Elira stared at the glowing mirror, its light now pulsing faster, brighter — like it was calling her.
"I'm dreaming," she whispered, taking a shaky step forward. "This has to be a dream."
But her hand moved on its own, drawn like a magnet.
Fingertips touched the glass—
And it was not solid.
The mirror rippled beneath her touch, warm and liquid, and before she could pull back—
It pulled her in.
She didn't even have time to scream.
Elira hit the ground hard.
The air was different—cleaner, colder, filled with the scent of pine and smoke. She groaned and sat up, brushing dirt and leaves from her arms. Her surroundings were unfamiliar: tall stone walls, cobblestone paths, glowing torches. Old-world architecture surrounded her—towers, courtyards, and soldiers in armor.
"What the hell…" she whispered.
A shout rang out.
"There! By the garden wall!"
"She's not one of ours!"
"Seize her!"
"What?! Wait!" Elira stood quickly, hands raised. "I'm not—"
Steel clinked. Swords were drawn. Three soldiers in heavy black and silver armor surrounded her in seconds.
"On your knees," one barked. "Hands above your head!"
"I'm not dangerous!" she said, panicking. "I swear I'm not from here—I mean, I don't even know where here is!"
"Exactly," the second soldier sneered. "Spies never do."
Before she could argue, cold iron shackles locked around her wrists. She stumbled as they pulled her forward, dragged across stony paths under the torchlight.
The massive wooden doors of a castle opened for her. She was shoved into a grand throne room with marble floors and red banners hanging from the ceiling. Everything felt surreal—like she'd stepped into a medieval movie set.
At the far end of the room, a man in a golden robe sat on a high throne — older, stern-faced, with sharp eyes and a silver beard. His crown was modest but heavy. He was clearly the King.
Beside him stood the man from the mirror.
The cursed prince.
His cold silver eyes landed on Elira like ice.
The King's voice echoed through the hall.
"Who is this girl, and why is she in my palace?"
"Found by the west wall, Your Majesty," one of the guards reported. "She wore strange clothes and spoke oddly. We believe she is a foreign spy."
"I'm not a spy!" Elira snapped, stepping forward. "I swear I didn't even mean to come here!"
"Then how did you come here?" the King narrowed his eyes. "This kingdom is hidden to outsiders. You crossed borders without being seen. That requires either power or treachery."
"I came through a mirror," she said bluntly. "One second I was home, the next... I was here."
The prince suddenly stepped forward, his voice quiet but commanding.
"You saw the mirror?" he asked.
Elira turned to him. "I saw you. In it. Just before I got pulled in."
A murmur spread among the court.
"She lies," a noble muttered.
"The prophecy," someone else whispered.
"Could it be her?" another voice asked.
The King stood slowly. "You saw my son's reflection… in the mirror?"
Elira nodded. "Yes. I don't know how, but—"
The King turned to his guards. "Lock her in the north tower. No food, no contact. Not until the High Seer arrives. If she speaks the truth, she may be dangerous. If she lies… she'll hang."
"Wait—hang?! Are you serious?!" Elira yelled, struggling as the guards seized her again.
The prince watched silently, expression unreadable.
As she was dragged away, she looked back one last time—her eyes locking with his.
"I'm not your enemy," she shouted.
His voice finally came, calm and cold:
"You saw the cursed mirror. You should be dead. The fact that you're not… is exactly why we can't trust you."
The heavy doors slammed behind her, and the cold stone swallowed the silence.