The fires of the kings’ camps burned low behind them, their smoke mingling with the cool evening mist. Dinadan guided Bracken along a narrow forest path, the sounds of drunken revelry and clashing egos fading with each step. Aidric walked a few paces behind, his face pale but determined.

  Ahead, a faint glow flickered through the trees, accompanied by a soft chiming sound. The air grew cooler, charged with a faint hum Dinadan felt in his chest.

  “What is that?” Aidric asked, his voice hushed.

  “A nuisance, most likely,” Dinadan muttered. “Or worse, an opportunity.”

  They pressed forward until they reached a small clearing. At its center sat a campfire, its flames blue, surrounded by a dizzying array of strange objects. Cages hung from the trees, their bars casting shifting shadows as restless, half-formed shapes moved within. Bottles glowed, their contents swirling as though alive. And there, leaning against a tree, was the merchant.

  He was wrapped in a cloak that shimmered like water under moonlight, its fabric shifting in hues of green and silver. His face was shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat, but his eyes gleamed like polished coins, catching and reflecting the firelight.

  “Welcome, travelers,” the merchant said, his voice smooth and lilting. “What brings you to my humble camp?”

  Dinadan raised a brow. “The road. But you seem to have set up shop on it.”

  The merchant chuckled, the sound low and resonant. “Then perhaps it was fate. Come, sit. Rest. The night is long, and the path ahead uncertain.”

  Aidric hesitated, but Dinadan waved him forward, keeping one hand near his sword. “If he wanted to kill us, he’d have already tried,” Dinadan murmured. “Besides, I’m curious what nonsense he’s peddling.”

  Dinadan stood rooted, his gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the mirror. It didn’t gleam like ordinary glass; it shimmered, almost alive, with a faint light that pulled at the corners of his vision. It unsettled him, as though it were not just reflecting the world but consuming it.

  “Any question, you say?” Dinadan’s tone was light, but his words carried a weight he couldn’t quite shake.

  “Any at all,” the merchant replied, leaning against the cart as though he had all the time in the world. “Knowledge is the rarest currency, Sir Knight. And I am a generous man.”

  Dinadan scoffed, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword—a nervous habit Aidric had observed growing more frequent since they’d arrived at the camp. “Generous? Or a gambler with better odds?”

  The merchant chuckled, his sharp eyes glinting in the dappled light filtering through the forest canopy. “Call it what you will. I offer what others cannot: the truth. What you choose to do with it, well... that’s your burden to bear.”

  Aidric shuffled beside Dinadan, his thin fingers curling into the hem of his cloak. “It feels wrong,” he murmured, his voice whispered. “Like the mirror’s watching us.”

  “Sharp lad,” the merchant said, inclining his head toward Aidric. “It turns its eye to everyone. That’s its nature. The question is, Sir Dinadan, what would it see in you?”

  Dinadan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the usual quip didn’t come. Instead, he stared at the mirror, its surface rippling like water kissed by the wind. What would it see? He already knew the answer, didn’t he? The doubts, the cowardice buried beneath the jokes, the unworthiness he carried like a second skin. A knight without honor. A protector who couldn’t protect himself.

  The silence stretched, heavy and taut, until Dinadan forced a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure the world’s ready for that revelation. Besides, if this mirror’s so great, why aren’t the kings and lords lined up to gaze into their noble reflections?”

  The merchant’s smile sharpened. “Because kings and lords have no interest in the truth. They only seek mirrors to flatter them.”

  Dinadan snorted, the sound more bitter than amused. “And you think I’m different?”

  The merchant tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that made Dinadan’s skin crawl. “I think you already know you are.”

  Aidric stepped closer, his voice low but insistent. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Dinadan glanced down at him, the boy’s pale face tight with worry. For a moment, the knight’s expression softened. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But some truths don’t let you walk away, lad. They follow you, whether you face them or not.”

  He turned back to the merchant, his voice steady despite the knot tightening in his chest. “All right. Let’s see what your cursed glass has to say.”

  The merchant’s grin widened, and he stepped aside with a flourish, gesturing toward the mirror. “Whenever you’re ready, Sir Knight.”

  As Dinadan squared his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever torment the mirror would unleash, a faint shuffling sound caught his attention. He turned in time to see Aidric standing before the mirror, his hand trembling as it hovered over the rippling glass.

  “Aidric!” Dinadan barked, his voice sharper than he intended.

  The boy flinched but didn’t step away. His fingers pressed against the surface and the mirror stilled, the ripples smoothing into a perfect, liquid stillness.

