The service wing of the Corven estate smelled of lemon oil and beeswax, a scent meant to convey piety, Elias thought, but which only managed to feel... oppressive. Sunlight, fractured into a thousand glittering shards, bounced off the dozens of mirrored ornaments spread across long tables. Each was being meticulously cleaned and polished by silent, efficient servants, their movements precise and unhurried. The estate buzzed with a quiet intensity, a hum of preparation for the upcoming Festival of Reflection. Even here, away from the grand halls, the weight of the Goddess's gaze felt palpable.
Elias, still adjusting to the unfamiliar lightness of this younger body, shuffled awkwardly beside a middle-aged woman named Mara. He was tasked with assisting her in arranging the smaller mirrored pieces – geometric shapes, starbursts, and stylized floral patterns – onto tiered displays. The task felt... pointless. Each ornament reflected not beauty, but a fragmented, distorted version of himself, a stranger staring back from a silvered surface.
"A little to the left, young master," Mara instructed, her voice devoid of warmth. She didn't meet his eyes. He wasn't yet fully recognized as him by the longer-serving staff, still regarded as a fragile convalescent. "The Goddess values order. Symmetry. Reflection of Her perfect light."
He shifted the small lozenge-shaped mirror, but his hand trembled slightly. "Of course," he murmured, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. It wasn't the work itself that unsettled him, but the sheer, bewildering focus on reflection. The constant bombardment of his own image, unsettlingly... wrong. This wasn't him. Not the man he remembered being.
Unconsciously, he began to adjust the arrangement, moving a small starburst mirror slightly off-center, angling a floral piece to catch the light in a less predictable way. He wasn't aiming for chaos, simply... a breaking of the rigid symmetry. A softening of the harsh lines. It felt... better. More harmonious.
"Young master?" Mara's voice was sharper now. She stopped polishing a larger, ornate mirror and fixed him with a disapproving glance.
Before she could comment, a figure glided into the room. Sister Liora. She moved with a quiet grace that seemed to absorb, rather than reflect, the light. Her silver-grey robes flowed around her, and her expression was carefully neutral, assessing. Her eyes, though, were sharp, missing nothing.
"Everything proceeding smoothly, Mara?" Liora's voice was soft, but carried an undeniable authority.
Mara bowed her head respectfully. "Yes, Sister. Just ensuring the young master understands the importance of order for the Festival."
Liora's gaze flickered to Elias, then back to the arrangement. She didn't reprimand him for the slight deviations. Instead, she offered a small, almost hesitant smile. "The arrangement is... pleasing. Though it's important to remember that these ornaments aren't merely decorative, young master. They serve a purpose beyond aesthetics."
Elias lowered his gaze, feeling a prickle of unease under her scrutiny.
"The precise arrangement," Liora continued, her voice taking on a slightly lecturing tone, "focuses spiritual clarity. It centers the energy, allowing the Goddess's light to shine more brightly. Skilled artisans can even infuse the mirrors with intention, visualizing blessings and protection within the silvered glass." She paused, studying his reaction. "Though, naturally, that is a complex art requiring years of dedicated training."
He nodded slowly, offering a noncommittal "I see." He wanted to ask what she meant by "infuse," but the words caught in his throat. The idea felt... familiar, yet terrifyingly distant.
As his fingers brushed against the cool glass of another ornament, a sharp pain flared in his temples. It wasn't a debilitating pain, more like a sudden, intense pressure building behind his eyes. A fleeting image flooded his mind.
His own hands, younger, stronger, deftly manipulating the energies around a similar mirror, but the air crackling with unstable power. Unfamilliar words on his lips, slurred and imperfect, a desperate attempt to control the flow. A burning sensation in his throat. A dizzying lurch...
The image vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him gasping for breath. He instinctively recoiled, nearly dropping the mirror. His hand trembled uncontrollably.
Mara gasped, her eyes wide with alarm. "Young master! Are you unwell? Perhaps you should rest."
Liora was already beside him, her calm presence a stark contrast to Mara's frantic concern. She placed a cool hand on his forehead. "You're flushed. It's understandable, given your recent illness. Please, sit down." She gestured to a nearby stool. "I have some calming balm. It will help settle your nerves."
