CHAPTER 7: REFLECTIONS OF ROOM 13
Room 13 of the abandoned east wing had long since been forgotten by the staff and students of Velden Institute. Paint peeled from the walls like old scabs. Dust floated in thick layers over toppled chairs and shattered chalkboards. The door groaned open each time Kael Min stepped inside, though no one ever saw him enter or leave.
To most, he was the silent boy in the back of the class. Eyes hidden beneath overgrown bangs. Uniform crisp. Shoes never scuffed. A shadow among teenagers chasing dreams and deadlines.
But inside Kael was another world.
A world edged in darkness.
A world where emotions were dangerous.
Every feeling too strong—a flicker of joy, a spike of anger, a swell of guilt—bled shadows from his skin like ink spilled in water. They slithered down walls, pooled under desks, whispered in corners.
And they were growing hungrier.
Tonight, Kael stood before the full-length mirror at the back of Room 13. A mirror not listed on school blueprints. A mirror that pulsed when touched. A mirror that reflected not what you were—but what you feared you might become.
Kael stared into his reflection. It stared back with a smile he never wore.
"You're slipping," it said. Its voice was soft, like static in a dream. "You lost control in math class. That girl saw the shadow."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"She's fine. I pulled it back."
"You pulled back after she fell. After she screamed. After the light bulb shattered overhead."
Kael looked away.
The mirror began to ripple, like water disturbed. The reflection stepped forward.
Not quite Kael. Taller. Leaner. Eyes like obsidian fire. A version of him unburdened by restraint.
"You keep begging for another day of normal," it said. "But you and I both know… we passed the edge long ago."
Kael shook his head. "Not yet. I can still control it. I just need—"
"You need to stop lying to yourself."
The mirror darkened.
And suddenly, Kael was standing in a street soaked with rain and blood. A memory. Not a dream.
A teacher held by shadows. Screaming. Crumpling.
Kael, ten years old. Crying. Trembling. Watching.
He tried to step back, but the memory clung to him.
The voice returned. "They never told you what you are. They called it a curse. They tried to bury it. But it is not a curse. It is truth. And truth must rise."
Kael screamed.
The room cracked.
Every window shattered outward. Chalkboards split in two. Desks were hurled across the room like leaves in a storm. The shadows poured out of him, a black tide, swirling and clawing at the walls.
And the mirror… shattered.
In its place stood the shadow version of Kael.
Real. Flesh and ink.
"I've waited long enough," it said. "You made me. Now watch what I make."
Kael lunged, but the figure vanished into smoke.
Sirens rang across the city that night. Electrical systems flickered. Entire sectors of the city dimmed. Rumors spread of a dark figure walking through train tunnels, glass melting in its wake.
Kael, bleeding from the forehead, crawled to the center of the ruined Room 13.
A single word echoed in his mind:
"Thread."
He didn't know what it meant.
But he knew where he had to go.
Somehow, the shadows had spoken.
And they all pointed toward the Rift.
Far across the fractured realms, a figure stirred.
Ashriel looked up from the grave he had just dug. His wings twitched.
Lucien, standing on the ramparts of Vantheir, felt the thorns in his crown pulse.
Eris, on the path of forgotten memory, felt her shadows whisper a name they had not spoken in centuries.
Kael Min.
The Rift was calling.
And Kael was no longer just a boy with a curse.
He was becoming the Rift's echo.