The room melted into shadows and silver light, and in a blink, they stood beneath a black sky made of stars and fractured glass. Endless mirrors hung in the air like suspended windows, each one glowing faintly—scenes rippling inside them like water.
The Mirror Dimension.
Eugene turned in a slow circle, breath catching in his throat.
"This place…"
"It's mine," Julian murmured. "My power turned inward. The mirror dimension—where every version of myself is trapped."
He gestured to one of the hovering mirrors.
"This one."
The surface shimmered, then cleared. Eugene stepped closer—and gasped.
There, within the mirror, stood Julian as he once was.
Not the sharp, smirking creature of shadows and bite marks.
But golden.
Celestial.
His hair, shorter but shining with silver strands woven into white.
His wings—large, black as obsidian, with streaks of starlight tracing the edges.
His eyes—not the same pink-violet as now, but brighter pink. Softer. Like they still believed in something.
He was dressed in celestial robes, threads shimmering like woven constellations, standing before a grand marble dais surrounded by other winged figures.
And he was smiling.
Truly smiling.
Eugene pressed a hand to the glass.
"You were…" he trailed off. "…beautiful."
Julian didn't flinch. Didn't deny it.
But he stepped beside Eugene, staring into the reflection with a face carved from memory.
"He was."
The skies above the Celestial Realm rippled, bruised with clouds of shadow and fire.
Storms had gathered at the gates of the Obsidian Citadel, and every bell tolled like a funeral dirge.
Inside the grand hall, where power once danced like light across mirrors, silence ruled now—cold and absolute.
Julian knelt at the center.
His wrists were bound in obsidian cuffs, carved with sigils meant to nullify the wild magic in his blood. His wings—those brilliant mirror-forged creations of iridescent silver and glass—had already begun to decay.
One had crumbled into sharp fragments at his side. The other was halfway torn from his back, blood dripping onto the marble.
He kept his head high.
Even when the Demon King—his own father—lifted a hand.
"Mirror-born magic should reflect. Not devour."
Julian said nothing.
Because he already knew.
He never belonged above the clouds .
The archmages behind the throne stepped forward. One held a dagger of darksteel.
Another, a vial of elixir that would burn out a celestial eyes. Julian turned his face as they approached.
The moment the dagger touched the base of his remaining wing, he sucked in a breath—
And screamed.
Glass cracked.
Every mirror in the Citadel shattered.
A final echo of his essence before it was chained.
His wings turned to dust.
His eyes, once radiant with the soft glow of newborn starlight—a gentle, baby pink—burned into something else entirely.
A cruel, harsh magenta, like poison blooming in a wound. The color of betrayal.
He collapsed, trembling. And still, no one moved to help him.
High above, on the balcony reserved for dignitaries and witnesses, three heirs stood in stillness.
Rhysand.
Jacques.
Azreaphel.
Their faces were masks of fury and grief.But they did not descend.
Could not.
To do so would mean defying the decree of the Realm—and risking exile themselves.
Rhysand's fingers clenched the railing so hard his knuckles cracked. "Were letting them butcher him."
Azeraphel's voice was dead quiet. "He knew it would happen. He chose his pleasure over purpose ."
Below, Julian was dragged across the floor, thrown through the Gate of the demons.
It roared open—mirror shards swirling—and swallowed him whole. His scream echoed once more—
And then was gone.
Silence.
The two heirs stood unmoving.
A piece of their youth… had been exiled with him.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
Jullian's voice was barely a whisper.
"He's dead."
Eugene turned toward him, and for the first time noticed—Julian's hair had grown longer now, looser, untamed. His eyes, still brilliant, were darker around the edges. And where wings once bloomed, now there was only the faintest shimmer of shadow behind his back.
A hint of what was lost.
Eugene reached out, brushing a hand against Julian's shoulder.
"He's not dead. He's right here. Just… changed."
Julian looked at him now. Really looked. And that flicker in his eyes—the ancient ache, the wound unspoken—softened.
"You're the first person I've ever brought here," he said.
Eugene's lips tilted into a small smile. "I should hope so"
They stood in silence then, watching the reflection of a boy who once held the stars, and the man who would give up heaven just to be held.
The dimension was quiet now.
Shards of glass floated lazily in the air, their reflections still whispering, but Eugene wasn't paying attention to any of it.
"You were quiet after your brother left," Julian said, voice low.
Eugene's shoulders tensed. "He knows now. Or, at least, someone does."
Julian stepped closer, the heat of him wrapping around Eugene's back before he even touched him. "Does it feel better? Or worse?"
"…Both," Eugene admitted.
Julian's hands slid around his waist, fingers splaying against his stomach. "Then let me make it feel only good."
Julian's mouth brushed against Eugene's neck, slow and deliberate, every kiss a promise, every breath a tease.
"You don't have to think tonight," Julian whispered. "Just feel."
And Eugene did.
His fingers dug into Julian's shirt, yanking him closer as their mouths met in a desperate, heated kiss.
The kind that made knees weak and magic tremble in the air.
Julian lifted him effortlessly, carrying him back inside as the dimension responded—lights dimming, books scattering, curtains fluttering as if caught in the same storm that pulsed between them.
Eugene didn't even remember how his clothes came off.
He only remembered the way Julian looked at him—like he was something sacred, something owned.
Their bodies met in a slow burn, then a wildfire. Julian was everywhere—hands, lips, voice curling around Eugene like silk and smoke.
"You're mine," Julian breathed against his skin. "One day, they will know it too. From your own lips."
Eugene gasped, arching beneath him.
And Julian did. Again. And again. Until Eugene forgot everything else.
Even his own name.
"My darling."