The War of Mirrors

A muffled female voice cut through the dark void of unconsciousness. “Wake up, Elias!”

“H-huh? Where am I?” Elias’s eyes fluttered open, vision blurred.

“Elias, we have no time! Wake up!”

His sight sharpened, revealing the chaos of an ongoing war. The voice belonged to Tabitha; her arms and face streaked with scrapes and bruises.

Around them lay the ruins of the Nevermore Kingdom. Crimson-armored sentinels from the Underborn realm pressed their attack.

Tabitha conjured a wall of sturdy vines, shielding them for a moment. She rushed to Elias’s side. “Are you alright? That Underbearn knocked you out pretty badly. Here, let me heal you.”

“Thanks,” Elias murmured as Tabitha touched his forehead, a bright yellow light easing his pain. “Did Michenger and Emilia survive?” he asked.

“Yes. They’re with the princess, guarding her. Can you still fight? Your sword… it’s chipped. There’s a powerful alchemist back at our retreat camp where the wounded are being treated. I’ll hold off the sentinels here. See that your sword is repaired. Y-you do remember how to reach the retreat, right?”

Elias gripped his sword, cracks running deep along its blade. With a nod, he rose as Tabitha reinforced her vine wall. He remembered: the retreat lay hidden behind a waterfall two miles east. Sprinting through rubble, he sidestepped fiery craters and dodged a collapsing, flame-wreathed tree trunk. The stench of fire and ozone burned his nose. Ahead, a lone sentinel spotted him—its armor glinting crimson beneath the smoky sky—and charged with a spear.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, ice boy?” the sentinel hollered with a devilish grin.

Elias ducked beneath the spear’s whistling arc, sparks flying as its tip scraped stone. Crimson armor loomed close—no visor, only shadow beneath its helm. Its breath reeked of sulfur and rot. Elias rolled back, fingers digging into ash-coated soil. Tabitha bought me minutes, not seconds. He scrambled sideways as the sentinel stabbed again, cobblestones shattering. His chipped blade felt brittle as glass. One solid hit would end him.

“Aw, c’mon, fight me properly! I heard you’re the strongest of the four Crystal Holders. I wanna prove my strength!” The sentinel lunged again, missing as Elias conjured an ice wall between them. “Perhaps later. You’re strong, but there are more important matters.”

With the sentinel trapped and whining, Elias sprinted toward the retreat.

Two miles felt like twenty. His blade’s fractures gnawed at his focus. He visualized the path—past the charred orchard, skirting Old Victor’s collapsed forge—as sulfurous winds whipped ash into his eyes. His boots slipped on blood-slick flagstones. Distant screams echoed from the marketplace, but Elias pressed on, lungs burning. The princess needs Michenger’s shield intact. Emilia’s light won’t hold forever.

Finally, the retreat came into view. Sentinels stood guard as the alchemist tended the wounded.

Behind him, Tabitha’s vine barrier collapsed with a thunderous crack—like a splintering bone. Elias didn’t look back. He pushed through the waterfall’s icy curtain into the cavern beyond. The air reeked of blood-soaked bandages and burning sage. Wounded soldiers groaned on pallets as healers rushed between them. Michenger stood guard near Princess Lyra, his shield-arm trembling. Emilia knelt beside her, cauterizing a deep gash with glowing hands. Lyra’s eyes widened at Elias’s battered form. “You live,” she breathed, relief flickering before grim resolve. “Tabitha?”

“She saved me with a barrier. I don’t know if it’ll last,” Elias explained. Michenger growled, “And you left her alone? With all those fiends?”

“I had no choice. She told me to retreat.” Emilia pointed to his cracked sword. Michenger gasped. “Well, that explains it.”

Elias nodded. “Tabitha said there’s an alchemist here who can repair it.”

“That’d be me,” said a young man, cloak scorched. “Follow me.”

The alchemist ushered Elias past clusters of wounded soldiers—their muffled cries filling the cavern like a grim chorus—toward a makeshift shelter tucked against damp limestone. Inside, vials bubbled over flickering blue flames while jars of powdered moonstone gleamed softly on crude shelves. He snatched Elias’s blade without ceremony, angling it toward a crystal lamp. “Deep fractures,” he muttered, tracing hair-thin cracks spiderwebbing toward the hilt. “What’d you hit? A mountain?”