  “Aidric, stop,” Dinadan said, striding toward him. His stomach twisted into panic, though he couldn’t have said why. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Aidric didn’t move. His wide eyes were fixed on the glass, his pale face illuminated by the faint glow emanating from the mirror. “I need to see.”

  The merchant, standing off to the side, folded his arms with a look of faint amusement. “The lad has courage,” he said. “Rare for one so young.”

  Dinadan ignored him, grabbing Aidric by the shoulder. “This isn’t courage, lad. It’s folly. Whatever you think you’ll find in there, it’s not worth it.”

  Aidric glanced at Dinadan, his expression haunted but resolute. “I need to know.”

  Before Dinadan could wrench him back, the mirror rippled, its surface warping like water caught in a sudden gust.

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  Aidric’s reflection stared back at him, but like Dinadan’s before, it wasn’t quite his own.

  The Aidric in the mirror stood in a forest drenched in unnatural darkness.

  The trees loomed—gnarled, twisted—branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. A thin mist curled along the ground, wrapping around his ankles, clinging like it meant to keep him there.

  He looked down.

  His fingers clenched around a knotted, withered root. It pulsed—light flickering weak and uneven, struggling to hold on.

  “Dinadan?” Aidric called, his voice sharp with fear. The forest gave no answer, only the whisper of unseen things moving beyond the edges of his vision. He spun in place, searching for the knight, but all he found was more of the oppressive woods.

  The silence broke with a sound like glass cracking. At first, it was faint, but it grew louder, sharper, until it became a chorus of voices. They came from all directions, overlapping and echoing, each one carrying a cruel edge.

  “Aidric…”

  He froze, clutching the root tighter as shadows began to move between the trees. They slithered like smoke at first, shapeless and indistinct, but soon they began to take form. Aidric’s breath hitched as the shadows grew arms, legs, faces—faces he recognized.

  “You failed us,” hissed the miller from his village, his kind smile now twisted with anger.

  “You let us die,” said the blacksmith, his voice heavy with accusation.

  Aidric stumbled back, shaking his head. “No! I didn’t—I didn’t do anything!”

  “Right,” one of the shadows spat, stepping closer. It was the woman who used to sell honey cakes at the spring festival, her face hollow and her eyes dark. “You did nothing. And now we’re gone.”

  The mist thickened, the shadows pressing closer. Aidric tried to move, but his legs were leaden, as though the ground itself were pulling him down. He clutched the root, but its pulsing light was growing fainter.

  “I didn’t mean to—” Aidric began, his voice trembling, but the shadows cut him off.

  “You left us!” one of them roared, its face twisting into monstrous contortions. “You left us to die!”

  The root in his hands flared for a moment, then dimmed. Aidric's knees buckled as the shadows loomed over him, their voices a cacophony of rage and despair.

  “I left them? You left me,” Aidric murmured, his voice shaking as he stared into the mirror. He did not notice the clearing around him, his gaze locked on the boy reflected in the glass—a boy who looked small, frightened, and alone.

  “Who?” Dinadan’s voice cut through the growing storm, pulling Aidric partway back to reality. The knight’s concern was clear, but Aidric couldn’t meet his eyes.

  In the mirror, the shadows receded, melting into the dark forest. Aidric’s reflection remained, but it was not the same boy. The Aidric in the mirror looked older, worn and scarred. His face was streaked with dirt and pain, his eyes hollowed by loss. He stood empty-handed, the gnarled root gone, and around him, the forest lay in ashes.

  “No!” Aidric tore his gaze from the mirror, stumbling back. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling. “You left me,” he repeated, turning to Dinadan, his voice rising in anguish. “You walked away and left me alone!”

  Dinadan’s brow furrowed as he reached out to steady the boy. “Aidric, it’s just a vision. It’s not real.”

  Aidric shook his head, the tears in his eyes glinting in the firelight. “It felt real! You weren’t there, and—and I couldn’t—” His words broke into a sharp sob, his fists clenched at his sides.

  The merchant’s voice cut through the moment, smooth as silk. “The mirror shows what lies buried in your heart. It cannot create what is not already there.”

  Dinadan glared at him. “You call that truth? Sounds more like manipulation.”

  Dinadan stepped forward, his movements sharp and deliberate, as if by rushing he could lessen the weight of what awaited him. “Alright,” he said, his voice dry, masking the unease curling in his chest. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The merchant inclined his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestured toward the mirror. “As you will, Sir Knight.”

  Dinadan squared his shoulders and looked into the glass.

