far either. Her knees bent, her arms draped loosely over them. The room felt different when she was near him. Still, yes, but charged. Like the air just before a thunderstorm.

They sat together in silence for a long time. When Ashkar finally spoke, his voice was lower than usual. Less like a demon. More like something broken trying not to shatter.

> “There were cities once. Not made of stone. Not of fire. They grew like coral — alive, ancient, echoing the will of their creators. My kind ruled them. Or believed we did. But even our dominion was borrowed. Everything... fades.”

Elira looked down at her hands. “Then why come here? Why answer me at all?”

Ashkar tilted his head, watching her in profile.

> “Because you said my name. Because something inside you broke the silence.”

“You make it sound like it’s my fault.”

“It isn’t,” he said, with something close to regret. “But it is your burden now.”

---

That evening, Elira made her first mistake.

It was small. Harmless, even.

She’d been sitting at her desk, flipping through the black book again — the one that had started all of this. Most of the pages were incomprehensible to her, filled with glyphs and diagrams that made her head ache. But one page — a circular diagram with an open eye in the center — had begun to draw her attention more and more.

A spell of some kind.

There were words written beside it, faint and jagged, half-burned at the edge.

She shouldn’t have tried to read them aloud.

But she did.

> “Ego video. Ego aperio. Quod latet, surgat…”

“I see. I open. What is hidden… rise.”

A sharp wind tore through the room.

The candles she hadn’t lit suddenly flared to life, then extinguished with a hiss. Her mirror trembled. Not shattered — just a ripple, like something beneath the surface had heard her and stirred.

Ashkar stood instantly.

He was in front of her in seconds, his hand gripping her wrist, not cruelly, but with urgent strength.

“Do not speak what you do not understand.”

Elira flinched. “I didn’t know it would do anything—”

“That is exactly the problem,” he said, voice low, burning. “There are things in this book that should never be spoken aloud. Words that remember. Doors that wait for a breath, a sound — and then open.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I just wanted to know more.”

Ashkar stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“You will,” he said. “But not like this.”

---

That night, Elira didn’t dream of fire or crowns.

She dreamed of eyes.

A thousand of them.

All watching her from the dark.

---

In the days that followed, she didn’t speak any more spells. She barely touched the book. The ripple in the mirror hadn’t returned, but she noticed things.

Shadows lingered longer than they should. Her reflection occasionally moved just half a second too late. And the birds that once sat still outside her window no longer came at all.

Ashkar remained close, though distant. Not cold — never that — but careful.

And yet, the bond between them continued to thrum beneath every word they shared.

Sometimes, he would catch her watching him. Studying his movements. Memorizing the sound of his voice, the rhythm of his presence. She didn’t know why. Only that something about him called to her in a way that made her chest ache.

And sometimes, though rarely, Ashkar would look at her as though he was remembering something he’d spent centuries trying to forget.

---

One evening, a storm rolled in. The kind of storm that didn’t just darken the sky, but soaked it in ink. The rain hit the windows like fingers tapping. The wind howled.

Elira sat on her bed, listening.

Ashkar stood by the mirror, silent as always.

She turned to him. “Do you regret being here?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then, “No.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

Ashkar looked at her, and this time, there was no mask behind his eyes.

> “Because even forbidden things... are still beautiful.”

Elira felt the words settle over her like snow. Soft. Cold. Unshakable.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, something passed between them that couldn’t be named. Not desire. Not love. Not yet.

But something deeper.

A thread.

A beginning.

A warning.

---

End of Chapter One

---

It had been eleven days since Elira summoned Ashkar.

She counted them in candle wax and unread text messages. In the stretch marks forming in her sleep. In the places where her life used to be simple — used to be human — before she whispered a name not meant for mortal tongues.

The strange part wasn’t that Ashkar was still there.

The strange part was that it had already become normal.

She didn’t flinch when she saw him anymore. She didn’t stare too long when his eyes flickered like coals in the dark. She didn’t even mind the way the mirror no longer felt like glass — but like a curtain hiding something breathing on the other side.