“An Underbearn,” Elias rasped, wiping ash from his brow. His knuckles throbbed from gripping the hilt too tightly. “One of those armored beasts from the Underborn. It shattered cobblestone like glass.”

The alchemist’s eyes widened. “Underbearns… heavy tanks. They sometimes carry entire Underborn armies on their backs. Rare, but devastating. The fact you’re still alive proves how strong your crystal soul has grown. Still, this blade took heavy damage. The fractures aren’t deep enough to be unrepairable. Ten minutes, and I’ll have it stronger than before. Is that enough time?”

Elias shook his head urgently. “Tabitha’s barrier won’t hold much longer. Make it six.”

The alchemist nodded. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do. For now, rest.”

The alchemist tossed fistfuls of crushed obsidian and frost-lotus petals into a crucible. Blue flames roared upward as Elias watched the blade hover above them, fractures glowing cherry-red. “Hold,” he whispered to it—or to himself—as the steel groaned under pressure. Michenger caught his eye, nodding toward the entrance. Prepare yourself. Elias flexed his fingers, imagining frost forming along his palms. A tremor ran through the cavern floor, dislodging pebbles.

Screams erupted outside. A sentinel burst through the waterfall—not crimson, but charred black, its armor steaming where water struck. It hurled a guard against the limestone wall with a sickening crunch. Emilia lunged, her light flaring into blinding whips that cracked against its helm. “Get Lyra deeper!” Elias roared. Michenger’s shield flared golden just as the sentinel slammed a gauntleted fist down, sparks flying.

The creature moved too fast, dodging Emilia’s light whips, heading straight for the princess. Just before its blade could strike, fire blazed hot around Lyra, shielding her. From behind, a figure emerged—tiger stripes rippling across her arm. Ursla, the Tiger Queen of Lavainia. “Someone called for backup?”

Lyra smiled in relief.

Ursla’s claws tore through the air with a whistling sound as she lunged at the black-armored sentinel. Molten trails glowed against the cavern’s gloom. “Ursla Lavainia!” Elias breathed, ice already forming along his knuckles.

The sentinel spun, sulfur stench intensifying as it parried her strikes—a brutal dance of clashing metal and flame that threw sparks across the limestone walls. Ursla wasted no words. Her footwork scattered glowing embers as she forced the enemy back toward the waterfall’s curtain.

Emilia seized the opening, her light whips coiling around the sentinel’s legs. “Now!” she shouted. Michenger slammed his shield into its flank, the impact resonating like a gong. Steam hissed where enchanted gold met charred armor. The sentinel stumbled, its helm cracking open to reveal an empty shadow—a void that sucked the light from nearby lanterns.

The sentinel dissolved into ash. The retreat fell silent, safe once more. Ursla wiped her hands. “My soldiers will aid you in this fight. I know it is not my own, but I cannot stand by when a friend is in need.” Michenger chuckled, shaking her hand. “And, boy, did we need it.”

Elias’s attention snapped back to his blade—still hovering above the crucible; fractures pulsing crimson as obsidian veins flowed through the steel. The alchemist poured liquid moonlight into the mold; it hissed where it met molten metal, blooming frost-flower patterns across the surface. “Almost done,” he muttered. Outside, muffled roars echoed—Tabitha who was buying them time in blood and vines. Elias tasted ozone on his tongue.

Princess Lyra approached; her royal robes torn and smeared with soot. “Ursla,” she said, gripping the Tiger Queen’s forearm. “Your timing was divine.” Ursla’s tail flickered like a living fire. “Your messenger reached us mid-hunt. Lavainia never forgets allies.”

