Chapter Thirteen — Kin's Mark

  Evanora’s POV

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  The mirror shouldn’t have moved.

  Yet the surface rippled—like water disturbed by an unseen breath.

  A whisper slithered through the stillness.

  Mirror: “Our kin’s mark…”

  My brow lifted.

  “Recognition. Cute.”

  Zagan leaned closer, fascination gleaming.

  “Princess… it spoke.”

  “I noticed.”

  The mirror pulsed—faint light threading through cracks in the old frame.

  Mirror: “The sigil awakens me.”

  The mark on Zagan’s arm—the one I carved in blood and fang—flared softly in response.

  I exhaled.

  “Continue,” I said, dry.

  Mirror: “I am a Seer. Bound in silence until Devourix darkness returned to this chamber. Until you return.”

  Zagan’s head snapped toward me.

  “Faith, we should be careful. You have history with mirrors. You—of all people—know better.”

  Before I could answer, a low hum rolled through the glass.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Almost… amused.

  Mirror: “I can help you.”

  “You?” I scoffed.

  “One of the oldest Darkling artifacts in existence? What do you want in return?”

  A soft hiss—not threatening… patient.

  Mirror: “A power. The power you will gain is my gift… so our kin lives.”

  Zagan stepped forward.

  “Gift or curse?”

  “It feels cursed,” I muttered.

  “Darkling mirrors don’t share truth. They trade it.”

  The mirror whispered again—sharp consonants, lunar tones, ancient syllables.

  My jaw tightened.

  “Absolutely not. I refuse to learn a language designed to summon eldritch chaos.”

  Mirror: “You walk powerless. Heart missing. Magic dormant. Destiny severed.”

  “And?” I snapped.

  Mirror: “And I will give you what you seek when the time comes. Devourix does not stay broken. We rise.”

  A pulse rolled through the room—cold and ancient, tasting of forgotten blood and dead gods.

  Zagan swallowed.

  “What exactly are you offering?”

  Glass shimmered—then something slid forward and fell with a soft thud.

  A folded slip of parchment—burnt edges, ink nearly erased by time.

  I picked it up.

  Three words marked the cover:

  The Heart of Rebirth

  Zagan leaned over my shoulder.

  “That looks older than everything else here.”

  I opened it carefully.

  Yellowed pages.

  Lunar diagrams.

  Cipher rings.

  Dark witch handwriting.

  Beware, immortal.

  This essence awakens forgotten power.

  Lest shadows claim your final spark.

  My heartbeat slowed—then changed rhythm.

  Words called to me.

  Eclipse Essence

  Shadow Weave

  Lunar Core

  Heart of Light

  Heart of Darkness

  Not separate concepts.

  A ritual.

  A path.

  A warning.

  A choice.

  One line stood out—ink darker than the rest:

  “Heart of Darkness, replaced by Heart of Light.”

  And beneath it—almost shy:

  “Eclipse Essence: A heart restored under an eclipse opens the celestial gate.”

  Silence wrapped around us.

  Zagan’s voice dropped—rough, disbelieving.

  “…Princess. This isn’t lore.”

  “It’s an instruction,” I finished.

  His breath hitched.

  “It speaks of… replacing the heart.”

  “It does,” I murmured—

  and the words tasted like fate.

  ---

  A sudden sound broke the silence—soft movement.

  Zagan’s stance snapped into place instantly.

  “There is someone here.”

  A shadow stepped forward.

  A faint red glow pulsed beneath her skin—a pattern I once wore myself.

  Recognition struck like a blade.

  I knew her.

  The mirror whispered—almost reverent.

  “Arabella.”

  She didn’t look at me—not at first.

  Her gaze locked onto the mirror.

  “Seer. You’ve spoken again after all this time?”

  The mirror answered, voice flat and ancient.

  “Our kin.”

  Zagan didn’t relax—not even a breath.

  He was ready to fight.

  Which meant if we wanted to survive…

  I needed to negotiate.

  Arabella finally turned toward us and stepped fully into the light.

  Her eyes were sharp.

  Ancient.

  Knowing.

  “Kin?” she murmured.

  “Who?”

  Mirror: Her

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