What unsettled her now was quieter.

More real.

It was how much she looked forward to seeing him after school. How often she replayed his words in her head. How sometimes, when she thought she was alone in her thoughts, she’d feel him — watching. Not invasive. Not cruel.

Just… aware.

She should have been afraid.

Instead, she found herself wondering what his world looked like, if it ever had color. If he once laughed like a person instead of like smoke curling around fire. If he’d ever been held.

Elira shook the thought from her head and stared at her school lunch tray. She hadn’t touched her food. Pearl was sitting across from her at the cafeteria table, chattering about someone’s birthday party next weekend.

“You should come,” Pearl said, stabbing her apple with a plastic fork. “It’s just pizza and music. No demon summoning.”

Elira flinched so hard she dropped her water bottle.

Pearl blinked. “Uh, sorry? Was that a weird joke?”

Elira forced a small laugh. “Yeah. Just tired. That’s all.”

Pearl tilted her head. “You really okay, Wren? You’ve seemed... off lately. Different.”

Different. That was the word everyone kept reaching for. Teachers said it. Neighbors gave her longer glances. Even her parents — when they were home long enough to notice — had commented on how “quiet” she’d become.

Elira wasn’t sure how to tell them that she hadn’t changed.

The world had.

And it had started in a mirror.

That night, the wind howled.

A storm hadn’t been forecast, but the clouds were thick and heavy, stained like bruises across the sky. Elira sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, a single candle burning low on her desk. Ashkar stood near the window, his robes dark against the rain-painted glass.

She hadn’t spoken since entering the room. Neither had he.

Finally, she whispered, “Have you ever wanted to be human?”

Ashkar didn’t turn. “No.”

“Not even once?”

He was silent for a moment. Then, “To be human is to forget. To rot. To love and be buried. Why would I desire such fragility?”

Elira looked at her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe because… being fragile means you can be held.”

The room fell quiet.

Then, Ashkar said softly, “Have you ever wanted to be something more?”

She looked up. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That,” he said, “is the first door.”

“To what?”

Ashkar turned, eyes flickering. “To change.”

Later that night, Elira found something beneath her pillow.

It wasn’t the first time. The red flower. The strange markings. But this time, it was something else.

A shard of black glass. Smooth, cold. Mirror-like, but dark enough that it reflected nothing. She picked it up with trembling fingers and held it up to the candlelight.

It hummed in her palm. Faintly.

She turned to Ashkar, but he was already watching her.

“I didn’t put it there,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

His expression darkened. “A sliver of the in-between.”

Elira’s breath hitched. “Is it dangerous?”

Ashkar didn’t answer.

Which meant yes

Elira kept the shard.

Not because she trusted it.

Not because she understood it.

But because it felt like something meant for her — the same way the book had. The same way the mirror had. The same way Ashkar felt when he stood too close and the air changed around her.

She hid it in her desk drawer beneath an old scarf, wrapped in a jewelry pouch she hadn’t used in years. And yet, even there, it hummed. A vibration she could feel in her bones when the house grew still at night.

Ashkar never asked about it again.

Which was almost worse than if he had.

At school, the world continued turning — but slowly, strangely. Like the axis had tilted a few degrees and no one noticed but her.

The clocks ticked a little off-rhythm.

The classroom lights flickered when she walked beneath them.

In the hallway mirrors, her reflection lagged for just a second. A blink behind. As though something else were watching from within.

During biology, she caught Pearl staring at her again — not in concern this time, but in discomfort. Like she couldn’t quite put her finger on why Elira’s presence made her skin crawl.

“Elira,” Pearl said, after class. “Are you… are you messing with something?”

Elira blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Pearl muttered. “You just feel… different lately. Like you’re here, but not. Like something’s hollowed you out and slipped inside.”

The words stuck. Hollowed you out.

Elira offered a forced smile and didn’t respond.

But for the first time, she wondered:

Was Pearl right?

That evening, Elira returned home to find the mirror covered in condensation, though her window hadn’t been open and her room wasn’t cold.

Ashkar stood in front of it with his back to her. Motionless.

