The crash of the mirror shattering echoed like the breaking of a world. Kael brought his hand to his face, finding streaks of hot mercury burning his cheeks—metallic tears that were not his own. The echo of the warning still vibrated in the air:
"THEY ARE COMING!"
The words floated, written in the crystal dust, each letter a tiny mirror reflecting distorted versions of his own mouth, speaking them in endless loops.
The Mirror-Child faded like black smoke, his silhouette fraying into shreds of sickly light.
"Find the other six..." his voice was now the crunch of glass under boots, "...or you'll be just another broken mirror."
His last words mingled with the chorus of the vocal cord trees, howling his original name in a language that made the ears bleed.
"KAEL! KAEL! KAEL!"
Mercury's arm rebelled completely, the autonomous dagger pressing against his jugular until it drew a trickle of blood that wasn't red, but the color of the dawn sky in a place that no longer existed.
Kael stared at his reflection in the metal blade.
He didn't blink.
"Enough," he ordered, and this time it wasn't a command, but a revelation.
Mercury hesitated. The runes on his arm glowed with cold light. For the first time since receiving the Council Necklace, something inside him responded.
A heartbeat.
Deep.
Ancient.
Like the flutter of a bird trapped in a box of bones.
Kael knelt among the shards, ignoring the dagger that now hung limply over his shoulder. He picked up the largest piece of the speaking mirror, feeling its sharp edges slice into the flesh of his palms.
The blood that spurted out wasn't his own.
It was black ink as thick as tar, flowing into unfamiliar runes before drying on his skin.
The reflection revived:
The Silent Executioner, kneeling before the chained figure on the throne of golden bones. The original Kael wasn't a man, but a constellation of shining scars, his mouth a bleeding gash, uttering words that made the air tremble:
"We should never have created the Twelfth Post."
The Executioner bowed his head, his armor clanging with a metallic wail that sounded like... regret?
And then—
The Blink.
Something moved in the shadows behind the throne. A presence too vast to be contained in any plane of existence opened its eyes for an infinitesimal instant.
The mirror shattered again, but Kael didn't let go of the shards. He gripped them tighter, allowing the crystals to tear at his flesh as he whispered,
"Show me more."
The Plane responded.
The first tear fell from the eyeless sky.
The drop of mercury hit the fragment Kael held, expanding like an oil slick on parchment. The liquid swirled, forming a miniature portal where images came to life:
The Executioner, but without his armor, revealing a face burned by something worse than fire—burns of pure time.
Lirya, young and untouched, handing him a sword forged from liquid mirror.
Her words, clear as crystal:
"When the Twelfth comes, remember: he is the key, not the lock."
Kael felt the mercury in his veins sing in response, an ancient melody that ached his bones.
"What the hell are you?" he spat into the air, knowing that the Child, though faint, still listened.
The answer came not as words, but as an implanted memory:
An infinite library. Eleven empty armchairs. A twelfth armchair made of children's bones.
And then, the voice of the Child, whispering directly into his marrow:
"What the Council could not destroy."
The vocal cord trees abruptly fell silent.
The quicksilver dagger crumbled, dripping to the ground where it was absorbed by the mummified eyelids.
In the sudden silence, a sound that did not belong to the Plane echoed:
The metallic click of approaching armor.
Kael looked up.
The Silent Executioner was there, his sword ("Never" etched into the blade) stuck in the ground like a warning.
But something was different.
His helmet showed a crack...
...and through it, a human eye could be seen.
The Executioner raised his gloved hand, and the mirror shards around Kael vibrated like swarms of glass insects. When he spoke, his voice came not from the armor, but from the cracks in the floor:
"Ask what you need to know, Twelfth. But remember: every answer will come at a price."
Kael stared at the human eye peering through the crack in the helmet. It was too young, with silver eyelashes like those of...
"Lirya?" he ventured, and the name burned his tongue as he spoke it.
The vocal cord trees groaned. The Executioner raised a hand to his helmet as if the name caused him physical pain.
"That is not the price you must pay," he corrected, thick mercury oozing from its crack. "Ask about what you saw in the mirror."
Kael looked at his hands, where the black ink from his wounds now formed words:
"Who comes?"
The Executioner drew his sword. The word "Never" on the blade glowed brightly.
"The Original Eleven. Those who drank from the Source and forgot to spit."
Kael's quicksilver arm convulsed, the runes rearranging into a new sentence:
"THEY ARE AFRAID."
"What could the Council tremble at?" Kael asked, as the floor of eyelids began to bleed acidic tears.
The Executioner pointed to the mirror shard Kael still held.
"What you saw flicker. What she awoke in you."
The second tear fell.
This time, the drop of mercury didn't touch the ground. It floated before Kael's eyes, expanding to form a miniature stage:
Eleven figures around a well of liquid light, drinking from cups made from the bones of gods.
A twelfth figure (Lirya?) being forced to kneel before the well.
The exact moment some of the dregs leaped into his throat, causing his eyes to explode in eclipse.
The Executioner whispered, as the vision faded:
"The Twelfth Place was never an honor. It was a prison cell. And you... you were the only key that worked."
Kael felt the mercury in his veins respond, forming new neural connections that showed him flashes:
A Lirya with eclipse eyes placing the Collar on him.
The Executioner breaking his own sword to avoid killing him.
The Mirror-Child being born from his first tear.
"I don't understand," Kael admitted, though his arm seemed to understand perfectly, the runes now forming a map.
The Executioner bowed, his armor creaking like old bones.
"You're the only Bearer who managed to steal her memory. That's why they need you. That's why they fear you."
The third tear fell from the blind sky.
This tear didn't show the past. It showed the present:
The Original Eleven gathered in a chamber of mirrors, arguing in a language that made the eyes bleed. One of them (the Horizon Weaver) pointed toward...
...toward Kael himself, as if they could see him through the tear.
The Executioner cursed in a language that smelled of burnt metal:
"They already know. They've seen the tears."
The entire Plane began to shake. The vocal cord trees cried out in harmony:
"KAEL! KAEL! KAEL!"
But this time, it wasn't his forgotten name.
It was a warning.
The Executioner drove his sword into the ground, creating a protective circle where the words "Never" glowed like embers:
"Listen well, Twelfth. The last four tears will show you how to defeat them. But first..."
He removed his helmet.
Beneath the armor was not a face, but an unbroken mirror, reflecting Kael not as he was now, but as he could be:
A man of pure mercury, with eyes of total eclipse, sitting on a throne made from the bones of the Council.
—"...you must decide if it's worth becoming this."