Notice - It would be short kind of interlude to widens the scope of without spoiling anything, showing a glimpse of what might be behind the mirror.
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There is no up or down here.
No sky, no ground — only layers of reflection folding into one another.
The corridor of mirrors stretches forever, each pane trembling faintly with static light. Shapes pass behind them — silhouettes, faces, fragments of moments that don't belong together. Every reflection shows a world slightly different: some bright, some burning, some utterly still.
A figure stands among them.
It is not a person, not in the way mortals define one. Its form shifts with each flicker — a silhouette made of outlines, a body drawn by memory rather than flesh.
The figure raises its head, and dozens of other reflections mimic the motion with a half-beat delay.
In every surface, its eyes glow — soft static blue.
"He's awake," one reflection whispers.
"He listens," answers another.
"He shouldn't," murmurs a third, voice trembling.
The main figure tilts its head, studying the infinite echoes.
"He looked," it says simply.
"And when one looks, one is seen."
A low hum spreads through the corridor — not a sound, but a ripple through existence itself.
Each mirror vibrates, images stuttering. Some collapse into black, others flare with blinding light. From within one pane, a faint outline of Kayden appears — sleeping, unaware of the hundred reflections watching him.
The shifting figure steps closer to his image, pressing its formless hand against the glass.
"Observer," it says. The word comes like the crack of thunder muffled underwater.
"You've been chosen to listen where others go deaf."
Static crawls across the corridor like wildfire. Reflections scream — not in fear, but in recognition.
"The veil thins," the chorus of mirrors echoes.
"The veil thins."
The figure withdraws its hand. For a moment, its shape stabilizes — almost human. Almost.
"He must not break the glass," it says quietly. "Not yet."
And then, like the pull of a tide, everything folds back into silence.
The reflections settle.
Only one pane still ripples faintly — the one showing a city apartment and a sleeping boy who's about to stop dreaming.
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