  At first, it was his reflection—his own tired, battered face staring back at him. The hollows under his eyes were deeper than he expected, the corners of his mouth drawn tight with lines of weariness. He did not recognize himself, a man worn smooth by years of pretending nothing could touch him.

  The image wavered, dissolving and reforming. The Henge of Elders loomed behind him, stark and unyielding, its ancient stones bathed in the aurora’s restless glow. At the heart of the circle, the crown of Albion caught the light, its metal gleaming—a prize unclaimed, a promise yet to be fulfilled.

  In the glass, his reflection turned toward the crown and began to walk, each step slow and deliberate. Dinadan felt an unnatural pull, as though the reflection’s movements tugged deep within him. When it reached the crown, the reflection hesitated.

  Dinadan’s mirrored self extended a hand, his fingers hovering above the crown’s surface. His face tightened, shadowed by doubt and fear. He withdrew his hand and turned away.

  The reflection began to walk, retreating from the Henge as the crown dimmed behind him. Shadows lengthened around his figure, stretching long until they consumed the stones. The scene blurred, dissolving into a landscape swallowed by chaos.

  Albion burned. Villages were nothing more than glowing embers on the horizon, their ashes swirling like restless ghosts. Rivers ran thick and black, their waters poisoned by ruin. The Henge itself lay in ruins, its stones shattered and strewn across barren ground.

  Dinadan’s reflection emerged from the darkness, trudging alone on a desolate road. The crown lay at his feet, broken and twisted, its faint glow extinguished.

  The reflection knelt and stared into the shattered remnants of the crown, its hollow eyes meeting Dinadan’s. “You let them destroy it,” the reflection whispered, the voice cutting like steel. “Because you were too afraid to try.”

  Dinadan flinched and pulled back, his breathing ragged. The vision lingered in his mind, vivid and suffocating. He tore his gaze away from the mirror, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat.

  “Well?” the merchant asked, his voice softer now, like the question wasn’t a challenge but a dare.

  Dinadan ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight as he tried to find his footing beneath the weight of what he’d seen. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone uneven. “The future’s not written in glass.”

  “But the heart is,” the merchant replied, his words pointed and deliberate, each one striking like the toll of a distant bell.

  Dinadan clenched his fists, his gaze flicking back to the mirror for a brief, bitter moment. “If that’s the truth of my heart, it’s not worth much,” he muttered.

  Before the merchant could retort, the clearing erupted into chaos. A dozen figures emerged from the trees, their faces hidden by rough masks. Their leader, a scarred woman with a wicked grin, pointed a blade at the mirror.

  “That’s the one,” she said. “Take it.”

  “Well, this just gets better,” Dinadan muttered, drawing his sword.

  The merchant stepped in front of the mirror, his voice cold. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “Don’t need to,” the bandit replied. “Just need to sell it.”

  Dinadan drew his sword, stepping in front of Aidric. “Careful, lads. You might end up seeing what you don’t like.”

  The bandits attacked, their blades flashing in the firelight. Dinadan parried the first blow with ease, his movements precise and deliberate.

  The merchant stood his ground, chanting in a low voice as the mirror began to glow. When a bandit charged him, the glass pulsed, and the attacker froze mid-step, her face twisted in terror.

  Dinadan took advantage of the distraction, driving back two more attackers with quick, decisive strikes. Aidric, armed with a staff he’d found among the merchant’s wares, defended their flank with surprising determination.

  The leader lunged for the mirror, but Dinadan intercepted him, their swords clashing in a shower of sparks. “That thing won’t make you rich,” Dinadan growled. “It’ll make you regret every choice you’ve ever made.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” the bandit sneered.

  Dinadan stepped aside at the last moment, letting the bandit’s blade scrape the mirror’s edge. The glass rippled, and the bandit froze, her reflection staring back at him with hollow, accusing eyes.

  “You betrayed us,” the reflection hissed. “For what? Coin?”

  The bandit screamed, dropping her weapon and fleeing into the woods. The remaining attackers, unnerved by her retreat, followed.

  As the clearing fell silent, the merchant retrieved the mirror, his hands trembling. “You have wit, knight. And courage.”

  “I have survival instincts,” Dinadan replied, sheathing his sword.

  The merchant studied him for a long moment before holding out the mirror. “Take it. You’ve earned it.”

  Dinadan shook his head. “No. I’ve seen enough of myself to last a lifetime.”

  He turned to Aidric, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked away, Dinadan glanced back at the mirror one last time, its surface now still and dark. The merchant stood alone in the clearing, the firelight flickering against the twisted carvings of the frame.

  Dinadan looked away, his jaw set. “Truth is overrated,” he muttered.