Akiro Takahashi stepped out of the subterranean chamber and into the twilight world beyond. Even outside, the shard burned against his chest beneath the cloak — an ember of cold light pressed just under his rib. He swallowed, trying to steady himself. The Path around him had changed. The heavy air smelled of rain on hot stone, and the only light was an ochre half-moon beneath a gauzy veil of clouds. Shadows coalesced at the edges of his vision and darted into the gloom at the corner of his gaze. Each breath was cool and bitter on his tongue, like ash.
His heart pounded. He rubbed at his chest where the shard pulsed like a heartbeat of its own. The metal sliver, now glowing faintly through the layers of his robe, felt cold to the touch when he pressed on it, but hot in his bones. He remembered the last words of the figure who gave it to him — a whisper in a language older than memory. "Beware the Mirror of Echoes," the voice had said, "for truth lies within, but not all truths set you free." Akiro shook off the memory and took a step forward, uncertain what lay ahead.
The ground before him rippled like water. A silver light glinted off fragmented glass rising from the earth — shards of mirror, tall and wickedly twisted, forming a maze of reflections. He stepped gingerly into the field of broken mirrors, and every fragment caught the feeble moonlight, scattering kaleidoscopic patterns on the marble path. A thin mist swirled at ankle height, cold and damp, smelling faintly of lilies and old blood. The air thrummed with distant whispers and the soft creak of something shifting in the darkness.
As he advanced, Akiro saw his reflection — first as he knew it, then warped by cracks in the glass. His eyes were the same, but the face in the mirror was hollow-cheeked and gaunt, hair falling in greasy tangles across his forehead. The reflection raised a pale, slender hand and pressed it to the glass, as if it knew Akiro was there. He froze. For a moment, the shard in his chest flared cold and bright, and the world tilted on its axis.
"Don't be afraid," a voice drifted across the shattered air — soft, coaxing, yet unsettling. Akiro spun around, but he saw no one. Only mist and broken glass surrounded him.
"I—I'm not afraid," he stammered. His voice sounded shaky even to his own ears. A faint laugh echoed from behind one of the tall mirror shards.
"I saw your face," the voice continued, a whisper like leaves brushing the ground. "You see it too, don't you? The truth in the glass."
A chill washed over him. He forced himself to breathe in and out. Calm, he told himself. The shard's pulse against his chest quickened as if in response to his fear. It must be showing me… something, he thought, keeping his eyes on the ground.
In the nearest shards, flickers of memory began to dance. A small boy in a garden, laughing with a woman whose hair was tied with a crimson ribbon — a younger Akiro. The woman was calling to him, arms outstretched as if to pull him back from something unseen, but the boy in the vision looked away into darkness. Even through the mirror, he could smell her scent — jasmine and warm honeybread.
Then the glass trembled. The boy's laughter turned to a scream, and the woman clutched at her chest. Akiro's breath caught in his throat, and he forced his eyes shut, shaking his head to dispel the vision like a bad dream.
Another voice returned, gentle but chilling: "You know your fear, Keybearer."
A figure stepped out from between two mirror shards. A woman, lithe and graceful, her eyes impossibly bright in the dim light. She moved like a specter within the twilight, wearing a kimono of midnight blue patterned with stars and broken glass. A jangle of glass sounded beneath her bare foot as she took a slow step toward him.
At first, Akiro thought she might be another trick of the mirrors. But as she drew closer, he realized she had no reflection in any of the shards — no image behind her at all. As she stepped closer, her mouth curved into a cryptic smile.
"You made it through the Hall of Glass," she said softly, voice like the tinkle of chimes. "Few reach the other side. Not even the Hunters."
He backed away, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Who—what are you?" he demanded.
The woman's eyes glinted. "Oh, I think you know what I am," she replied. "But you may not remember yet. Call me Mikohime."
"Why do you know my name?" Akiro hissed.
Mikohime chuckled softly. "Names are easy. You are the important one here, Akiro Takahashi — the boy who holds the shard. The Key to the balance between worlds, or so the legends say." Her gaze bore into him. "And I see the Path winding through your life."
He tried to glare, but his legs were trembling. "Legends? I'm no Key. I'm just a kid who doesn't even know what balance means," he shot back.
Her eyes narrowed, as if amused. "Then why does the shard burn in your chest? Why do your memories bleed into this realm?" She stepped closer, and he smelled her perfume — cherry blossoms and something metallic. "Memory is powerful. I am a keeper of memory, and I see yours clearly."
Akiro's grip tightened on his sword. "What do you want?" he demanded, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Mikohime tapped a slender finger against one of the mirror shards beside her. The shard rippled like liquid, revealing a hidden scene behind it: a flooded courtyard with a small shrine, candlelight flickering inside. By the candle knelt a childlike figure, cloaked in darkness. The figure's hair was tied with the same crimson ribbon — for a heartbeat, Akiro's breath caught in his throat. The child's braid was his mother's.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the vision shattered. The mirrors went opaque again, and Akiro blinked.
She leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. "Bravery suits you, Keybearer. But perhaps you'd prefer I conjured something far worse." She straightened. "The coming storm… it will show you the balance you seek."
All around him, the air changed. The mirror shards began to rattle and groan. Overhead, the thin cloud layer above the moon whirled into a roiling vortex. The chill mist clung to his skin like cold fingers. A distant howl rolled through the labyrinth.
Akiro's heart hammered. He bolted forward, crashing through broken archways that appeared suddenly among the mirrors. He did not look back; he focused only on escape.
But the mirrors were not done with him. As he ran, the shards shifted violently, closing gaps like the jaws of a great beast. He caught a glimpse of Mikohime at the far end of the hall — her profile calm as she watched him with those too-bright eyes. Without turning, she whispered into the darkness: "You will find the truth in shards and reflections, Akiro. Your past is not forgotten — nor is it safe." Then she was gone, swallowed by the Path itself.
Lightning snapped overhead, and Akiro burst out into a flooded courtyard of white marble. Rain poured from a black sky, water pooling around his feet. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the shard's warmth against his skin as his breath ragged.
In the center of the courtyard stood the small shrine from the vision. Its wooden beams were carved with symbols worn by time. The single candle still flickered inside its alcove.
He leaned against a carved wall, struggling to catch his breath. Then something caught his eye. On the wooden lintel above the shrine's entrance, a word was carved in ancient script, glowing faintly in the candlelight:
Guardian
Akiro stared at the word. He did not know why it made his chest tighten, but it felt like a promise — or a warning.
The storm's howl grew louder. In the distance, at the edge of the flooded courtyard, two tall silhouettes emerged from the shadows, eyes glowing with hunger.
Hunters.
Akiro's breath hitched, and he dropped his hand from his chest. He didn't understand his destiny — only fear. But one truth was clear: he was not alone, and powers older than him were taking notice.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. The thunder rolled as he bolted out of the courtyard, into the darkness beyond. His path had only just begun.