The alchemist hammered the blade—a ringing clang echoing off wet stone. Moonlight fluid sizzled along the fractures, weaving silver veins through steel. The temperature plummeted; frost crawled up Elias’s sleeves. He watched ice crystals bloom across the reforged edge—not repaired, but metamorphosis. “Done!” The alchemist gasped, plunging the sword into a vat of glacier meltwater. Steam exploded upward with a dragon’s sigh. When Elias grasped the hilt, cold seared his palm like a lover’s kiss. The blade glowed faintly blue, heavier now, humming with contained blizzards.

“Fifty‑five percent more durable, ninety‑six percent more agile, and one hundred percent more lethal,” the alchemist sputtered, caressing the blade. “How does it feel?”

Elias gripped the sword; its new weight both familiar and alien as glacial energy pulsed up his arm. “It bites,” he breathed, frost fractals spreading across his knuckles. Beyond the waterfall’s roar, echoes of combat shuddered—a grating screech of rending vines. Tabitha’s barrier was failing. He turned to Lyra. “Permission to reinforce the eastern perimeter, Your Highness?”

Lyra shook her head. “No need for formalities. You’re a Crystal Holder—far more powerful than I could ever be. Do as you must, friend.”

Elias burst through the waterfall curtain, reborn blade slicing mist into frozen particles. His boots struck scorched earth, the air thick with ozone and the copper tang of spilled magic. Tabitha knelt fifty paces ahead, her vine barrier reduced to splinters—a green graveyard of broken enchantments. Crimson sentinels closed in, armored feet crushing petrified roots. One raised a serrated axe, molten edge dripping slag onto Tabitha’s trembling shoulders. She didn’t flinch, eyes squeezed shut in concentration as thorny tendrils snaked from her palms—too slow, too thin.

Elias felt time fracture. His sword hummed, a blizzard coiled in steel. He didn’t sprint; he flowed, ice crystallizing underfoot to propel him forward like a glacier’s sudden surge. The axe descended—

Impact. Frost‑forged edge met flaming haft. Elias’s blade screamed as jagged ice climbed the molten axe like parasitic frost. The sentinel staggered back, sulfur breath steaming in the sudden cold. “Ice boy returns!” it bellowed, wrenching its weapon free with a spray of liquefied metal. Tabitha’s eyes flew open—relief, then alarm. “Elias! Behind—”

Two more sentinels lunged from the rubble, spears aimed at his spine. He pivoted, sword whirling in an arc that summoned a wall of razor‑edged icicles. Speartips shattered against frozen teeth, shrapnel peppering his cloak.

“I’m glad your sword is back intact… ugh.” Tabitha groaned, clutching her ribs where deep wounds bled.

Elias knelt beside her, pressing his frigid blade against a sentinel’s chestplate. Ice spiderwebbed outward with a sickening crackle, freezing its armor solid. The creature staggered, sluggish. Another sentinel lunged for Tabitha’s throat, but Elias deflected with a shower of ice shards that peppered its helm like hail. “Hold on!” he shouted, voice raw. Tabitha gasped, blood seeping too fast between her fingers.

Then a shred of light slashed through the remaining sentinels. Emilia emerged, flanked by Michenger. “Ursla and her guards are keeping Lyra safe!” Emilia cried. “Let me heal you, Tabitha!”

Tabitha shook her head weakly. “N‑no… I’ve lost too much blood. Focus on—” A wet cough wracked her body. Elias pressed his palm against her wound, channeling glacial energy—not healing, but numbing. The cold slowed the bleeding, turning dark rivulets sluggish. “It doesn’t matter, we can’t lose you!” Emilia yelled, her light whips channeling strength into the wound.

The bleeding slowed, but Tabitha’s skin remained pale. Michenger circled them, shield raised as three crimson sentinels regrouped nearby. Acidic globs hissed against his golden shield. “Hurry, Em!” Michenger grunted, boots sliding backward through ash. “Trying!” Emilia strained, her muscles trembling. Elias added his ice, weaving it with Emilia’s light. Tabitha’s breathing eased, color returning to her cheeks as their powers fused in a shimmering latticework.

Michenger’s shield flared under another acidic barrage. “Finish this!” he bellowed, golden light blinding the advancing sentinels. Elias saw the opening. His reforged blade unleashed a blizzard’s fury—ice shards tore through crimson armor, freezing joints solid. One sentinel shattered mid‑lunge, scattering frozen chunks across the battlefield.

