i
Casvir was certain, as he peered between the thick, metal bars and into the back of the prisoner cart, that they had already failed. When Tassa, Bren, and Zel had first returned, their horses pulling the antiquated cart up the hill, he had been excited to see the prisoner’s face. But now upon closer inspection the cart was empty.
“There is nothing inside,” Popip said, the gnome peeking over the floor of the cart. “You could not find him?”
“Oh, we found him,” Tassa said, smirking at Zel. She removed a padlock from the door and swung it open. “See for yerself.”
Popip looked up at Casvir and tilted his head toward the door. Go on. The tiefling grumbled and climbed into the cart. Two rows of wooden benches lined the interior, and he looked over each as he walked forward.
“Yer cold,” Tassa called out. She and Zel laughed. “Ice cold!”
Casvir knelt, looking under each bench one by one, but quickly stopped as the two women laughed even harder.
“Brrr,” Zel said.
In the shadows near the far side of the cart Casvir noticed a wooden chest and, as he approached it, found three sapphire gems laying on the floor. He placed his hands on the chest’s lid and immediately felt the box shift – something was inside.
“Way warm,” Zel said. Tassa whispered into Popip’s ear and the gnome’s eyes went wide. His hands flew up and he recited a spell, his hands glowing a brighter shade of blue with each word.
The lid of the chest popped open, and a pair of arms unwrapped from within, displaying an engorged tongue curled between dozens of teeth. Thin, hair-like strands yanked the sapphires through a knothole in a board on the front of the chest and out of sight.
Casvir was staring down the throat of a mimic.
“Red hot!”
He screamed and turned to run but tripped and fell onto his backside. He scrambled backwards as the chest rose on lanky legs, scraping its lid against the cart’s roof. It took a step forward and then dove, the spindly arms and saw-like teeth speeding toward him as Casvir shut his eyes, death all but certain.
As it flew through the air, a pair of ghostly chains appeared wrapped around the mimic’s arms, yanking it back and down. The chest slammed against the cart with a hard crack and the limbs slunk back into the box. As the cart shook around him, Casvir opened his eyes and pushed himself away, tumbling out of the cart and onto the cobblestone road.
“What in Algaard’s name is going on back here?”
Popip’s glowing palms lit Bren Steelfire from his silver boots to his stern gaze. No one spoke. The smiles on Tassa’s and Zel’s faces, along with the dust-covered tiefling, gave Bren a good idea of what had happened.
“Well?” Bren asked.
Zel spoke, “Casvir was-”
“Just havin’ fun, old timer,” Tassa interjected.
“Fun, eh? How much fun are you having, Casvir?”
“I am unharmed.” Casvir stood and brushed dirt from new scratches on the backside of his leather armor. His hands still shook with fear as he looked at Tassa. “It was no issue, Miss Tassa. I promise.”
“Good,” the halfling said, giggling.
“The tiefling might think he owes you some sort of debt for whatever hellhole you pulled him out of, but that does not give you the right to treat him like dirt,” Bren said.
The paladin had a point, but Casvir knew firsthand the difference between being treated poorly as a slave and being treated poorly as a free man. He would gladly accept the latter. Bren would never understand that.
“And you are a Steelfire, at least in part,” Bren said to Zel. “Act like one.”
“Sorry, father,” the half-elf said, her face turning red.
“We have a job to pull off, and he’s our only option. He isn’t some play-thing.”
As if called, the mimic crawled out from the cart, stretching tall in the night air. Sticky mucus coated his limbs and hung in strands between him and the spots on the cart he had touched. The lid of the chest began to flap open and shut, the clacking teeth and squeaking hinges forming words.
“So,” the mimic said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
ii
Between trimmed hedges and trees carved into the shapes of animals of all sorts, Zelvaerys Jadewind caught her first glimpse of the collector’s manor. Standing several floors tall with five great towers, the building was made of square sections that stuck out at odd angles, giving the manor the look that it had been pieced together over time – that it had grown. As imposing as it was, Zel couldn’t shake the thought that that if she looked away the manor might break apart and vanish.
