A Murderer in the Mirror

The sound of shattering glass was like a thousand screams at once.

Elara dove behind Korth’s heavy oak desk as shards of crystal flew through the air. Each broken vial released a puff of colored smoke: red for rage, blue for sorrow, and gold for a secret that could topple a throne. The room was filled with a chaotic chorus of voices. Thousands of people, all trying to say their last words at the same time.

"Stop him!" Elara yelled, her ears ringing.

Korth was no longer the thin, tired librarian. His shadow grew until it hit the ceiling. Claws tore through his human skin, and his eyes burned like twin suns. He lunged at Joren, the boy who had inhaled the king's soul.

But Joren didn't move like a boy anymore. He moved like a soldier who had fought a hundred wars. He dodged Korth’s massive hand with a graceful spin.

"You are too slow, Dragon," Joren said. His voice was deep and rasping, the voice of the dead King Aldren. "You spent too long hiding in this mountain. You forgot what it’s like to bleed."

Joren grabbed a jagged piece of glass from the floor. He didn't use it as a knife. Instead, he pressed it against his own throat.

"Korth, wait!" Elara screamed, jumping over the desk. "If he dies now, the king's truth dies with him! We’ll never know who the murderer is!"

Korth froze, his claws inches from the boy’s chest. The dragon’s breath came out in hot, sulfurous puffs. "He is destroying my life’s work, Elara. He is a thief of souls."

"I am a victim!" Joren, or the King, roared. Tears streamed down the boy’s face, but his expression was full of old, cold fury. "My son... my own blood... he didn't even use a blade. He used a drop of nightshade in my wine. He watched me choke while he smiled. He’s wearing my crown right now!"

Elara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. She saw the pain in the boy’s eyes. It wasn't just magic; it was a father’s heartbreak.

"If you want revenge, Joren, or King Aldren, this isn't the way," Elara said, stepping closer. She kept her hands visible. "Breaking these vials won't kill your son. It will just kill everyone else."

"The truth must be loud!" the king screamed through Joren’s mouth. "If I cannot have my life, no one shall have their secrets!"

He raised the glass shard to strike another shelf, but his body suddenly buckled. He fell to his knees, clutching his head. A terrible, wet choking sound came from his throat.

"The rejection," Korth hissed, shrinking back into his human form. The boy’s body is fighting the king's spirit. He is dying."

Elara rushed to Joren’s side. The boy was shaking violently. His skin was turning a bruised purple. "We have to save him! If he dies here, the prince wins. The murder stays a secret forever."

Korth looked at the thousands of broken vials on the floor. His hoard was ruined. His mission of "preservation" was a joke. He looked at Elara, and for a second, he looked ancient and tired.

"I cannot fix a broken soul, Elara," Korth said. "But I can bind it. If we leave this mountain right now, I can keep him alive long enough to reach the capital. But once he speaks the truth to the world, the magic will break. He will die, and the king will truly be gone."

"Then we go," Elara said, grabbing her travel pack. "We go to Oakhaven. We find the Prince."

"You want to help him?" Korth asked, surprised. "You always said the truth was just leverage."

Elara looked at the dying boy, then at the empty vial of the King. "The Prince killed his father and stole a life. In my ledger, that’s a debt that needs to be settled in blood. I don't care about the 'truth,' Korth. I care about the bill."

Korth nodded slowly. He grabbed Joren by the collar and hauled him up. The boy was unconscious now, his breathing shallow.

"We must move fast," Korth said. "The Prince has spies everywhere. He will know the Last Word has been stolen. He will be hunting us."

They headed for the hidden back exit of the archive, a narrow path that led down the cliffs. But as Elara pushed open the stone door, she stopped dead.

The sky wasn't empty.

High above, three massive birds, hunting hawks used by the Royal Guard, were circling the Peak of Whispers. And on the path below, a line of torches was winding its way up the mountain.

"They aren't just hunting us," Elara whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She pointed to the lead rider on the path. He wore a silver cloak and carried a spear that glowed with dark magic.

"That’s the High Inquisitor," Elara said. "They aren't here to arrest us, Korth. They brought "The Silence," the spell that erases memories.

Korth stepped out, his eyes turning back into slits. "They want to erase the King's death from everyone's minds."

"No," a weak voice said from Korth's shoulder. Joren had opened his eyes. He looked at the soldiers below and smiled a bloody, terrifying smile. "They aren't here for me. They’re here because they already found the Crown of Ash."

Elara turned to Joren. "What does that mean?"

Joren's voice dropped to a whisper. "It means the Prince doesn't need the truth to be hidden anymore. He’s going to use the Crown to burn the city down and blame it on the Dragon."

At that moment, a horn blasted from the path below. A ball of magical fire shot into the air, exploding right above their heads. The mountain began to shake.

"They're collapsing the entrance!" Korth shouted.

"Jump!" Elara yelled, pointing toward the sheer drop into the clouds.

But as they prepared to leap, a voice boomed from the darkness behind them, inside the archive.

"Did you really think I only sent one thief? "

Elara spun around. Standing amidst the broken glass was another scribe, one she had trusted even more than Joren. He held a vial that glowed with a black light she had never seen before.

"The King was the bait," the scribe said, his eyes cold. "Thank you for opening the vault, Elara."

Before Korth could react, the scribe smashed the black vial at his own feet. Thick, oily smoke exploded outward, swallowing them all.