Chapter 4 Mirrors Withot Glass

• Lena’s voice echoed back from the tunnel walls, not from her mouth, but from the shadows ahead—perfect in tone, timing, and breath. It chilled her in a way that even the most vivid Archive visions hadn’t. This wasn’t just a memory—it was an imitation.
• Cael moved in front of her, his cane tapping the stone in three sharp beats. “It’s not you,” he murmured. “It’s a hollow. A mimic born from corrupted echoes.”
• The voice repeated, softer now. “I remember the fire. Don’t you?”
• Lena clenched her fists. “How does it know what I saw?”
• “It doesn’t,” Cael replied. “It’s guessing. Hollows feed off uncertainty. If you speak back, it learns more.”
• She stayed silent as they advanced into the tunnel, where the ceiling narrowed and the air thickened. The warmth of the echo bloom faded behind them. In its place was a cold that felt personal. The stone here wasn’t damp—it was dry, cracked, and scorched.
• “The Memory Purge,” Cael said, as if reading her thoughts. “They didn’t just erase the houses—they tried to burn their roots from the Spine itself. This path was sealed until a week ago.”
• “What happened a week ago?” Lena asked.
• “You walked into the Archives."
• The passage opened into a long gallery—its floor uneven, its walls lined with shattered crystal frames. Lena stepped carefully, avoiding the sharp fragments.
• “These were memory mirrors,” Cael said. “They showed people their own pasts.”
• “Why are they broken?”
• “Because too many people hated what they saw.”
• One mirror was still half-intact, leaning against the wall. Lena paused in front of it, catching only a blur of her reflection—her outline flickered with a second, shadowed figure behind it. She turned quickly. No one there.
• “Do you remember anything from before the fire?” Cael asked, not facing her.
• Lena hesitated. “I remember a lullaby. And a silver moth. I used to watch it dance around my crib canopy. That’s all.”
• “Memory suppression,” he said. “Intentional. Someone didn’t just hide you—they rewrote you.”
• “But why let me keep the pendant?”
• “Because some part of them wanted you to find your way back.”
• They reached the end of the gallery. A stone archway led into a vault sealed by twin iron doors, covered in sigils Lena couldn’t read.
• Cael knelt, touching the ground. “This is it. The Source Vault. Where the founding memories of the Triumvirate were buried.”
• Lena stepped forward and the sigils flared blue. The pendant on her chest grew hot.
• “It’s reacting,” she said.
• “Because you belong to it.”
• The doors groaned and opened inward, revealing a chamber circular and massive. At its center sat a pedestal, on which rested a black crystal book bound with silver thorns. Around the pedestal, three statues stood in a perfect triangle—each bearing a crest. One she recognized: the Marlowe crest.
• She stepped toward the book.
• “Wait,” Cael said.
• But it was too late.
• As her fingers brushed the cover, energy surged from the book, blasting her backward. She hit the ground hard, the world spinning.
• And then—visions.
• Not memories. *Possibilities*.
• She saw a city where memory was weaponized. Where the Triumvirate ruled through illusion and thought. She saw her mother seated on a crystal throne, her father behind her, whispering orders to shadows.
• Then flames. Rebellion. Betrayal from within.
• The vision shifted again—to *herself*, older, seated on the same throne.
• And her voice whispering: *“Let them forget.”*
• The world snapped back. Cael was kneeling beside her, worry etched into his usually unreadable face.
• “You saw it,” he said. “Didn’t you?”
• Lena nodded slowly. “Not just the past. The future.”
• He helped her sit up.
• Lena stared at her hands, shaking. “So what am I? A spark? A threat?”
• “You’re the choice,” Cael said quietly. “The one who decides whether memory is restored… or erased forever.”