“Ain’t you cold?” Tassa asked.
“No,” Zel said. “Wind is the Allmother’s way of reaching out to us, a way to feel her touch directly. Each gust a reminder of her gifts.”
“Gifts? You poor girl.” Tassa pulled the flaps of her patchwork cloak closer. “After this job I’ll take you to Whalleden and show you what gifts the gods can really offer women like us.”
Tassa laughed. Zel blushed.
“You know,” Tassa whispered, “you don’t always gotta back down to him. I haven’t known you both for too long, but from what I seen, you ain’t nothin’ like him.”
“Thanks,” Zel whispered back.
Bren looked back at Tassa; she wondered if he heard her.
“So, Casvir,” Tassa said, hoping to divert Bren’s attention. “What’re you gonna change?”
“Change, Miss Tassa?”
“You know, bout your past; sure gotta lot of stuff I’d want changed, if I was you. Mirror lets you only change one thing though, better make sure you pick right. Maybe oughta change where you were whenever them slavers picked you up.”
“Maybe he’ll change ever meeting you,” Zel laughed.
“Wow, now she thinks she’s funny,” Tassa said, jabbing Zel. “If he’d never-a met me he’d still be stuck under them scumbags’s thumbs doin’ their dirty work minin’ tarstone. I saved him.”
“I owe Miss Tassa my freedom,” Casvir said. “I wouldn’t wish for anything different.”
“Aw, I love you too, big guy,” she said, winking.
“Where do you think she keeps it?” Zel asked, looking up at the manor.
“Maybe in the basement or somethin’?”
“Wherever it is I am sure it is quite secure, Miss Tassa.”
“Would be a hell of a lotta power to keep in the root cellar. Ain’t safe from these fingers no matter where she’s got it. I could steal a hair off Bren’s head if he had any to spare.”
“The collector keeps her most prized possessions in the attic,” the mimic said. “Mirror included.”
“Oh yeah? You seen it?”
“I have not.”
“So how do you know it’s there? She keep you in the attic too?” Tassa smirked.
“Tassa, be nice,” Zel said.
“What? I’m sure she kept him on a high shelf with all them other talking boxes.”
The mimic bared its teeth. “Get your little friend to pull these chains off my arms and I shall show you I am certainly more bite than bark.”
“Let’s go then,” she said, pulling a pair of daggers from her belt.
“Enough!” Bren barked. “Tassa put those away. And you, just keep moving.”
“Once again, I must suggest you call me by my given name,” the mimic said over Tassa’s grumbling.
“And once again I have to tell you that Trap is not a name.”
“But it is what I have been called by your kind.”
The paladin shifted uncomfortably in his armor at the reminder they were dealing with a creature, sentient though he was. Trap was their only way through the mansion, but that did not mean he trusted it.
“Fine, Trap. Lead the way.”
The mimic stomped past, and Bren dodged one of its swinging arms. Popip – who rode upon his spirit familiar, a jaguar named Kivi – swayed to the side to let the creature through.
“You can hold that thing away from us while we’re in there, right?” Bren whispered to Popip.
“It is not a tough spell to maintain if I can keep some focus on it,” Popip said. “It is like boiling potatoes over a fire, peek at it from time to time to make sure it does not spill over.”
“And if you forget? If the pot boils over?”
Popip looked at the mimic walking ahead of them.
“Well, then it is a very good thing you have got one of those,” he said, pointing to the broadsword at Bren’s side.
The manor’s two front doors stood over them as they approached, each panel covered in a menagerie of animal reliefs showing every animal Zel had ever known of. Some she didn’t. Carvings of hundreds of bugs were etched into the bottom of the door.
“After you,” Trap said, stepping to the side and gesturing towards the entrance.
“Uh-uh, no way am I going in first,” Tassa said.
