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Chapter 13 — The Glass Whisperer
Zamira's POV
The snow had stopped falling by the time morning came, but the world still looked asleep. Frost clung to the academy walls like pale moss, glittering faintly under the gray sun. I could hear the bells ringing in the courtyard — soft, melodic, almost mournful.
I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers tracing the faint scar behind my left ear — the one no one was supposed to see.
Rosalith was still asleep, curled like a child beneath her blanket. Even in her dreams, she frowned — lips moving slightly, whispering names that never left her mind. I wanted to wake her, but she'd had another one of her sleepless nights, haunted by the memories of the cell she grew up in. She deserved her rest.
I pulled on my cloak and stepped outside.
The dorm halls of Qasratul Jinnan were always cold this early — polished stone floors, tall arched windows, and torches that refused to give off warmth. Students whispered about how the academy itself chose who it liked. The ones who came without an invite were never seen again. I didn't believe that at first.
Now I wasn't so sure.
As I turned down the eastern corridor, I caught sight of something — a faint reflection that wasn't mine. For a second, in the glass of the window, I thought I saw someone standing behind me. Tall, cloaked, eyes hidden. But when I spun around, there was no one.
Only the distant hum of magic — like a pulse through the stones.
I exhaled shakily. "You're seeing things again, Zamira," I muttered under my breath.
But I wasn't. Not really. The whispers had been getting louder.
Don't look. Don't listen.
That was what the instructors always said.
Yet how do you ignore a voice that sounds like your own?
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"Zamira?" Rosalith's voice came from the corridor behind me — soft, still hoarse from sleep. "You're up early again."
I turned, forcing a small smile. "Couldn't sleep."
She stretched her arms with a sleepy yawn, then smiled that bright, fragile smile of hers — the one that made you forget how much pain she'd lived through. "You should try sleeping normally for once. The professors are going to think you haunt this place."
"I probably do," I said quietly.
We walked together toward the dining hall. The other students kept their distance — some out of fear, others out of habit. They all knew something was off about us, though no one dared say it aloud.
Rosalith leaned closer. "They're still talking about the missing envoy from the north," she whispered. "One of the Dragonborn messengers who was supposed to reach the gates last week."
I frowned. "The one who disappeared near Kvartor?"
She nodded. "They said he was last seen carrying a sealed letter meant for the Headmistress herself."
I stopped walking. A shiver ran down my arms. "If that's true, then whoever he was bringing the message from…"
"…knows about this place," she finished quietly.
The two of us exchanged a look — silent, fearful, but also curious.
Because no one was supposed to know about Qasratul Jinnan.
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Later that night, when the torches dimmed and the dorms went quiet, I couldn't sleep again. I lay awake listening to the faint heartbeat in my chest — too slow, too uneven — counting each pulse like it might stop if I miscounted.
Then, from the mirror across the room, I heard it.
A whisper. Soft. Familiar.
My own voice.
"Zamira," it said. "He's coming."
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