She pressed a small, fragrant vial into his hand. The balm smelled of lavender and something else... something ancient and earthy that sparked a faint, unsettling recognition deep within his memory. He accepted it gratefully, but his hand still shook as he applied it to his temples.
"Just a moment of weakness," he murmured, forcing a smile. "I'm feeling much better now."
Liora's gaze didn't waver. Her eyes, a shade of pale amber he couldn't quite place, studied him with an unsettling intensity. She didn't seem entirely convinced. He could almost feel her probing his mind, searching for something she couldn't quite articulate. He wondered if she suspected something was amiss, if she sensed the alien presence within his borrowed body. The air between them thrummed with unspoken questions, and Elias felt a growing sense of unease. He desperately hoped he could maintain the facade, that he could navigate this strange new world without revealing the secrets he didn't even fully understand himself. He was trapped inside this young man's body, haunted by whispers of a life he couldn't remember. And the mirrors, he realized, were watching him back.
The Corven estate throbbed with a controlled energy unlike anything Elias had witnessed since arriving. It wasn't simply preparation for the Festival of Reflection; it was the Festival, in its nascent form, taking root within the family's grounds. This year, the Temple had bestowed upon the Corvens the immense privilege of hosting the primary preparations – a tradition observed for centuries, where a different noble family was selected annually to oversee the intricate arrangements. It was a mark of favor, a demonstration of the Goddess's trust, and a logistical undertaking of considerable scale. Matthias had barely contained his pride when the decree arrived, boasting to anyone who would listen about the honor bestowed upon their lineage.
"It's a testament to our family's unwavering devotion, son," he'd proclaimed, puffing out his chest. "A recognition of our piety and dedication to the Goddess."
Now, the inner courtyard was transformed into a miniature version of the Festival grounds, a bustling hub of activity as servants and temple acolytes erected towering mirrored displays, testing the ceremonial lighting, and rehearsing the procession routes. Elias, still feeling slightly shaken from his earlier episode, was permitted to observe from a distance, accompanied by Liora.
"It's crucial that everything is perfect for the Festival," Liora explained, her voice barely audible above the din. "It's not merely a celebration, you see. It's a reaffirmation of faith, a demonstration of our devotion to the Goddess. Every detail, every reflection, must be flawless. And to be entrusted with these preparations... it's a great honor for the Corven family."
Elias nodded, his gaze sweeping over the intricate arrangements. The air crackled with a strange energy, a palpable hum of anticipation. He felt a growing sense of disorientation, as if the sheer volume of reflected light was overloading his senses. Every surface seemed to mock him with his altered appearance.
He watched as a team of acolytes painstakingly adjusted a particularly large display – a towering archway constructed entirely of polished silver and mirrored glass. It was meant to represent the Goddess's protective embrace, a symbol of Her unwavering light. As they tightened one of the supporting beams, a high-pitched whine cut through the air, and a network of hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the central panel of glass.
A collective gasp rose from the assembled workers. Panic flickered in their eyes. The lead acolyte, a stern-faced man with a shaved head, frantically began issuing orders, attempting to contain the situation.
"A fault! A serious fault!" he barked, his voice tight with anxiety. "Secure the area! Prevent anyone from approaching!"
Elias found himself drawn to the shattered display, an inexplicable pull tugging at his attention. He didn't understand why, but he felt an overwhelming urge to get closer, to examine the damage. The fractured surface seemed to pulse with a faint, internal energy.
"Stay back, young master," Liora cautioned, her hand gently restraining his arm. "It's unstable. You could be injured."
But Elias couldn't heed her warning. He gently disengaged her grip and moved toward the broken archway, ignoring the anxious protests of the acolytes. As he approached, he felt a prickling sensation on his skin, a subtle tingling that ran down his spine. He instinctively reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the fragmented glass.
And then, a jolt. A surge of energy crackled from the shattered surface, throwing a wave of dizziness over him. He felt a resistance, as if the fragments themselves were actively pushing against his touch. A sharp, localized headache exploded behind his eyes. The shattered glass seemed to buzz with a barely perceptible frequency.
He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensation. It wasn't painful, exactly, but... disturbing. Alien. As though the mirror wasn't merely broken, but resentful.