“But you are a rogue,” Popip said, sliding to the ground and petting Kivi. “Sneaking into places, I understand, is sort of your thing.”
“So is knifin’ people when they ain’t lookin’,” she scowled. “Even if the door ain’t rigged to blow me halfways across Iritalia, if that thing is hesitant, then I’m hesitant.”
“Can you at least check to see if the door is trapped?” Bren asked.
Tassa sighed. “Already have, I’m not an amateur. But who knows what stands on the other side-”
Casvir pushed past, forcing the doors wide open and cutting off Tassa. The glow of a great hall flooded the night around them. Two staircases of polished rosewood curved up to a second-floor landing. A chandelier holding dozens of candles tipped by suspiciously-still flames hung in the air above lighting walls littered with paintings of Belladonna Goldscarz.
“Thank you, good sir,” Trap said, patting Casvir’s left horn. “I like this one.”
Casvir took the compliment – if one could believe such a thing could come from a mimic – in silence.
“Which way?” Bren asked.
Doorways on either side of the hall opened to rooms lined with bookshelves and chairs of maroon leather lit by logs crackling in a fireplace. There was something odd about the rooms, and as he looked at each in turn, he realized what it was – they were all the exact same: the chairs sat in the same positions, the colors of each book’s spine stood in the same order, and the flames within the fireplaces flicked in the same direction at the same time.
“The way does not matter, for all paths lead to the same destination,” Trap said.
Trap took a step, and before Bren could respond, they were surrounded by four tall, translucent copies of the mimic. Bren gripped his sword and watched as the ghostly copies walked away from the group, each heading toward a different doorway. When reaching the study, they all turned in unison and motioned for the group to follow.
“Look at how they move,” Popip said. “They are reflections.”
“Stay close,” Bren cautioned, but Tassa and Popip were already running in separate directions – Tassa to the study on their left and Popip climbing a staircase.
“What a neat trick!” Popip exclaimed to the copy of Tassa beside him.
“Rogues first.” Tassa said.
“Might have told Casvir that before he barged in ahead of you just a minute ago.”
Tassa reached out and pushed Popip’s reflection. The real Popip – who was halfway up the staircase – tripped sideways and caught himself on a step.
“Hey, no fair!”
“Rogues don’t play fair.”
The others followed Trap’s path, watching their reflections spread out from the center of the hall. When they reached the study, their reflections disappeared into their respective rooms. The hairs stood up on the back of Bren’s neck, the doorway behind him now lead to the second-floor landing at the top of stairs he was certain he never climbed. Had the house rearranged itself behind him?
In the corner of the study, steam hissed from a large metal pod as a front hatch slid open and a human-like machine stepped out. His body clicked and whirred as he moved. Firelight danced across ticking cogs nestled between copper plates that covered most of his body.
“Statement – Welcome to the private residence of Mistress Belladonna Goldscarz. Mistress Goldscarz and her collection are available by appointment only. Should you have a pre-approved appointment, state your name and I shall check our database. Should you need to make an appointment, state your name, and requested visitation date, and I shall request approval from Mistress Goldscarz upon her return. Thank you, have a pleasant day.”
“Well, we do not have an appointment,” Popip said. “How long does it take to get approval?”
“Statement – Mistress Goldscarz is currently on expedition and shall review your request immediately upon return.”
“Lotta help that’ll be,” Tassa said. “Last I heard, Belladonna Goldscarz was somewhere in East Keprai hunting down fossilized remains of a Yoppadon.”
“Statement – Mistress Goldscarz is expected to return in seven years and eighty-four days.”
Tassa gave Popip a see-I-told-ya-so look.
“Don’t worry, that piece of junk won’t do anything,” Trap said. “She’s got them all over the manor, reclaimed clockwork servants dug out of tinkerer temples, relegated to a life of housekeeping. Poor things. She never got them functioning the way she wanted so here they sit with the rest of us… collectibles. Now, follow.”