She closed the door softly. “Something’s wrong.”

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer. “Ashkar?”

His voice came low and quiet. “Something has seen you.”

Elira’s breath caught.

“I’ve been careful,” she said. “I haven’t said any more spells. I haven’t touched the book.”

“It’s not what you’ve done,” Ashkar murmured. “It’s what you’ve become.”

She frowned. “I haven’t become anything.”

Ashkar finally turned.

And Elira froze.

There was something different in his face.

Not monstrous. Not inhuman. But old. Tired. Wounded.

And for the first time since she summoned him… she saw fear in his eyes.

“You carry a piece of the mirror now,” he said. “That shard links you. You’ve begun to reflect the other side.”

Elira moved closer, her voice unsteady. “What does that mean?”

Ashkar reached toward her and placed his hand — gently — over her heart.

“You are visible now,” he said. “To things that were never meant to see you.”

That night, Elira dreamed again.

But this time, the dream wasn’t hers.

She stood in a city of black stone. Towers like thorns. Roads like veins. The sky overhead was not sky, but mirror — and beneath it, thousands of reflections stared down, all wrong, all watching.

At the center of it all stood a throne of silver bones.

Empty.

Waiting.

When she woke, her hands were trembling.

Ashkar stood beside her bed. Watching.

“You saw it,” he said.

“I think it saw me.”

Ashkar didn’t deny it.

He simply whispered, “Then we are not alone anymore.”

Elira began to lose time.

Not full hours. Not yet.

But minutes would slip — gone before she could grab them. One moment she'd be at her desk, copying down an assignment. The next, her pen would hover over paper she didn’t remember writing on, words etched in a language she couldn’t read.

She started keeping track in the margins of her notebooks.

Small Xs. Tally marks.

By the third day, there were sixteen.

She didn’t tell anyone.

Because who would believe her?

The first true manifestation came on a Thursday.

It was raining again — a soft, persistent drizzle that turned the school parking lot into a mirror of oil and light. Elira was walking home. She liked the rain, usually. It kept people away. It drowned out the noise of the world.

But that day, she wasn’t alone.

At first, it was just a feeling. That she was being followed.

She turned.

Nothing.

She walked faster.

The streets blurred. Her pulse quickened. Her shadow stretched long across the pavement — far too long for the light behind her.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught it:

A flicker of her own reflection in a car window — not matching her movement. Not following. Leading.

It smiled.

And then vanished.

Elira didn’t scream. She didn’t run.

She just froze, like her body had been dipped in ice.

By the time she got home, she couldn’t breathe properly. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door. She slammed it shut behind her, dropped her bag, and ran up the stairs.

Ashkar was waiting.

He stood near the mirror, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“It’s begun,” he said.

Elira didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“What do I do?” she whispered. “How do I make it stop?”

“You can’t,” he replied. “You’ve cracked the boundary. It will try to reach through.”

“It?”

Ashkar hesitated. “The thing that comes when mirrors listen too long. The echo given form. The reflection that walks on its own.”

Elira felt her stomach twist. “You mean… me?”

“No,” Ashkar said. “But it will wear your face.”

That night, she didn’t light any candles.

She sat with the black shard in her hand, staring into its depthless surface. It no longer reflected anything — not even a ghost of a shadow. Only dark.

Ashkar watched her from the window.

He hadn’t moved for over an hour.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“I saw myself today.”

Ashkar’s voice was a whisper in the gloom. “No. You saw it.”

“It smiled.”

“That’s how it starts.”

Elira looked at him. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I did.”

“Not soon enough.”

Ashkar turned then, slowly. “You think I wanted this? You think I asked to be dragged into your world

Elira sighed out of frustration then she laid on her bed then suddenly fell asleep

.Elira woke in the middle of the night to the sound of whispering.

It was faint. Too faint to understand — but too clear to ignore. Like voices pressed against glass.

Her heart thudded as she sat up.

The room was dark. Her curtains fluttered though the window was closed. The black shard on her desk glowed faintly, like it held a dying star.

