The Mirror Library waited.
It didn't wait like a room.
It waited like a mouth held open.
Lina stood with Kai's hand locked around hers, Mira trembling at her side, Seren glowing like a storm held inside a human body, and Reyon hovering just behind them like he was terrified his own reflection would accuse him of crimes.
Across from Lina, her reflection smiled with her face and none of her fear.
"Give me his true name," it whispered gently, "and I'll give you yours."
The mirrors along the walls shimmered, tilting inward a fraction—as if they were listening for Lina to speak the words that would authorize the rewrite.
Lina's throat burned.
Her VOID status hummed under her skin like a bruise. Every second she stood here, she could feel the world loosening its grip on her—like a book slowly closing.
Temptation came like gravity:
To be seen again.To be recognized again.To stop fighting the academy just to exist.
And then Lina looked at Kai.
He was so still it hurt.
Not calm.
Controlled.
Like if he moved wrong, the library would grab the motion and edit him into someone else.
Kai's eyes—dark under the mask—held something fierce and pleading.
Lina exhaled slowly.
"What's a true name?" Lina asked, voice shaking. "Tell me why it's worth that."
The reflection's smile widened. "Because it's the key under the key."
Kai's jaw clenched. "A true name isn't a nickname," he said quietly. "It's a binding."
His voice sounded like it scraped his ribs on the way out.
"Some families," Kai continued, eyes hard, "seal their children's true names under runes. Some councils steal them. Some monsters eat them."
Reyon whispered, "Of course monsters eat them."
Kai didn't even glance at him.
"If a true name is spoken into a binding script," Kai said, "your will becomes negotiable."
Seren's eyes widened. "Founder law."
Kai nodded once. "Founder law uses true names to force obedience."
Lina's skin crawled. "That's why the Council keeps triggering 'swear obedience.' It's trying to latch onto something deeper than 'Kai Rhen.'"
Kai's fingers tightened around hers, a silent warning and a silent anchor.
"Yes," he said. "And my mark—" his voice roughened "—my mark reacts because it remembers the first time my true name was used against me."
The Mirror Library pulsed faintly at that.
Like it loved confession.
Like it loved vulnerability.
The reflection stepped closer, eyes bright.
"Tell her," it murmured. "Let her understand what she's trading."
Lina's flame flickered under her skin.
Not wild. Controlled. Angry.
"I'm not trading him," Lina said through clenched teeth.
The reflection sighed, like Lina was being stubborn about a simple form.
"You're already trading," it said softly. "You traded your name. You traded memories. Everyone trades here."
Mira's nails dug into Lina's sleeve, voice shaking. "Lina… don't."
Lina swallowed hard.
"I'm not giving you his true name," Lina said clearly, loudly, as if she needed the mirrors to hear refusal.
The mirrors shimmered.
Not angry.
Curious.
The quill above the blank book scratched faster, ink lines forming new prompts:
COUNTER-OFFER REQUIRED.CONSENT PATH MUST CONTINUE.
Seren whispered, "It's forcing negotiation."
Reyon muttered, "This is literally the worst customer service I've ever experienced."
The reflection's smile thinned.
"Then what do you offer?" it asked, voice gentle as a blade. "Your name is already VOID. Your witnesses are failing. Your memories are paying taxes you can't afford."
Lina's throat tightened.
The sound of Mira's laugh missing in her head felt like an open wound.
But Lina kept her voice steady.
"I offer a third option," Lina said.
Kai's eyes flicked to her—sharp, surprised.
Seren's breath caught. "Lina—"
Lina stared at the reflection.
"If this place runs on rules," Lina said, "then it runs on loopholes. You said a name is permission. You said you store witness fragments."
The reflection's eyes narrowed slightly.
Lina lifted her chin. "I want Name Witness. Not my name back for his. I want this wing to witness me as real—without reassignment."
The Mirror Library fell quiet.
Even the mirrors seemed to pause, like they were considering whether that kind of clause existed.
Seren whispered, awe and fear braided, "That's… clever."
Reyon whispered, "That's… terrifying."
Kai didn't speak.
But his grip tightened like he was holding onto hope with his fingers.
The reflection smiled slowly.
"Name Witness," it repeated, tasting the words. "You want the library to acknowledge you."
"Yes," Lina said. "Witness me. Not rewrite me."
The reflection tilted its head.