"Young master!" Liora's voice was laced with alarm. She grasped his arm, pulling him backward with surprising strength. "Are you alright? What's happening?"
He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh sunlight. The fractured mirror shimmered before him, its surface still humming with residual energy. He didn't answer, unable to articulate what he had experienced.
Later, in a quieter corner of the gardens, away from the bustle of the preparations, Liora pressed him for answers. She'd insisted on examining his temples, her fingers cool and gentle against his skin.
"You shouldn't have touched it," she said, her voice low and concerned. "These 'faults' are rare, but they can be... dangerous. They usually occur during times of intense emotional upheaval, a disruption in the harmonic balance of the area. Sometimes, they're attributed to... disharmony." She hesitated, carefully choosing her words.
"Disharmony?" Elias repeated, his voice raspy.
Liora nodded. "A lack of alignment with the Goddess's will. The temple uses Harmonization techniques – subtle adjustments of energy flow – to stabilize the reflections, to restore the balance." She explained, in simplified terms, how the skilled artisans could manipulate the ambient energy, using carefully calibrated movements and vocalizations to reinforce the structural integrity of the mirrors. It all sounded... contrived.
"It felt... like it was resisting me," Elias said, struggling to find the right words. "Like it didn't want to be touched."
Liora's brow furrowed. "That's... unusual. Mirrors are not sentient. They are merely conduits for the Goddess's light."
But Elias couldn't shake the feeling that he'd experienced something more. As his fingers had neared the shattered glass, a memory had flickered at the edge of his awareness – a vivid sensation of mending, of coaxing fractured energies back into alignment, of a flowing, intuitive understanding of structural integrity. A muscle memory, buried deep within him, yearning to be awakened. This was more than just a fleeting visual; it felt profoundly familiar. It felt like... home.
The day ended with a particularly unsettling dream. Elias found himself standing once again in the hidden alcove, the one containing the forbidden book. Except this time, he wasn't discovering it. He was the original Elias, younger, more vibrant, carefully concealing the book beneath a loose flagstone. He remembered the thrill of forbidden knowledge, the exhilaration of uncovering ancient secrets.
Then, the scene shifted. He saw himself attempting a Resonance – a complex and ambitious spell involving numerous mirrors and intricate incantations in a language that felt rough and forceful. He saw his hands moving with grace, but the air around him crackling with unstable energy, the phrases escaping his mouth were muddled and imprecise. A blinding flash of light. A searing pain in his throat. A violent shudder.
He woke with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest. The dream felt... less like a memory, more like a warning. A glimpse into a past he was desperately trying to understand. He understood at that moment, with a mounting apprehension, that his sickness hadn't been chance. It had been a consequence. A price paid for meddling with forces he hadn't understood.
Dawn painted the Corven gardens in pale gold, but Elias saw only fractured shadows. The dream clung to him like damp cobwebs – the desperate fumbling with the book, the surge of unstable power, the searing agony in his throat, the terrifying final shudder. He hadn't slept after waking. Instead, he'd fled his stifling chamber, drawn to the deceptive tranquility of the gardens. He leaned against a cool stone bench, the scent of dew-kissed roses failing to mask the phantom taste of ash and burnt ozone lingering in his memory. His hands trembled slightly.
"Couldn't sleep?" The voice, soft yet clear, startled him. Sister Liora stood a few paces away, her silver-grey robes blending seamlessly with the morning mist. Her expression held professional concern, but her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned his face intently. "You look pale, young master. The events of yesterday... they were unsettling."
Elias managed a weak nod. "A restless night," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. He couldn't tell her about the dream, about the horrifyingly vivid replay of his predecessor's fatal mistake. "Just... troubled thoughts."
Liora moved closer, her steps silent on the damp grass. "Understandable. The 'fault' was a significant disruption. Such events can unsettle the spirit." She paused, her gaze lingering on his drawn features. "Perhaps some fresh air will help clear your mind? May I walk with you?"
It wasn't really a question. Elias nodded again, falling into step beside her as they wandered deeper into the garden, away from the nascent Festival preparations. The silence stretched, filled only by the chirping of waking birds and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Elias felt her scrutiny like a physical weight.
"You seemed... particularly affected by the fractured mirror," Liora ventured gently, steering the conversation with practiced ease. "More so than simple shock would warrant. Did it remind you of something?"
