Bare Reflections Novels & Stories

The reflection smiled faintly. “Hello,” it said. Avery’s stomach lurched. “Who—” “Don’t you recognize me?” the other Avery asked. “You left me behind.” The voice was soft, but it reverberated unnaturally through the room. Avery pressed her palm to her temple. “You’re not real.” The reflection tilted its head. “Neither are you. Not anymore.” A cold tremor ran through her spine. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. Containment. Psychological bleed. They warned you about this. Reapers who touched the Between sometimes brought fragments back — echoes, spectral memories that clawed their way into the conscious mind.

Zara stared at it, something primal in her blood waking. “This isn’t just a mirror,” she breathed. “No,” Maxim said. “It’s called the Umbraglass. One of the last magical relics from the Age of the Thirteen Clans. It shows truth… and threat.” As she watched, her reflection flickered. Not one Zara—but many. In one, she wore a crown of moonlight. In another, she bled from a wound she couldn't see. One version burned in violet fire. One stood alone.

One after another they emerged. Reflection-Alexander: taller, shoulders broader, the rebar in his hand now a burning red crowbar, his storm-gray eyes replaced by solid crimson. Reflection-Mamá: youthful, well untouched, by cancer yet her smile was precise the grin of a person who had removed her own heart and carried on. Reflection-Lila: arms intact, flare gun filled with a substance glowing like ruby Etienne’s spirit, beside her—present, grinning, disturbed. Reflection-Marco: crown intact, scars fully red, tablet whole and floating beside him like an obedient demon.

My arguments with me are not taking the name to stop. I can't understand this puzzle, I decided to ask about it later and presently, I should go back to Samarth. I stepped back and stopped at the entrance. I again looked into the reflector. I closed my eyes and tears drained from my eyes. I opened again and stepped rearward but I collided with a huge body, and there are two reflections in the reflector. "Samarth." I breathed. "This is the seventh colour." He pointed to the reflector. "Is it you?" I asked with a crashed tone.

Barox, trailing behind Candice, intentionally held his gaze on Alex's face as they passed. Meanwhile, Alex stood beneath the streetlamp's glow, appearing calm outwardly. Yet his eyes, already deep and dark, seemed to reflect an infinite expanse of emotionless hollowness.

Anticipation. The mirror’s surface ripples once, twice. The glass loses its sheen and takes on depth, the way night does at the lip of a forest. For a heartbeat I see the room reflected, the crib, the chair, my face, Blake’s, and then all that is replaced by a stair that wasn’t there before, a spiral carved out of absence, each step limned in a very old kind of light that isn’t light at all. Tara breathes, reverent.

The glass reflected the light and transformed the room into a kaleidoscope of vibrant rainbow patterns that flickered and danced across the wall. "Why is it taking so much time?" Rebecca suddenly appeared, causing Silva to jump. "These glasses ought to have been completed by now." "I'm being cautious," Silva stressed, her tone soft. "They are quite fragile." Rebecca turned away, irritation flickering in her eyes. "They’re just objects, Silva. Things Ralph cherishes more than people." As she stepped closer, an intoxicating fragrance enveloped them. Her voice dropped down to a whisper, "More than he'll ever value you."

Warm. “Lyran?” I gasped, stepping toward the sound. One mirror rippled. Inside it, I saw him — bloodied, chained, but alive. His eyes glowed with pain and fire. “Prese,” his reflection said, lips moving with the same words I felt in my chest. “Don’t listen to Berra.” Tears filled my eyes. “I can’t… I don’t know what’s real anymore!” “You know me,” the reflection said firmly. “You know my voice. You know my strength. Trust that.”

Because for him, it has. “Prepare them,” he says casually. The guards move instantly. Not rushing. Not hesitating. Obedient. A massive object is brought into the chamber. It takes several warriors to carry it—an obsidian mirror framed in jagged stone that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. The surface ripples faintly, as if something beneath it is aware of being used. A communication relic. Old. Unstable. Powerful. It is set upright before Malrik. He steps in front of it, adjusting nothing, waiting for nothing. The mirror responds immediately to his presence, dark energy curling across its surface like smoke trapped behind glass.

“Luna, a barracks is about to collapse. People remain inside. The snow weighs too heavy. Can you come with me and use your Moonbane power to hold it steady? We must get everyone out.” I looked at Alaric, still asleep in his crib. “I will return soon,” I told Erica. “Watch your brother.” Erica nodded with force. The east wall had become a wreck. An entire section had given way. Snow continued to fall. Dust filled the air and made breathing difficult. Warriors dug with bare hands. Some had already pulled injured wolves free. Helena and I reached the barracks. Theron stood there already. I channeled Moonbane power into the shaking roof. The energy flowed steady and cold.