Through the Vaedryn Mirror
1197 Words
Chapter Ten:
Lucan Vaelen the Fallen King of Ash and Stars— "Desperation Beneath the Ashes"
I slammed my palm against the ancient desk, scattering broken parchments and torn maps across the black marble.
"Rasha," I barked, my voice hoarse from disuse, "bring me the Book of the Fallen. There must be something I overlooked."
Behind me, my oldest friend shifted uneasily.
"You need rest, Lucan," Rasha said quietly, concern etched deep into every line of his scarred face.
"You haven't slept in days. You haven't eaten in weeks."
I turned, pinning him with bloodshot eyes.
"Where is Jest? And Kingslee?" I snapped.
"I need a new regime drafted immediately. And where did you put the rest of the Stardust Marigold and the Dragon’s Tooth? Rasha — please."
He flinched at the desperation in my voice.
I, Lucan Vaelen, once the terror of kingdoms, reduced to pleading like a dying man for herbs and relics.
"My Supreme," Rasha said, stepping closer, "please don't put me in a position where I have to go against you."
He held out a goblet — thick with a sleeping draught so potent I could smell the bitter herbs from across the room.
"Drink this. Go to bed. You can start this madness again tomorrow."
I clenched my fists, rage boiling inside me, but I knew —
deep down —
he was right.
The mind falters when the body collapses.
And I could not afford weakness.
Not now.
Not when she was so close.
"Fine," I said, voice low and dangerous.
"But only if you bring me the Vaedryn Mirror."
Rasha stiffened.
The Vaedryn Mirror.
The Third Eye of the Forgotten.
An artifact so old and so cursed that even touching it risked madness.
But it was the only way I could see her.
The only way I could be sure she was still breathing, still fighting, still... mine.
Rasha hesitated — then bowed low, grimacing.
"As you command, my King."
He disappeared into the vaults, his footsteps vanishing into the cold stone corridors.
And I leaned heavily against the desk, my body trembling with exhaustion I refused to acknowledge.
Outside, the stars burned silently.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like me.
"Hold on, my little moonfire," I whispered into the empty room.
"Hold on. I’m coming for you."
The Vaedryn Mirror rested on a slab of black stone, hidden deep in the vault beneath my crumbling castle.
An oval of silver glass, framed by twisted metal that breathed — literally breathed — as though alive.
The mirror whispered in the silence.
A thousand voices from a thousand dead timelines.
Warning. Begging. Cursing.
Rasha stood stiffly at my side, clutching a heavy iron talisman.
Jest lingered in the shadows, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, his golden eyes sharp with worry.
And Kingslee — ever the quietest of us — knelt at the edge of the dais, hands splayed against the cold floor, muttering wards in the old tongue under his breath.
"This is madness," Rasha said quietly, not for the first time.
"Even the strongest minds break beneath the Vaedryn’s gaze."
"Then pray I am still stronger than most," I answered, voice hoarse.
Jest shifted, stepping forward.
"Lucan—" he started, using my name, not my title.
A rare, dangerous thing.
I cut him off with a look.
"Bring her to me."
Reluctantly, Rasha raised the iron talisman and pressed it to the mirror’s surface.
The glass rippled — like a pond touched by a falling star — and the mist inside parted.
At first, there was nothing but swirling light.
And then —
her.
Silver.
My daughter of moon and fire and sorrow.
She floated above a worn mattress in a small stone chamber, her silver hair wild around her like a halo, her arms limp at her sides.
Wings of silver and violet light shimmered faintly behind her, barely formed, not yet full.
Her skin glowed with a soft, golden hue, as if the sun itself bled through her veins.
And her face—
Gods.
Her face.
So much like her mother’s that it tore something vital out of my chest.
The delicate curve of her jaw.
The stubborn set of her mouth.
The fierceness asleep even in unconsciousness.
Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them.
"She’s alive," I breathed, sinking to my knees in front of the mirror.
"Of course she’s alive," Kingslee muttered without looking up from his chanting.
"She’s her mother's daughter."
Jest crouched beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.
"You’re shaking," he said gruffly.
I laughed — a broken, bitter sound.
"How long has it been since I’ve been anything but stone?"
I reached a trembling hand toward the mirror —
and the surface burned cold against my skin.
Suddenly, the image shifted.
Silver’s body arched —
her mouth opening in a silent cry —
and from her chest, a pulse of blinding silver light exploded outward.
It struck the warriors around her — men and women hardened by war — and I watched as they fell to their knees, sobbing in awe.
It struck the wicked among them — cowards, spies, traitors — and they collapsed, clutching their skulls, screaming as smoke curled from their mouths.
Power.
Raw.
Unforgiving.
Divine.
Not just a wolf.
Not just an angel.
Something else.
Something new.
Something perfectly terrible and perfectly beautiful all at once.
The mirror trembled in its frame.
The room groaned.
Blood leaked from Rasha’s nose as he fought to keep the binding wards in place.
Kingslee snarled a curse in an ancient tongue, driving the protection deeper into the stones.
Jest gripped my shoulder tighter, grounding me as the force of the vision tried to rip my soul free.
"Do you see her now?" Jest hissed in my ear.
"She’s not just your blood."
"She’s the storm. The salvation. The ending and the beginning."
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
My heart shattered inside my chest — not from pain, not from fear —
but from hope.
Hope I thought long dead.
Hope that burned too bright to touch.
The mirror’s surface began to crack.
Veins of darkness splintered across the silver glass.
"Enough!" Rasha barked.
He yanked the talisman free, and the mirror went black with a hiss like a dying star.
The room fell into silence — broken only by the heavy breathing of four exhausted men who had seen too much.
I slumped back against the cold wall, chest heaving.
"She’s alive," I whispered again, like a prayer.
"And she’s rising."
Jest sat back on his heels, wiping blood from his temple.
"Aye," he said gruffly. "But so will your enemies, now that she’s awakened."
Kingslee stood slowly, his expression grim.
"The Vaedryn’s call echoes through the bloodlines," he said.
"They know. They all know."
Rasha dropped to one knee beside me, lowering his head.
"What are your orders, my King?" he said, voice low.
I stared at the shattered mirror.
At the broken future we had once surrendered.
At the new future blazing on the horizon.
I rose slowly to my feet, feeling every ancient, broken bone scream in protest.
"We prepare," I said coldly.
"For war."
- Writer