Trap approached the fireplace and, with arms and legs pressed against the chimney, shimmied through the flames and up out of sight. Casvir knelt beside the flames, noticing they didn’t produce smoke, and placed his hand through them.
“Are you crazy?!” Tassa exclaimed.
“It’s fake, like a mirage in the desert. No smoke, and only a small amount of heat to sell the illusion. There’s a ladder behind it we can use to follow.”
As Casvir stepped into the fireplace, the clockwork servant blared an ear-piercing alarm and its eyes – or what Popip believed were its eyes – glowed red.
“Warning – All visitors must have an appointment. Trespassers will be forcibly removed from the premises.”
Casvir, hands over his ears, stepped back and the servant’s alarm faded.
“Now what?” asked Zel.
“I say we yank out every cog in the thing until it shuts up,” Tassa said.
“Wait,” Popip said. “Servant, why did your alarm not sound when Trap crawled through?”
“Response – The mimic is a piece of Mistress Goldscarz’s collection. It is free to roam the premises.”
“We should like to see it returned intact to its proper place within her collection. Are appointments necessary for returning lost property?”
The servant sat silent for a moment as its body hummed. “Response – Logically, Mistress Goldscarz would prefer the return of her property over the need for formal arrangements. No appointment is needed for this reason. However, I shall accompany your party to the storage space reserved for the piece being returned and see you out upon completion of the task.”
“Try again, Casvir,” Popip said, his hands cautiously near his ears.
Casvir ducked and stepped through the flames. The clockwork servant remained silent.
“Great, and you can call me Popip, just for, you know, reference.”
“Statement – I will now refer to you as Master Popip.”
“Oh, I like that,” Popip said smiling. “And you, what is your name?”
“Statement – I was not assigned a value for the variable Name. That value remains null.”
“Well then, Null, we better get moving.”
iii
“Salamander!” Popip yelled. “Salamander!”
Zel’s eyes darted to the base of the rickety staircase below her. Being a half-elf had its perks, one being enhanced hearing that made her a great lookout. Around her, the cold glow of moonlight streamed through gaps between rotten shingles and provided just enough light in the attic for Bren and Tassa to search for the mirror. Though Belladonna Goldscarz kept her most prized possessions as far away from visitors as possible, her overprotection of the collection meant the clockwork servants had stayed away from their duties within the room, leaving the attic and most of its treasures ruined by weather.
“He’s signaling, they know,” Zel warned.
“That was fast,” Tassa said. She dug through stacks of books and tipped over a cabinet, the sound of shattering glass filling the room.
“Well, at least they’ll know where we are now,” Bren grumbled.
“Ain’t no use in being quiet no more anyways. Told you we should’ve just disassembled ol’ coghead when we had the chance.”
“How close are they?”
“I don’t hear footsteps yet, so maybe a couple long halls away.”
“Help me with this bookshelf, Zel,” Bren said. “No need for a lookout if they know where we are.”
As the bookshelf slid aside, the three found a long, intricately detailed, frame hanging on the wall. It stood about the height of Bren but wider. In the center, instead of a mirror, a pair of wooden doors were held shut by a small golden hook. Tassa reached to unlock the doors and –
“Salamander!” Popip yelled as he appeared at the top of the stairs only seconds before Null, Casvir, and Trap.
Tassa pulled her hand away as they appeared, leaving the mirror doors closed.
“Warning – Activating defensive procedures.”
Null’s eyes were red as they had been at the fireplace entrance. His alarm blared as he stomped across the attic and grabbed Tassa, throwing her against the wall. Bren pulled his sword from its scabbard and swung at Null, the blade bouncing off a copper shoulder plate and leaving only a small dent. He swung again, but Null had closed the gap between them and began striking him with heavy clockwork arms.
“No-” Zel yelled, her words cut short as her body arched and expanded, her thin frame growing wide as thick shags of dark brown hair exploded across her skin. Her scream grew into a guttural roar as her body, now in the form of a dire bear, charged Null. Her jaws clamped onto Null’s leg and she swung him back and forth before tossing him. His body bounced and skidded across the floor like a toy doll. Before he could stand, Zel pounced and slammed him against the ground. She dug her snout into his belly and used her teeth to pry at the panels protecting him.