And then she saw it.

Not in the mirror.

Not in a dream.

But standing in the far corner of her room.

Her.

Or... almost.

It had her face — her hair, her height, her wide gray eyes. But they were wrong. Stretched a little too wide. Skin too smooth. Eyes too still.

It didn’t breathe.

It didn’t blink.

It just stood there… watching.

“Elira.”

The voice wasn’t hers.

It was broken glass in a windstorm. It didn’t echo — it cut.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. She gripped the edge of her blanket like it might protect her.

The thing stepped forward. One slow foot after another, toes bare on the wood floor. No sound. No weight.

Her reflection’s smile stretched — too wide now, cracking at the edges like drying paint.

“Elira,” it said again, softer. “He can’t protect you.”

And then—

It turned its head too far. An unnatural tilt. Bones shouldn’t bend like that.

Elira let out a strangled sob.

And that’s when the mirror behind her screamed.

It wasn’t a sound. Not exactly.

It was a vibration. A wave of pressure that shoved the air out of the room and made her ears ring. The glass lit up like lightning had struck it — searing veins of silver crawling across the surface.

Ashkar stepped through.

No ripple.

No ceremony.

Just fire.

His eyes were blinding. His robes whipped around him like smoke. His mouth moved — not in words, but in commands. Not in a language Elira knew, but one that made the walls tremble.

The reflection hissed. Its smile vanished.

Ashkar raised one hand.

The mirror shrieked again — and the thing vanished, folding inward like it had never been real.

Elira fell to her knees.

Ashkar knelt beside her.

His hands were cold, but firm. Anchoring.

“Breathe,” he said. “Elira. Look at me. Breathe.”

“I saw her,” she choked out. “She was me. She had my voice. She said—”

“I know.”

“She said you couldn’t protect me.”

Ashkar’s jaw clenched. “She isn’t wrong.”

They sat there in silence.

Elira trembling.

Ashkar... not.

But he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Why didn’t you stop her sooner?” she asked, voice shaking.

“Because she isn’t whole yet,” he said. “She’s just a fracture. A splinter of you shaped by the mirror’s hunger.”

“But she was real.”

“Yes,” Ashkar whispered. “And the more you fear her, the more real she becomes.”

Elira’s breath came short and sharp. “So what am I supposed to do? Ignore her?”

Ashkar rose, slowly.

“No,” he said. “You prepare.”

“For what?”

Ashkar turned toward the mirror.

And for the first time since she summoned him… he looked uncertain.

“### For when she decides to replace you.”

The next morning, Elira woke to silence.

Not the peaceful kind.

The heavy, suffocating kind — like the air had been drained from the house while she slept. Every floorboard too still. Every breath too loud.

The black shard was no longer on her desk.

She searched her drawer.

The floor.

Her pockets.

Nothing.

She didn’t need to ask where it had gone.

The mirror was quiet again. But it watched her. She felt it. A prickling at the back of her neck no matter where she stood in the room.

Ashkar was nowhere to be seen.

She went to school anyway.

Because pretending was easier than sitting in that room.

Because if she didn’t go, her parents might actually notice her for once.

Because she needed a moment of normal — even if normal had become just another kind of lie.

But the halls were off again.

People moved slowly. Shadows stretched too far across the tiled floors. When she passed a trophy case, her reflection lingered, staring after her when she walked on.

She didn’t turn back.

She didn’t need to.

Her own face no longer trusted her.

In third period, the lights flickered.

No one reacted.

Not even the teacher.

Elira felt like she was watching a play — actors mouthing lines from behind glass. Her pencil moved on its own, her name scrawled across the top of the paper before she could remember lifting her hand.

Then she heard it.

Her voice.

Coming from beneath her desk.

Whispering.

> “Let me in.”

Elira froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

She slowly looked down — but there was nothing there.

Nothing but her backpack.

She didn’t open it.

She didn’t move.

She just sat there — shaking — while something with her own voice laughed quietly from under the desk like a child hiding in the dark.

By the time she returned home, the front door had swung open on its own.

The living room was untouched.