Elias hesitated. It reminded me of how I died. The thought was stark, terrifying. He shook his head. "It felt... wrong. Alive, almost. Resisting." He glanced at her, searching for disbelief, but found only thoughtful consideration.
"It felt that way because the energies were profoundly unbalanced," Liora explained. She stopped near a small, ornamental fountain, its gentle burble providing a soothing counterpoint. "Harmonization isn't merely about arranging objects pleasingly, Elias. It's about attuning oneself to the subtle currents of Essence that flow through all things – the Goddess's divine energy. And the key to that attunement... is Khevra."
She saw the genuine confusion in his eyes. "Khevra?" he echoed, the unfamiliar word feeling strange on his tongue.
"Yes. The Language of Weaving. The sacred tongue passed down through generations of temple artisans and Harmonizers." Liora's voice took on a reverent tone. "It's not a language for everyday conversation. Its words are vessels, meticulously crafted formulas designed to resonate with specific aspects of Essence. Think of it... like musical notes, but for the fabric of reality itself."
Elias listened, fascinated despite his unease. "Formulas?"
"Resonances," Liora clarified. "A Resonance is a complete Harmonization act – a precise combination of Khevra incantation, specific gestures, and sometimes a physical focus, like a specially prepared mirror or crystal. The verbal component – the Khevra phrase – is the invocation. It calls forth and shapes the Essence. The gestures direct it. The focus amplifies and refines it."
She traced a simple geometric pattern in the air with her finger. "Imagine wanting to strengthen a structure, like that archway yesterday. A skilled Harmonizer would utter a specific Khevra phrase – perhaps something like 'Khourna stas khantara' – while performing gestures that mimic reinforcement, perhaps touching the stone with a quartz focus. The Khevra phrase acts as a key, unlocking the desired flow of Essence and guiding it into the structure."
"It sounds... complex," Elias managed, his mind racing. The dream surged back – the younger Elias, lips moving, uttering sounds that were wrong, distorted. Khevra. He'd been trying to speak Khevra. Badly.
"Exceedingly," Liora agreed gravely. "Each syllable, each inflection, must be perfect. Khevra is not forgiving. A mispronunciation, a hesitation, an incorrect rhythm..." She met his eyes directly, her gaze intense. "It doesn't just fail. It can twist the energy. Cause instability. Backlash. Severe physical or mental harm. Disharmony, Elias. That's why such training is rigorous and takes years under strict supervision. An 'unbalanced resonance' isn't just ineffective; it's dangerous."
Elias felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. Unbalanced resonance. The words echoed the searing pain in his dream-throat, the violent shudder that had preceded the fever. He looked away, unable to hold her gaze, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his neck. "I... I was never taught any of this," he whispered, the lie tasting bitter. The original Elias had been taught, or at least, he'd tried to teach himself. With fatal consequences.
Liora watched him intently, her professional mask momentarily slipping. She saw the tremor in his hands, the haunted look in his eyes – eyes of a deep, warm amber. The exact shade she remembered from a dusty pit, from gentle hands easing her pain, from a voice soft with reassurance. The memory washed over her with unexpected force – a wave of profound calm and safety she hadn't felt since that day. It was disorienting, illogical. This was Elias Corven, a boy she was duty-bound to monitor. Yet, looking into those eyes...
She abruptly turned her head, breaking the connection, her cheeks warming slightly. Unprofessional. Dangerous. She chided herself fiercely. This was the Goddess's work. Sentiment, especially sentiment sparked by a resemblance she couldn't explain, had no place.
"The Festival preparations require my attention," she said, her voice regaining its formal cadence, though a slight tremor betrayed her inner turmoil. "Please, young master, try to rest. The Goddess values a clear mind above all else."
She offered a curt nod, then turned and walked briskly back towards the house, her robes swirling around her. Elias watched her go, the sense of profound unease settling deeper within him. He was adrift in a world of mirrors and hidden languages, haunted by the ghost of a boy who'd played with fire and burned. And the only person who seemed to offer a flicker of understanding, however guarded, was now retreating behind walls of duty and dogma, leaving him alone with the terrifying echoes of a past he hadn't lived and a power he couldn't control.