Chapter 6 : The Reflection Prince
1206 Words
The first thing Auren felt was warmth.
It wrapped around him like silk, coaxing him back from the edge of unconsciousness. He lay on something soft—velvet, maybe—but it wasn’t the scratchy familiarity of his bed. It smelled faintly of cedar and lavender, foreign yet strangely comforting.
He opened his eyes slowly.
A high, arched ceiling soared above him, painted with constellations that glimmered faintly even in daylight. Walls of mirrored glass shimmered on every side of the room, casting light in a thousand directions. His own reflection blinked back at him—no, not just one reflection. Dozens. Each one subtly different. One blinked faster. One tilted its head. One smiled when he didn’t.
Auren sat up with a jolt.
The bed beneath him was massive, carved from pale crystal, draped in silver and deep blue fabric that shimmered like starlight. Sunlight poured in from tall windows shaped like spears, illuminating every inch of the vast chamber.
He was no longer in Virellia’s forest.
The mirror. He’d stepped back through it. Hadn’t he?
But this—this wasn’t home either.
His clothes had changed. Instead of the hoodie and jeans he remembered, he wore a tunic of deep sapphire with intricate embroidery along the collar, its edges traced in silver thread. A thin belt of interwoven crystal strands wrapped around his waist. His hands trembled as he touched the fine material. Even the boots at his feet felt molded perfectly to his size.
“Good. You’re awake.”
The voice came from the far end of the chamber.
Auren turned.
A young man stood beside the tall mirror near the wall, arms folded behind his back. His posture was perfect. Regal. Confident.
He stepped forward—and Auren’s breath caught.
The man looked exactly like him.
Not similar. Not like a twin.
Exactly.
Same messy dark hair, same eyes, same mouth. But his bearing was different. He moved like someone who owned the ground he walked on. He was dressed in princely robes—black trimmed with gold, a sigil of a mirrored crown etched onto his chest.
The stranger smiled.
“Welcome home,” he said.
Auren could only stare.
“Who are you?” he managed.
The prince tilted his head slightly, amused. “I’m you. Or rather… the you that remained behind.”
Auren shook his head. “No. You’re not me.”
The prince’s smile widened. “Auren Vale. Seventeen years old. Born beneath a fractured moon. You never liked birthday parties. You broke your ankle falling from a tree in third grade. You were afraid of mirrors even then.”
Auren’s mouth went dry.
“Then again,” the prince said softly, “I was never afraid. That part of you stayed here.”
Auren took a step back. “What is this place?”
The prince turned, gesturing grandly. “This is the Palace of Echoes. One of the last still standing in the Upper Realm. A sanctuary for those of us who remember too much.”
“Too much of what?”
The prince walked over and sat on a low glass throne. It shimmered beneath him like a ripple. “Of who we are. Of who we were meant to be.”
Auren didn’t move.
The prince rested his chin on one hand. “I know this is confusing. But you crossed more than a border when you came here. You crossed into potential. Into reflection. This world doesn’t just mirror reality—it births it.”
“So what are you? A copy?”
The prince’s gaze sharpened. “I’m no copy. I’m the part of you that understood. The part that stayed when you ran.”
Auren frowned. “I didn’t run. I never knew.”
“No,” the prince said quietly. “But you forgot. And forgetting has a cost.”
They stood in silence for a long moment.
Auren walked to one of the mirrors. The reflection showed the two of them standing side by side—identical, but somehow… not. The prince stood taller. Straighter. His eyes held weight.
Auren turned back. “What do you want from me?”
The prince stood. “To offer you a choice. Stay, and remember what was taken. Or return, and forget again. But know this—something stirs in the lower echoes. Something broken. And only one of us can stop it.”
Auren’s heart pounded. “Why not you?”
“Because I was never whole. I was only the piece that stayed behind.”
“Then I’m not whole either.”
The prince stepped closer, close enough to touch. “Not yet. But together… we could be.”
Auren flinched.
The prince held up a hand. “I won’t force you. But the cracks are spreading, Auren. Through both our worlds. And when mirrors break, they don’t just reflect—they bleed.”
Auren stared at his twin—his reflection—his impossibility.
And he whispered, “What happens if I choose neither?”
The prince smiled.
“Then the mirror shatters. And we all fall through.”
—
Later, a servant entered—silent, face veiled in spun-glass fabric—and laid out food: fruits that shimmered with translucent color, bread that steamed despite being cold to the touch, a blue tea that rippled like memory. Auren ate without hunger, his thoughts churning.
The prince joined him, eating nothing, watching.
“I remember you,” Auren said finally. “From a dream. You were on a throne. You looked at me and said… ‘Come back.’”
The prince nodded. “That was the first time you brushed the veil. You weren’t ready then.”
“And now?”
“You’re still not ready,” Ren said with a faint smile. “But you’re here.”
Auren pushed the plate away. “You called yourself Ren. Why?”
The prince stood and walked to a tall glass door. “Because I earned a name here. The world gave it to me when it understood what I was. You gave up yours when you forgot.”
Auren walked to the door too. Beyond it lay a balcony overlooking a vast city made of crystal towers and mirrored bridges. It sparkled under a sky that bent like glass.
“You rule this place?” Auren asked.
“I guide it,” Ren said. “Ruling is for tyrants. Memory needs no king—just a keeper.”
Auren leaned on the railing. “Why do I feel like I’ve lived here before?”
Ren looked out over the shimmering horizon. “Because you did. In pieces. In dreams. In memories you locked away.”
Auren turned to him. “Then why can’t I remember anything clearly?”
Ren’s voice was quiet. “Because forgetting protects. But it also imprisons.”
They stood together as a soft wind carried notes of distant chimes.
Auren closed his eyes.
For a moment, he felt whole.
And then the air shifted.
A flicker across the sky. A long c***k of silence.
Ren tensed.
“What was that?” Auren asked.
“The beginning,” Ren murmured. “The Unwritten are waking.”
- Writer