But the hallway mirror — the tall one outside her parents’ bedroom — was cracked.

Not shattered. Not broken.

Just… cracked, from the inside.

Like something had tried to push out.

Elira didn’t breathe again until she reached her bedroom door and slammed it shut behind her.

Ashkar was waiting.

He stood near the window again — back turned — motionless.

She sank to the floor and whispered, “Where were you?”

Ashkar didn’t answer at first.

Then he said, “She’s not the only one watching.”

Elira looked up.

“What do you mean?”

Ashkar turned slowly.

His eyes were dimmer than usual — no longer glowing coals, but hollow embers.

“There are older things than reflections,” he said. “The mirror world doesn’t begin with your echo. It only uses her as a key.”

“A key to what?”

Ashkar crouched beside her. Not touching. Just near enough that the air around her warmed slightly.

> “A key to you.”

Elira’s voice cracked. “She’s trying to replace me.”

Ashkar shook his head.

“She doesn’t want to be you.”

“Then what?”

“She wants to be seen.”

The words chilled her more than she expected.

Seen.

It made sense in a way that felt wrong. The echo wasn’t a monster — not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t snarling or drooling or trying to bite.

It was smiling.

It was mimicking.

It was perfecting her.

Stealing not just her face — but her gestures, her voice, her laugh.

And if no one could tell the difference…

Who would stop it?

Elira touched her throat. “Why me?”

Ashkar’s gaze darkened. “Because you looked into the mirror and asked for something.”

“I didn’t ask for her.”

“You asked to be understood. To be seen. That’s what she heard.”

Elira’s breath caught. “She’s what I wanted?”

“No,” Ashkar said gently. “She’s what you almost became.”

Ashkar stood.

“Come.”

She followed him to the mirror.

It shimmered faintly, the silver inside bubbling like mercury.

“You need to see it,” he said.

Elira’s hands shook. “See what?”

Ashkar turned toward her, face solemn.

“My true form.”

Before she could stop him, he pressed both hands to the glass.

And the mirror responded.

It didn’t show him — not right away.

It peeled open, like something blooming under water.

And then she saw it.

Not a man.

Not a demon.

Not even a thing with shape.

Just darkness with veins of fire. Wings like broken glass. Eyes — too many — blinking across something that couldn’t be called a body. Each blink sounded like thunder. Each motion rippled into the corners of the room like waves of pressure.

But what struck Elira most was not the fear.

It was the sadness.

The crushing, ancient sorrow that radiated off him like heat from a dying star.

Ashkar’s voice echoed inside her bones.

> “Now you know what protects you.”

A ### choice that will change the balance of power, one that cannot be undone.

That night, Elira didn’t bother brushing her hair or changing her clothes.

She lay down in silence, her body still but her mind spinning, tangled in the image of what she had seen — the true form of Ashkar still burning in the back of her eyes.

He had returned to his usual shape after the mirror had gone dim, saying nothing more, only retreating back to his place near the window. But she could feel it in the air: something had changed.

She pulled the blanket over her shoulders and curled on her side, facing away from the mirror.

It took a long time for sleep to come.

But when it did, it took her deep.

---

In the dream, she was standing on water.

Not in it — on it.

A black ocean that didn’t ripple beneath her feet. The sky above her was a perfect mirror, filled with thousands of reflections — each one showing her face.

Some were smiling.

Some were crying.

One bled from the eyes.

She couldn’t look away.

She couldn’t move.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. Just a soft click — like glass tapping glass.

From the center of the sky, one reflection stepped forward. It peeled away from the rest and began to lower itself toward her.

Its eyes were bright.

Its smile too wide.

And as it came closer, Elira realized it wasn’t just trying to reach her.

It was trying to step inside her skin.

She backed away, heart pounding, but the water didn’t move.

Then she heard a voice.

> “You gave me a name when you looked too long. Now give me a life.”

The reflection raised its hand.

And Elira felt her own fingers lift.

Not by choice.

But as if being pulled.

She screamed—

And woke gasping, heart hammering, drenched in sweat.