"And what do I gain?" it asked, voice silky.
Lina's flame flickered, black edging gold.
"I gain existence," Lina said. "You gain… a story you can't predict."
The reflection laughed softly—Lina's laugh, wrong and empty.
"You think unpredictability is currency here?" it murmured.
Behind it, a mirror shimmered and showed a scene Lina hadn't lived but somehow felt:
A girl with Lina's face running through halls, screaming, unheard.
A teacher looking right through her.
Friends turning away without knowing why.
VOID in motion.
Reyon's sticky illusions spiked—his fear residue infecting the mirror—making the scene stutter, split, and replay with two different outcomes:
In one, Lina fell and vanished.
In the other, a hand caught her.
Kai's hand.
Two endings at once.
Reyon whispered, horrified, "My brain is leaking into the glass again."
Seren's eyes glowed brighter. "It's showing you futures."
The reflection stepped closer until it was almost nose-to-nose with Lina.
"Fine," it whispered. "A compromise."
Lina's stomach dropped. "What compromise?"
The reflection's smile widened.
"Not his true name," it said softly. "Just a piece."
Kai went rigid.
Seren inhaled sharply. "No."
Reyon whispered, shaking, "What does a piece even mean?"
Kai's voice came out low and lethal. "A syllable. A root. A binding segment."
Lina's throat tightened.
The reflection's eyes gleamed with hunger.
"One piece," it repeated. "A fragment of the name beneath the name. Enough to taste. Enough to begin."
Lina felt the trap tighten.
Give a piece and the library could use it to pull the rest.
Like tearing a thread from fabric.
Once you had the thread, you could unravel the whole garment.
Kai's grip on Lina's hand tightened to the point of pain. "Don't," he rasped.
Lina's chest burned.
Then a soft voice slid through the room—Seren's, but layered with dead echo again, involuntary, like the library was squeezing her gift:
"The first time his true name was spoken… it was said with betrayal."
Seren flinched, clutching her throat. "No—"
The dead voice continued, cruel and factual:
"It was used to bind him."
Kai's breath hitched.
Lina's heart hammered.
The library wasn't just offering a deal.
It was pulling Kai's wound open and laying it on the table like currency.
Lina's flame rose slightly, controlled, furious.
"No," Lina said again, louder. "I'm not paying with him."
The reflection's smile faded.
The mirrors tilted inward.
The quill scratched sharply.
New prompt lines appeared in the blank book:
REFUSAL CONFIRMED.PENALTY PATH INITIATED.
The air went colder.
Mira whimpered. "Lina…"
Kai's voice broke, urgent. "If it punishes you—"
"It will," Seren whispered. "It always does."
Lina's throat tightened.
Then Lina did something she hadn't done since she became VOID.
She made her own rule.
She leaned closer to Kai—not a kiss, not prophecy-lock, not softness that would trigger dangerous surges—but close enough that her voice could anchor him directly through breath.
"Say my name," Lina whispered to Kai.
Kai's eyes snapped to hers.
"Lina Veris," he rasped.
"Again," Lina whispered.
"Lina Veris."
"Stay real."
"I'm here," Kai breathed.
Lina's chest tightened—love and terror knotted together.
Then Lina turned toward the mirrors and spoke with intent—like carving truth into stone:
"No contract without consent."
The library shuddered.
The reflection's eyes widened, annoyed.
Lina didn't stop.
"If you need a name to witness me, then witness this:" Lina's voice shook but held. "I choose my own name, and I do not surrender his."
The quill paused.
Ink trembled.
The Mirror Library's runes flared faintly along the mirror frames, as if the wing was forced to respond to a properly worded clause.
For one heartbeat, silence thickened.
Then every mirror in the room whispered the same word at once—soft, thrilled, almost reverent:
"Accepted."
Lina's blood went cold.
Because she couldn't tell—
whether it had accepted her refusal…
or accepted her as a new kind of target.
And in the blank book on the dais, ink began writing again—fast this time—forming a new heading:
ORDER WITNESS TRIAL: INITIATED
Seren's eyes widened. "Order Witness—"
Kai's jaw clenched. "It's dragging us into the Orders."
Reyon whispered, shaking, "So the library just… enrolled us in something."
The reflection smiled again, calm and pleased.
"Welcome," it murmured, "to the test that decides who gets remembered."
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.