Zel’s enormous form backed up against Popip who gasped as he nearly fell down the open stairwell. He slid behind a cob-webbed chest, the wood – softened by years of exposure to rain, birds, and termites – gave way as he leaned back. He wondered whether Trap would eventually crumble like this chest did. Wait, where was Trap?
Popip’s hands glowed and the ethereal chains reappeared, pulling Trap back just before reaching his target: Tassa. At the sound of Trap’s lid snapping shut, Tassa scurried away along the wall and drew her knives. He sneered at her, just out of reach.
“Warning – Activating self-destruct procedure.”
A long note bellowed from within Null and the robot exploded, sending clockwork parts and flames rolling throughout the room. The wood and furniture around them, aged by days baking in the sun, quickly lit.
The blast threw Popip from his hiding spot and against a chimney, his body falling limply to the floor. Trap scuttled towards Tassa as the chains holding him faded. Its limbs wrapped around her and pulled the wooden chest tightly to her body, her daggers useless as she cut at the box.
“Popip!” Tassa yelled. “Get this thing off me!”
Popip remained still.
Zel turned – her face a mess of burnt flesh, smoldering hair, and blood – and ran across the room. Flames singed the hair on her body, the air permeating with its putrid smell. Trap reached back to swipe at Tassa when Zel’s jaws snapped closed around the arm, Trap screeching in pain. She shook, swinging Trap and Tassa around until its grip dropped the rogue to the floor with a thud. Trap snapped at Zel, his tongue sticking to her fur and tearing it out in a great chunk before she tossed him away, his wooden body bouncing through the flames and violently tumbling down the open stairwell.
Casvir hurried towards Tassa but stopped, his eyes landing on the mirror. He could change all of this, go back and stop this all from happening. All he had to do was open the mirror. He flipped the latch and pulled open the mirror doors. At first, he thought he was staring at a painting of a barren, bleak landscape of mountains under darkened skies. But as he looked closer, he saw a figure staring back within the ebony surface, like a ghost standing at the edge of a cliff.
Then the figure moved, and Casvir drew his sword.
“Casvir?” Tassa questioned.
She locked eyes with Bren, though the skin around his face had puffed up and she wasn’t sure how much of her he could see. From the mirror between them, a hand, black as night, reached out and gripped the side of the frame, quickly followed by another full of thick fingers and pointed nails that dug deeply into the surrounding wall.
The thing crawling from the mirror – now that it was pulling free of the frame – looked like something Casvir believed only could exist in a nightmare. The man, if that is what it was, wore armor of stone that flowed around his body, as if he and the armor were connected. Between the stone plates was a body made of flowing lava, glowing orange and casting heat on Casvir’s face, even within the fiery attic. It’s face, with deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks, reminded Casvir of a skull covered in tar, and growing from the top of the skull were sharp points stretching up like a crown.
The sword trembled in Casvir’s hands and though he wished he could strike, he was frozen with fear. He felt the obsidian man’s presence in his head, as if staring into his black eyes had connected them in ways he never believed – or wished – possible.
“Casvir,” the obsidian man’s deep voice crooned, “it has been far too long since last we met, my steward. Bringer of Pax, scourge of Iritalia, may you now rest.”
As Casvir struggled to understand what he meant, Pax swung a black mace and struck him, shattering the tiefling’s horns and sending him sailing across the room. Pax stomped forward, the attic floor groaning under his weight. Zel charged him, and as they collided, she let out a roaring snarl of blood and spit.
“Tassa!” Bren yelled, limping over to her. “Get Popip and Casvir out of here.”
She shook her head. “Ain’t no way out, stairway’s torched. Them stairs weren’t exactly solid on the way up, no way they hold us now.”