---

Her bedroom was quiet.

The candle had long since gone out.

The room was dark except for the faint blue glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains.

Ashkar stood at the mirror.

He turned as she sat up, breath shallow.

“You dreamed,” he said simply.

“It was her,” Elira whispered.

Ashkar nodded. “She’s getting closer.”

“I felt her inside me,” she said, trembling. “Like she was wearing my bones.”

Ashkar crossed the room in two steps and knelt in front of her.

His hand hovered near her cheek but didn’t touch.

“She’s not whole yet,” he said. “But if she crosses again — if she finds the right moment — she won’t just haunt the mirror. She’ll step out of it.”

Elira looked up, tears in her eyes.

“What do I do?”

Ashkar’s voice was lower than she’d ever heard it.

> “You choose.”

She blinked. “Choose what?”

Ashkar finally touched her — gently, fingertips brushing the back of her hand like a question.

“Choose who you want to be. Before she chooses for you.”

---

The mirror didn’t ripple that night.

But something behind it did.

Something that wasn’t smiling anymore.

---

End of Chapter Two

---

Elira didn’t leave her room the next morning.

She sat curled on the edge of her bed, watching the faint light slip through the curtains, her fingers clutched tight around the silver chain of her necklace — the one her grandmother gave her, the one she never took off.

Her pillow was still damp from the night before.

Ashkar hadn’t moved since she woke. He stood with his back to her, motionless as ever, facing the mirror like it whispered only to him.

The silence was unbearable.

“Elira,” he said quietly, without turning, “the more you fear her, the stronger she becomes.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but her voice cracked.

Ashkar didn’t call her out on the lie.

He simply raised his hand and touched the glass with his fingertips. The mirror didn’t ripple, but the light around it dimmed — like the air was pulling inward, listening.

“She’s learning your rhythms,” he said. “How you speak. How you move. How to exist as you.”

“I know.”

“She’ll keep trying.”

“I know.”

Elira stood suddenly, fists clenched. “Why does she want me? There are other mirrors in the world. Other girls. Why me?”

Ashkar finally turned.

And his eyes — always glowing, always unreadable — looked almost soft.

“Because you were the first to see her and not turn away.”

---

Later, Elira showered with the bathroom mirror covered by a towel.

It didn’t help.

She still felt her reflection watching.

Still felt a heartbeat that wasn’t hers pulse behind the glass.

When she stepped out, the towel had slipped down halfway, revealing a streak of condensation across the surface — like someone had dragged fingers down the inside of the mirror.

Five lines.

Like claw marks.

---

She skipped breakfast. Her parents weren’t home — again.

They never were when it mattered.

Her dad had left a sticky note on the fridge:

Out of town until Monday. Left some money on the counter. Stay safe.

Her mother hadn’t left anything at all.

Elira didn’t care. The quiet had long since become its own language. Familiar. Cold.

She returned to her room and found Ashkar gone.

Not just out of sight — gone.

For the first time since the summoning, he wasn’t in the mirror or the corners of her vision. He wasn’t watching from the windowsill or the wall.

His absence pressed in like gravity.

She sat down in the middle of her floor, cross-legged, hands shaking.

And whispered, “Ashkar?”

Nothing.

She said it again. Louder.

Still nothing.

Then a third time, just above a whisper — like a prayer.

> “Ashkar…”

The mirror flickered once. Then stilled.

She was alone.

---

Elira spent the day trying to write — anything to take her mind off the silence. A story, a letter, even a list of things she hated. But no words stayed on the page. Her handwriting blurred. Her thoughts felt like static.

By sunset, she gave up and turned on her lamp.

That’s when she heard it.

A sound from downstairs.

Not the echo of the house settling.

Not a branch scratching the window.

A footstep.

Followed by another.

Soft, deliberate.

Slow.

Elira’s breath caught in her throat.

She stood up, heart thudding, and stepped to the door.

Held her breath.

Listened.

More steps. Not rushed. Not searching.

Just walking.

And then…

A voice.

Her voice.

