Crimson Mirror

Chapter 1: The Iron Crown

Year 5908.

Parliaments are gone, the constitutions, and the ideals of the old Republic. The nation once called the Philippines now stood shackled under a single name: the Monarchy of Xrydia.

Queen Xrydia ruled with the elegance of a goddess—and the cruelty of one too. With skin like polished obsidian and eyes cold as voidglass, she had risen from the ashes of a broken government with a single promise: peace through power, order through obedience, and purity through division. To the people, she offered salvation. To the men—chains.

Men were stripped of their surnames. Their voices, their choices, their rights—all dissolved like mist under sun. They were relegated to the role of Servitori, the lowest class of citizens, branded with iron cuffs on their wrists that buzzed when they disobeyed. Women rose as commanders, judges, rulers. In Queen Xrydia’s law, love between man and woman was treason. Connection was distraction. Emotion was weakness.

Seventeen-year-old Aeryn Castañeda knew this well.

She stood in the high tower of her home—a spiraling estate owned by her mother, Governor Talia Castañeda, one of the Queen’s trusted stewards. The city below her was awash with silver and black: vertical gardens clung to skyscrapers, neon banners blinked XRYDIA ETERNAL, and patrol drones zipped between buildings like mechanical dragonflies. The air smelled of ozone and control.

But above the modern view, Aeryn’s heart ached for something ancient.

She turned the page of her forbidden book, one of the relics she kept hidden beneath the floorboards. The paper was brittle, the ink fading, but the words were still alive.

“To love another is to be vulnerable. To be vulnerable is to be human.”

Aeryn whispered the line aloud and shut the book as the door opened.

“Lady Aeryn,” said a gentle voice. “Your mother requests you at the balcony.”

She didn’t need to look up. She knew that voice better than her own.

Lior.

He was barely a year older than her, and once upon a time, they’d played together under the mango tree in the courtyard. But that was before the declaration. Before the wristband appeared on his skin and his name was erased from the family tree.

Now, he wore the grey robe of a Servitor, head bowed, hands clasped.

“Tell her I’ll be down in a moment,” Aeryn said, slipping the book beneath a false drawer.

“She won’t wait, milady.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” she replied, standing.

She lied.

As Aeryn descended the glass staircase, Lior followed behind her like a ghost—always silent, always near, never acknowledged in public. In the garden, guards in obsidian armor stood like statues. Aeryn caught one glance at Lior’s cuff blinking red. He had hesitated. She turned back slightly, her voice a whisper.

“Did you get hurt again?”

“No, milady,” he replied flatly.

She hated when he used that word.

The balcony overlooked Plaza Eterna, where citizens gathered daily to pledge their oaths to the Crown. The large holoscreen in the center flickered as the Queen’s image came into view.

“People of Xrydia,” said the monarch’s voice, smooth as smoke. “Let us purge the last rot of the old world. Let us rise pure and undistracted. For love breeds lies. For lies breed ruin. Today, we execute traitors who betrayed our order with a kiss.”

Below, two young rebels—a girl and a boy—stood with their hands bound. Both were bruised but unbowed. The girl shouted something muffled, and the boy looked at her with tear-filled eyes. Then the screen turned red.

Their execution was swift. Clean. Efficient.

The silence that followed felt louder than a scream.

Aeryn turned away before Lior could see her tears.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

The events of the day replayed in her mind—the lovers, the Queen’s decree, Lior’s face when he watched the screen.

She wandered to the attic, a place no one entered anymore. Dust veiled the forgotten space like ash from a long-dead fire. The walls groaned. The moonlight poured through a broken skylight, casting silver on the objects covered in cloth.

Something pulsed beneath one of the drapes.

Aeryn pulled it away.

There, standing tall and elegant, was a mirror.

But it was no ordinary mirror. Its frame was carved from obsidian and silver vines. The glass shimmered with a light not of this world. Baybayin symbols glowed faintly across the surface—familiar yet unreadable.

When she looked into it, she didn’t see her reflection.

She saw another version of herself—smiling, barefoot on soft grass, holding hands with someone whose face was blurred by golden light.

She stumbled back, breath caught.

“Aeryn?” Lior’s voice came from behind her.

She turned, heart hammering. “What are you doing up here?”

“I followed you,” he said simply.

His eyes shifted to the mirror. He stepped forward. His cuff buzzed as if it sensed danger.

“Did you see it?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Who do you think that is?” she asked, pointing at the figure next to her reflection.

Lior hesitated. “It looks like… me.”

Aeryn’s chest tightened.

The air between them shifted. For a moment, it was like time forgot what year it was. Forgot the Queen. Forgot the laws. They stood, a girl and a boy, drawn together by an invisible thread older than crowns.

“You could be free,” Aeryn said, voice trembling.

“I’m not meant to be free,” he replied. “Not in this world.”

“Maybe not in this world,” she whispered, touching the mirror again, “but what if there’s another?”

The next morning, a fleet of hovercars arrived at the estate.

Aeryn was summoned to the Royal Academy in Nueva Intramuros. Her scores, her lineage, her obedience—they’d earned her a place among the Queen’s chosen daughters. It was an honor. A privilege. A trap.

As she packed, her mother stood beside her, sharp in a crimson uniform.

“You must forget childhood now,” Governor Talia said. “Love is for the weak. You are a daughter of the Crown.”

Aeryn nodded, dead-eyed.

Lior helped her carry her things. When no one watched, he slipped something into her palm.

It was a necklace—a pendant made from a cracked piece of mirror.

“I found it,” he said quietly. “It broke off last night. I thought… maybe you should keep it.”

She closed her hand around it tightly.

At the gates, she turned back. Guards were already flanking Lior, pushing him back into the estate like an object.

“Goodbye,” she said.

He didn’t reply. But in his eyes, she saw it.

Hope. Longing. Love.

The very thing that could destroy them both.