Prolog
We were never meant to use magic like this.
The forest burned.
Alice Miller stood at the outskirts of Eirdan. Ash clung to her lashes, and blood soaked the hem of her petticoat, turning pale blue to rust. Her hands trembled as she took another step toward the mirror of Imago.
Around her, the battlefield hissed with dying spells and dying men. Her friends were already gone. Her magic was nearly spent; she had nothing left to give.
The mirror shimmered in the grove- tall, cracked, and ancient. Not a reflection, but a door. A wound in the world and an opening to something far darker.
And in front of Imago stood the man she had once called a friend.
“William,” she croaked.
She would not use the title he had chosen. Not the name he’d twisted to glorify his horrors. Just William — the boy who had once protected her, the boy who had led witch hunters away so she could escape the gallows so many years ago.
Now he was a monster.
He grinned, teeth slick with blood that wasn’t his. His yellowed eyes burned with feverish madness. It hurt her to see what he had become — what she had let him become.
“Alice.” His voice, once so cheerful and comforting, had curdled into something monstrous. “Have you considered my offer? Will you rule at my side?”
“I will not.” She stepped closer, unflinching even as his hand twitched toward the sword at his hip — the Oblivion Blade, forged from stolen magic and soaked in the blood of her people.
No more.
“This has to stop.” She whispered. “William... you have to stop.”
He laughed. “My dear Alice, why would I?” Still grinning, he threw his arms wide. “You asked for freedom- I can offer it. The magic of this world will never need to hide again. Together, we can create the world we always dreamed of. We can start over.”
“No.” She took another step toward him. “We can’t, William. That dream is gone for us.”
Rage flared in his eyes.
“If you will not stand with me, you stand against me,” he roared, his voice shaking the grove. “You’ve seen what happens to those who choose to oppose me.”
“I’ve seen what happened to the brave people who wouldn’t bow to your tyranny,” she said steadily. “What you’ve created isn’t freedom.”
Her voice softened. “It’s horrific.”
He snarled. “I offered them power!”
“At what cost?”
She was close enough now to see the twitch of his fingers, the dark steel of the Oblivion Blade glistening with old blood.
With her next step, Alice unclasped the chain around her neck. Her casting tool — a shard of Imago — dangled, glinting in the light. A single drop of blood slid down its surface.
The last of her magic pulsed through her veins, filling her with the strength she needed.
William lunged.
And the pair of them disappeared, swallowed by the darkness behind the mirror.
With a soft thump, the pendant landed in the grass.
And Imago shattered.
