Mirror of Manacles
Chapter 1/?
Shadowhand Essek Thelyss regarded his latest acquisition with a practiced eye: an incredibly-ornate, full-length mirror that—if he were being honest with himself—was incredibly ostentatious and really, very much not his taste. It had, however, been a gift, and so now it hung in a position of honor in his living room… at least until etiquette dictated that he could remove it, and then he could promptly order it moved to the darkest closet, where it could forever reign as the eyesore of the Empire.
He was curious, though, as to why anyone had bothered dragging such a cumbersome item all the way from the Empire to Rosohna. After all, it had to have undergone quite the rigorous inspection, even just to cross the border, never mind the more in-depth investigations to have been permitted to hang in his living room. Would it not have been easier to simply allow it to drift into whatever shop was unfortunate enough to be cursed with its presence, knowing full well it would never sell?
Mirror of Manacles
Chapter 2/?
Essek had tried every spell available to him in an attempt to learn the secret of the mirror. He was certain it had been properly inspected upon entering Dynasty borders, but something about it simply did not make sense.
The mirror was magical, that much he had noticed on the first day, but what did it do? He spent much of his free time studying the mysterious mirror: frame, glass, backing… anything and everything.
So far his studies had found runes and arcane symbols, but as to their meaning… Essek enjoyed puzzles, certainly, but this was near-maddening.
Chapter 3/?
Bren looked down at the scraps of paper he had assembled in front of him, trying to organize his thoughts into some semblance of recognizable order rather than the barely-controlled chaos before him.
He had studied many things while the Kryn man was away, by summoning Frumpkin outside the mirror and using the cat’s senses to search the house. He had found a study with many books whose titles he could not read—an indicator of a possible language barrier if he ever got the urge to communicate—a modest desk whose drawers were all locked either with a key or by magic, and, perhaps the most important discovery at this point, a stack of plain, unused paper and a pencil.
He had taken the lot of it, which had been quite the process as he’d had to maneuver Frumpkin to push the pile of paper within his line of sight in order to mage hand them into the mirror. At last, however, he could write down everything he remembered, as well as take notes of what he had seen fairly recently.
He had titled a few pages in an effort to focus on one thing at a time: mirror, house, Xhorhas, and help.
Chapter 4/?
Essek had almost forgotten how boring politics could be until he was sat in his living room having to listen to a mind-numbing report on the current state of affairs without a reasonable way to excuse himself without being… impolite, at best.
“…furthermore, the Queen requests that…”
“Elas.”
Slightly older than Essek, Elas was in charge of delivering and reading missives marked to be urgent. He stopped and risked peeking from the page he had been so intent on reading.
“Yes, Shadowhand?”
“I shall oversee the matter personally.”
“Oh of course, Shadowhand, but I have yet to finish the first page and…”
“I am fully capable of reading the rest.” Somehow he managed to keep his tone from being too clipped, but Elas seemed to understand the words he was not saying just fine.
Chapter 5/?
Caleb found it hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, mouth having gone dry as he watched this ‘Shadowhand’ search the living room. He was methodical, going so far as to use magic while he searched.
He did find it strange, however, that if this Shadowhand was as high-ranking as he seemed, why were people barging into his house at all hours of the night? Did the Kryn not have locks on their doors? Perhaps they were too assured of their own abilities to bother using them? Except, that didn’t seem to be the case.
Chapter 6/?
Caleb woke on the floor in a cold sweat, echoes of voices from the past continuing to haunt him. It was those voices that had prompted his faint to begin with, after seeing the words he had written.
“H-help us! Someone please! Bren…. where is Bren? Did he make it out? Help! Help, someone, please!”
Curling further into himself, Caleb hugged Frumpkin to his chest and sobbed quietly, though his eyes were dry. He had long ago run out of tears.
A small meow caught his attention, and he watched Frumpkin slowly get up and go to paw at the mirror’s glass.
Was ist los? Was ist passiert?
Another, more insistent meow, and Caleb lifted his gaze, instantly startled by the shock of blue mere inches from his face.
Chapter 7/?
“Griam.”
“Good morning, Shadowhand. How may I help you?”
“The book I requested, is it in?”
“It is, will that be all for you today?”
“Yes.”
“This was very hard to get,” Griam murmured as he picked up a decently-sized tome wrapped in oilskin to preserve the book’s cover. “I cannot imagine what you could possibly want with…”
“Your utmost discretion, Griam, if you would.” Essek slid him a gold coin on top of his payment for the book.
“Oh of course! Yes, absolutely. Not a word to anyone.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Chapter 8/?
Caleb froze, dressed in a shabby brown coat, patched scarf, tattered pants and leather boots so worn that his feet were visible through the stitching.
Was he... free? After all this time? His breath caught in his throat, and while he was desperately trying to breathe, came out only as hyperventilation and panic, pulling the scarf up tighter to his face—how long had it smelled this badly?—in an effort to warm himself after the cold of passing through the glass.
And still he was highly aware of the imposing presence behind him.
He did what he felt was his only option: he held his hands up in surrender, lacing his fingers behind his head—he needed a haircut—and closing his eyes. Frumpkin pit-patted over with quickened steps and settled around his neck.
He felt the Shadowhand's cloak flutter past his face as the man seemed to glide to face him. What a mess he must be.