Chapter 5: The Forbidden Corridor
The key burned in Evan's pocket as he crept through the academy's sleeping halls. Moonlight bled through the arched windows, painting the stones in shades of bone and bruise. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped—a slow, syncopated rhythm that didn't match the academy's known plumbing.
Isolde's warning echoed in his skull: You won't like what you find.
The restricted archives lay behind an unmarked door at the end of the alchemy wing. Evan's fingers trembled as he fit the silver key into the lock. For a terrible moment, it resisted. Then, with a groan that sounded too much like a human sigh, the mechanism turned.
Cold air rushed out to greet him, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something fouler—wet fur and spoiled meat. Evan summoned a sphere of stormlight, the blue-white glow revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness.
Find the mirror, the dream-voice had whispered.
Each step groaned underfoot. The walls grew damp the deeper he descended, the stones weeping thin trails of moisture that glistened like fresh tears in his magical light. At the base of the stairs, the corridor branched in three directions.
Left: the faint sound of scratching claws.
Right: a low, rhythmic humming.
Center: absolute silence.
Evan chose silence.
The archive chamber took his breath away.
Towering shelves stretched into the gloom, packed with books whose spines bore titles in languages that hurt his eyes. Glass cases displayed artifacts that seemed to watch him—a mummified hand with too many fingers, a music box that turned its own crank, a dagger with a blade made of frozen shadow.
And at the room's heart, draped in black velvet, stood the mirror.
It was taller than a man, its frame carved with intertwined serpents. The glass didn't reflect the room—instead, it showed a moonlit forest where the trees grew in spirals. As Evan approached, his stormlight dimmed of its own accord.
A whisper from the surface: "Look closer."
He shouldn't. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. But the memory of Isolde's fear propelled him forward. Evan reached out—
The glass rippled like water.
Cold fingers grabbed his wrist and pulled.
Mira Solene materialized from the shadows, her crimson hair blazing even in the dim light. She slammed him against a bookshelf, sending ancient tomes tumbling to the floor.
"I knew you'd be trouble," she hissed. Up close, her pupils were vertical slits, her breath scorching against his cheek. "But even I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to come here alone."
Evan's storm magic sparked between them, the ozone scent making Mira's nose wrinkle. "What is this place?" he gritted out.
"The headmaster's trophy room." Mira's grip tightened. "Every artifact here is a piece of someone who asked too many questions." She jerked her chin toward the mirror. "That one's my great-aunt. Lovely woman. Terrible taste in allies."
The pieces clicked together. "The missing students—"
"Are exactly where they're supposed to be." Mira's smile showed too many teeth. "And you're about to join them."
Flames erupted from her free hand. Evan reacted on instinct—his storm magic surged in a crackling shield just as the fire hit. The collision sent them both flying backward.
Evan's head struck the edge of a display case. Stars exploded across his vision as something glass shattered beside him. The mummified hand skittered across the floor, its fingers twitching.
Mira rose from the wreckage, her jacket smoldering. "You'll regret that," she snarled—
A book fell from the highest shelf.
Then another.
And another.
The entire archive trembled as every volume simultaneously leapt from its resting place, pages fluttering like a thousand startled birds. The mirror's surface boiled.
"RUN," whispered a chorus of voices.
Evan didn't need telling twice.