“The mirror’s some kind of portal,” he said, dipping an armored hand through the obsidian plane. “Get the others through it.”
“What about you and Zel? I ain’t gonna leave you two here to die.”
“I’ll get Zel. Just stay as far away from Pax as you can.”
She nodded and walked forward, her bones protesting the movement. “And Bren,” she said, pausing to look back at the paladin, whose age was now more visible than ever before. “She’s just like her mother.”
“I know,” he said, smiling.
The crack of breaking bones rang out as Pax’s mace came down along Zel’s back. The bear yelped and thumped against the floor. He turned his gaze to the rogue who’s silhouette – normally concealed by shadow – was now clear as day, backlit by the flames around her.
“Pax!” Bren yelled and thrust the tip of his sword into a crack running along Pax’s back, the blade sinking deep into the lava-like body below. He withdrew it, and to his horror the end of the blade was gone, metal dripping from the hilt in white-hot globs.
Tassa dropped her blades and shook Popip. He remained unconscious and she cursed as she lifted him onto her shoulder. Sweat poured from her brow, the gnome was heavier than he looked, and the heat was not making things any easier. She looked back at Casvir, tears creeping into her vision, and started her way back to the mirror.
She hugged the far wall, shimmying along the edge of the burning stairwell as flames rolled through the hall below. The entire manor below her was engulfed in fire. Then, as if her worst nightmare had come to life, she saw Trap scramble through the flames and up the stairs. She gasped as he reached for her, knowing he would pull her and Popip into a fiery death.
Just before his fingers reached her, the stairs below Trap collapsed, and he shrieked as his body fell into a pool of flames. Tassa hurried past the open stairwell and toward Zel – whose bear form had faded away – revealing the battered half-elf’s bloody and scarred scalp.
“We need to get outta here,” Tassa yelled. “Into the mirror!”
“Not without him,” Zel said, looking to Bren.
Pax’s mace came down fast, missing Bren by inches and cracking the floorboards, causing a column of fire to spew up from below. Tassa caught sight of Casvir standing across the room, one hand upon a splintered horn and the other dragging his sword. Flames curled around him, licking his skin. The tears Tassa had held back now flowed fully, knowing she would never be able to save the once-slave who dedicated his life to her.
“Zelvaerys Jadewind, go!” Bren yelled.
Zel stood in shock, he had never called her that before. As far as she could remember, he had never even acknowledged her elven side, her mother always considered a source of shame to him. Zel was convinced she was the mistake between the two of them. So, when Bren yelled her name – her real name – she could only do one thing: listen. With tears in her eyes, she disappeared within the obsidian mirror.
Climbing out of the stairwell, Trap reappeared, his once smooth limbs now blistered and charred. The wooden chest that served as his head was nearly gone, only a few blackened boards remained around a mess of burnt flesh and teeth.
“Tassa!” he screeched, speeding towards her.
She turned and ran for the mirror, hoping with each step that the heat growing behind her was not from Trap closing in. With one final step, she dove forward, throwing herself and Popip through the mirror. Trap’s head crashed against the frame, twisting it at an ugly angle and shattering the mirror’s surface. Pieces of broken obsidian rained down around him as he screamed out.
iv
When Popip awoke, he was cold. His skin was sticky with dried sweat and his clothes were damp. Kivi nuzzled him and he hugged her blocky head. She lifted him to a seated position and he opened his eyes. The sky was thick with clouds rolling like endless hills as far as he could see. Massive islands of desiccated land – like the one he sat on – floated in the air, topped with rocky mounds capped with snow. In the distance, what he first thought was a mountain he now realized was a city with jagged spires reaching high into the sky. They reminded him of Pax’s crown. In their center, one great tower stood above everything else, a red beam of light shooting from the peak tinting the clouds the color of blood.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“The elves are taught as children that before the Allmother found us the sky did not exist, and the land was a ruinous, shattered place,” Zel said. “They must have been talking about this place.”
“Before?” Tassa questioned. “You mean, like, before Iritalia and before… us?”