With that, the rift to the Underborn realm lay exposed. “Quickly!” Tabitha cried, strength returning. “We must channel our crystal energy to close it! Together now—fire!”

Elias raised his blade, ice swirling with glacial light. Emilia’s hands blazed golden. Michenger’s shield radiated pure solar energy. Tabitha’s vines burst into emerald flames. Their powers intertwined—frost met fire, light braided with earth—colliding at the rift’s jagged edge. The air screamed as reality stitched itself shut, sealing with a thunderclap that flung them backward. Elias hit rubble, tasting blood and ozone. Around them, crimson sentinels crumbled to ash, their connection severed.

Tabitha groaned, standing with her wounds healed. “Is everyone alright?” Elias wiped his brow. “Just bruises. You?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you and Emilia. Michenger, how’s your shield?”

“Sturdy as always,” Michenger grunted.

Despite the rift’s closure, silence prickled Elias’s neck. The ash‑choked wind carried no birdsong—only the groan of collapsing palace spires. Ursla joined them, her molten claws cooling to obsidian. “My men will help rebuild the kingdom. The castle still stands, but my scouts detected cracks in its magical barrier.”

“Underborn scouts,” Emilia whispered, exhaustion etched into her face. “They tested our defenses and found a weak point.”

“Then we’ll surprise them with something stronger,” Ursla promised. “I’ll send my best mages and craftsmen at once.”

Tabitha leaned against Elias’s shoulder. “I saw something… when the rift collapsed. A pair of eyes, dark as obsidian, colder than your ice. Ancient.” Emilia shivered. “We should discuss this at my lair. We’re too ragged to think properly.”

Far below, in the Underborn kingdom, sentinels limped home to heal and report. Within the Black Castle’s highest chamber stood Kiraki, newly crowned king of Underborn.

An archer sentinel flew in through a tall window, bowing. “The battle went as planned, sir.”

“Did you retrieve what I asked for?”

The sentinel’s eyes dimmed, “No, sir. But we secured… a sample.”

Kiraki turned slowly, crimson eyes burning. “Elaborate.” The sentinel grinned, pulling a single blue thread of Lyra’s hair from his scorched pocket.

Kiraki’s face twisted into a grin. “Excellent.” He carefully took the thread and dropped it into a steaming pot of water. “My father, the great king of Underborn, was an absolute fool.”

The sentinel froze. “Why is that?”

“He obsessed over Nevermore’s core, claiming it would grant him dominion over the world. How naïve.” Kiraki’s voice dripped with contempt. “Using this, we won’t even need the core.”

He revealed a blackened crystal, charred with his own power. The sentinel’s eyes widened, “Your Majesty… are you planning to—”

“Yes. My father painfully overlooked the four Crystal Holders: light, might, frost, and life. Each shard was born from the Crystal of Purity, forged with Nevermore’s core and royal DNA. With Lyra’s DNA mixed with our dark core, we can create our own Crystal Holders—Underbeasts. The Crystal of Dominion will birth darkness, fear, fire, and death.”

He dropped the dark crystal into the pot. Silence. Then vibration. A flash of light, followed by mist of pure evil. The pot shattered, overwhelmed by power. Four Underbeasts emerged, radiating malice. One by one, they knelt before Kiraki, who chuckled in satisfaction. “Let the games begin.”

Meanwhile, Elias stood frozen outside Emilia’s lair—a hollowed‑out giant sequoia draped in luminous moss—as Michenger barred the entrance. “No outsiders,” the shield‑bearer grunted, his gaze lingering on Ursla’s tiger‑striped warriors.

Inside, the air hummed with residual magic and the sharp scent of crushed moonpetals. Emilia knelt by a crystal basin, its waters rippling with distorted images. “That obsidian gaze Tabitha described,” she whispered, fingertips tracing the apparition. “It’s familiar to Shadowkeeper legends. The Watchers Beyond the Seal.”

Michenger slumped onto a conjured couch. “Perhaps someone was studying us. But we’ve been battling for ages—they should already know us well.”