> “Ashkar…”

Elira’s blood turned to ice.

She hadn’t spoken.

And Ashkar was gone.

That meant…

She wasn’t alone.

--

Elira didn’t move.

She stood in front of her bedroom door, frozen. That voice — her voice — echoed faintly up from downstairs. It wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t even loud.

It was calm.

Soft.

Almost curious.

> “Ashkar… where are you?”

Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. That voice didn’t come from her lips — but it was hers.

Perfectly hers.

She pressed her hand to the door and leaned in closer.

Another sound followed — laughter.

Light. Familiar.

And wrong.

Not just because it wasn’t her. But because she hadn’t laughed like that in years. Not since before her grandmother died. Not since the last time someone had looked her in the eye and said, I see you.

The sound of that long-dead version of herself laughing in the dark made her skin crawl.

She opened the door.

Slowly.

---

The hallway stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering wall sconce. The light overhead buzzed faintly — off-beat, like a skipping heartbeat.

The house smelled strange.

Not burning. Not rotten.

But metallic.

Like blood.

Like glass.

She took one step. Then another.

Each board creaked beneath her feet, but the rest of the house stayed unnaturally still.

No wind.

No rain.

No sound — until she reached the top of the stairs.

Then she heard it again.

Her own voice.

Humming.

A tune she hadn’t sung since she was eight.

Something simple. Something innocent.

Now it felt like a curse.

---

Elira’s breath came in short gasps as she descended the stairs. Her fingers brushed the railing — cold as ice — and she winced, pulling back.

A voice spoke again from the living room.

> “Ashkar, I’m not mad. Just lonely.”

Elira’s knees went weak.

The thing was talking to him.

Like it knew him.

Like it believed it had the right to speak his name.

She stepped onto the last stair, careful not to make a sound.

Then crept around the corner into the living room.

And stopped.

the lights were off

but the TV was on

> Then crept around the corner into the living room. And stopped.

---

No sound. Just static. Gray, flickering snow that bathed the room in a cold glow.

And in front of the screen sat a girl.

Her back to Elira.

Still.

Too still.

Her silhouette was familiar — impossibly so.

The curve of her shoulders.

The way her hair fell slightly to the left.

The slight bend in her spine, like she'd been carrying something too heavy for too long.

It was Elira.

But not.

---

Elira swallowed hard, her throat dry.

The girl sat cross-legged, her fingers resting gently in her lap, palms up. Not twitching. Not fidgeting. Just waiting.

Like a doll left in the wrong place.

Elira took a shaky step forward.

The floor didn’t creak.

> “What do you want?” she whispered.

The girl didn’t move. Not at first.

Then, slowly, her head tilted — not back to look, but sideways. Like she was listening to a sound only she could hear.

The voice that answered came in a perfect echo.

> “To be remembered.”

Elira froze.

> “You don’t belong here,” she whispered.

The girl finally turned her head just enough for her cheek to be visible — and smiled.

Too wide.

Too calm.

Too empty.

> “Neither do you.”

---

A flicker of movement.

The girl began to rise.

Slowly.

Her joints didn’t bend right. Her knees popped. Her spine extended slightly too far.

Elira took a step back.

The girl took one forward.

The room felt colder.

The static on the TV buzzed louder.

> “You summoned him,” the reflection said softly. “You cracked the mirror. You invited me.”

> “No. I didn’t mean to—”

> “You meant it,” she whispered. “You begged to be seen. Now I see everything.”

---

Suddenly the reflection tilted her head then disappeared

---

Elira backed away from the mirror, her spine pressed to the door.

> “Replacement,” she repeated. “What does that mean? That she takes my place?”

Ashkar didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at her the way someone might look at a candle flickering in the dark — something small, but sacred. Something fading.

> “Mirrors,” he said finally, “are not passive things. They’re portals. Invitations. And when you offered your heart to the glass… it didn’t just reflect you.”

Elira swallowed hard. “It created her?”

“No,” he said. “It gave her the permission to step forward.”

He paced behind the glass now, agitated. His form seemed tired

End of chapter 3 😣