“This is Iritalia,” Zel said. “Well, was.”
Popip walked along the island, peering over the edge and through clouds to the continent below – or what was left of it. Sparse patches of land remained between a flowing ocean of lava, hot and orange red. Though little was left, he recognized the land of Iritalia by its chasms where water once flowed, now filled with lava. He felt heat radiating across his face and kicked a patch of snow, watching it disappear over the edge.
“Then that light must be coming from the ruins of Vexo,” Popip said. “But how did this happen?”
“Did Pax do this?” Tassa wondered aloud.
A large pile of rocks nearby began to shake and Tassa grabbed at her belt, cursing herself for leaving her knives in the attic. Popip ran to Zel’s side as the stones rolled away, revealing a clockwork servant stepping out from within a metal tube.
“Statement – Unfortunately, due to p-property damage, the c-c-collection of Mistress Goldscarz is currently closed for ren-renovation.” The servant jittered and its words were uneven, decayed like the world around them. “Sh-Should you need to leave a message, please state your nuh-nuh-name and business, and I shall relay your information to Mistress Goldscarz. Thank you, have a pleasant day.”
“It knows of Belladonna,” Popip said. “Zel, I think you are wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“This is not the past, it is the future.”
v
In a damp, dwarven-made stairwell carved two thousand years before his existence, Bren sat chipping away at a wall. Water swallowed the stairs near his toes. His salt licked beard grew in patches across his face – where the skin hadn’t burned – and hung past his sagging muscles, floating in the clear water. He hammered a chisel against the wall at the water line, creating an etched line like the hundreds climbing the walls above him.
Everyone had written him off, considered him raving mad since Zel’s disappearance. Hell, they were right, he had lost his mind after she had gone – for a time, at least. But he saw her step through the portal. She wasn’t dead, he needed to remember that. Some day she could return – would return.
He hadn’t been much of a concern to anyone since Pax started his reign of chaos. Like walking death, Pax traveled through Iritalia, destroying cities and murdering anyone in his way. Some, the ones crazier than Bren, had announced their loyalty to Pax, and followed his path as he cut through the continent, finding home in the ruins of Vexo.
Now, Bren spent his days hacking at the walls in the caverns beneath those same ruins, scurrying in the walls like a rat, hiding from Pax and his followers. He had researched the mirror – what little was written about it – and it had led him here. Each word of the writings gave him hope Zel was not gone forever. Words had given him his sanity back. The texts linked the mirror and Vexo in some way, but they were too vague and never explained how or why. The one thing he knew though, looking at the marks climbing the wall beside him, was that the ruins of Vexo were rising out of the ocean.
A bell rang out, breaking his focus. He dropped the tools into the saltwater and clambered up the stairs. It made him think of Null’s final alarm. It made him think of Casvir and his sacrifice so he could live.
The bell rang out again, the sound carrying through the halls so loudly that Bren had to cover his ears. As he exited the hall, he stood beneath a towering clock of gears and copper housing scarred by oxidization. The gears, which he thought frozen in place by time and nature, began turning in unison. Pieces of the housing thudded into place and shook the ground. He was the first person to see the clock in a thousand years, and the first creature to ever hear it activate.
In the center, a panel opened, and a cylinder outlined by eight glass bulbs extended out. One flickered and came to life, igniting a deep, yet bright red, casting a soft ray up through a carved tunnel in the ceiling. His eyes watered at the light, his faith that someday he would see his daughter again had been all he had the last twenty-eight years. The texts were right. Everything he once believed would never happen, what everyone told him would never happen, was reality.
“She’s returned,” Bren muttered through the tears. “And the doom clock has begun its countdown. Algaard help us all.”
Author’s Note: Huge thanks to Pikkufighter, who commissioned this story through my Ko-fi. They provided a lot of the setting details such as Iritalia, Vexo, etc; and I said I’d provide a 2,000 word fantasy fiction. Whoops, I went a bit over 😉