Tabitha added, voice strained, “Their target was Lyra. Toward the end, I felt their defenses weaken—as if they planned to retreat after securing what they came for.”

Emilia’s voice trembled. “When they attacked us in the retreat, one grabbed Lyra’s arm. I thought it meant to drag her away, but instead… a single thread of her hair caught on its claw before it fled.”

Michenger frowned. “DNA? For what? Underbornians aren’t scientific.”

“The Crystal of Purity.” Lyra rasped, limping into the chamber, soot streaking her robes. Ursla straightened. “Princess, you should rest—”

“I’m fine, Ursla. Thank you.” Lyra’s gaze hardened. “My ancestors’ DNA was needed to forge the Crystal of Purity, mixed with Nevermore’s core. Underborn is our opposite: purity here, malice there. They must have their own black core of magic.”

Elias tightened his grip on his reforged blade, frost feathering across the steel. “So, they’re trying to create their own Crystal Holders?”

Lyra nodded grimly, “Yes. With my DNA and their dark core, they could forge twisted counterparts—Underbeasts.”

The revelation hung heavily in the sequoia’s hollow. Outside, Ursla’s warriors shifted uneasily. Michenger’s shield‑arm trembled. Elias’s blade pulsed cold against his thigh, ice whispering across his knuckles without command.

Lyra sank onto a root‑stool, her face ashen. “If they succeed… each Underbeast would mirror your strengths. Twisted reflections. Fire where there should be ice. Fear instead of might.” Her gaze locked with Elias’s—twin pools of dread. The Crystal of Frost grew restless in his chest, answering the phantom chill of its dark echo.

Ursla prowled the chamber, claws leaving faint scorch marks on living wood. “How long?” She growled. Lyra traced the basin’s rim. Ripples distorted her reflection as dark petals bloomed beneath the surface. “Depends on Kiraki’s alchemy. Weeks… days.”

Elias flexed his glacial hand; frost crackled. “We need scouts. Maps of every fissure, every bleed‑point between realms.” Ursla nodded. “Agreed. Until then, strengthen your crystal souls. If sentinels can wound you this badly, you’ll stand no chance against Underbeasts. My Lavainian camps are yours.”

Elias’s blade felt suddenly heavier—a cold anchor dragging him toward visions of corrupted twins wielding blizzards of frostbite and decay. Lyra squeezed his arm. “First, we fortify Nevermore. Emilia, reinforce the palace barriers.” Emilia nodded wearily, golden strands flickering at her fingertips. Michenger slammed his fist against his shield. “I’ll oversee perimeter defenses with Ursla’s warriors. Scorch marks, acidic residue—we’ll catalog every weakness.”

Outside, twilight bled into bruised violet. Tabitha followed Elias into the clearing, her steps silent on moss. “Your blade,” she murmured, touching his wrist. Frost recoiled from her warmth. “It’s… singing differently.” He flexed his hand; ice crystals bloomed and shattered in his palm. “Like it knows what’s coming.” Her gaze drifted east, toward jagged mountains. “Lavainia’s camps. Volcanic forges to temper ice. We should go.”

Elias nodded. “I don’t like the sound of fighting my opposite. Ice versus fire is a cliché—but mixed with the dark core? Something feels wrong.”

Inside, Emilia wove a shield‑net of dawnlight above Lyra’s head, sweat beading on her temples. Ursla leaned close, voice low. “My tigers will guard the northern passes. But Kiraki won’t attack headon. He studied us. Knows our formations.”

Michenger grunted, polishing a gouge in his shield. “Then we change tactics. Ambush patterns. Rotating shields.”

Elias gripped his reforged blade, frost spiraling from its edge. The glacial hum deepened—a war chant only he could hear. Tabitha touched his shoulder. “Your crystal… it’s flickering.” He glanced down; ice‑blue light pulsed erratically beneath his tunic, like a heartbeat sensing its rival. “Lavainia,” he said abruptly. “Those volcanic forges. Now.” Ursla’s grin flashed, her fiery eyes blazing with a single message: War ready.