Lapis Lazuli Mirror Steven Universe Novels & Stories

From inside the bag, she takes out a round mirror, made of a black stone, which was so polished. - Is that the Mausoleum stone? – Romeo asks. - yes, this is an Obsidian mirror. Romeo shrinks and looks away, not even wanting to look at it. Mary stretches out her hand and Julius takes the mirror. He looks at him from all sides and looks at the witch. - Don't look at it. Stare at him. - What will happen? – Shane asks. - I don't know. It depends on what the mirror wants to show Julius. It could be his past, the past before him, or one of the possible futures.

Its surface shimmered like liquid mercury, showing shifting reflections of their deepest fears. Bain saw Cassie in chains. Vulture saw his dead brother. Sokolov saw his empire burning. Elias saw Valeria — but smiling at him. Cassian, standing last, saw nothing. Only light. “The mirror can’t read him,” Malthea whispered in awe. “He’s too pure.” Bain slammed the sigil Seraphina gave him into the mirror’s base. “Seal it!” The relic screamed as the surface collapsed inward, sucked into a glowing crystal which Seraphina caught with precise timing.

Logan POV She was glowing! Her hair started rising up like it was electrified. Sparks were flying from her skin. The temperature in the room started rising rapidly. She looked magical! She was magical! She unlocked it! I was so entranced by her that I didn’t even realize that she jumped off the bed and flew out the window. The window broke, and the glass flew around the room. She shifted mid-air, and I could swear that her wolf wasn’t white anymore! It was silver!

Dawn’s pale light spilled through the shattered windows of the Silver Fang Citadel, but the crimson eclipse that draped the sky lent every surface a sickly red sheen. Nyra stood on the threshold of the throne room, her breath ragged, heart pounding like the drums of war. Selene, Ryker, and Kaelan flanked her, war‑torn and bruised... yet unbowed. Before them, something impossible gleamed: an obsidian mirror, freestanding in the marble antechamber. Its surface drank the red light, swallowing it into depths that seemed to shift and ripple. It had not been there yesterday.

The Watcher's smile turns predatory as he produces something that shouldn't exist—a mirror crafted from obsidian so pure it seems to absorb light itself, its surface rippling with veins of silver fire that pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat. The frame appears to be carved from crystallized starlight, edges sharp enough to cut reality itself, and when I look at it, my reflection doesn't show. Instead, the surface writhes with possibilities, showing glimpses of futures and pasts that exist in the spaces between what is and what could be.

In the center stands the mirror. It’s not what Bianca expected. No grand pedestal. No silver frame. Just a tall, narrow slab of obsidian resting between two stone holders. Its surface ripples faintly, like oil over water. The air around it pulses. Bianca takes a slow step back. “You sure you want to do this?” she whispers. “No,” Lumina says again. “But I have to.” She walks forward. Each step feels heavier than the last. The mirror hums softly, as though recognizing her presence. Lumina closes her eyes, steadying herself.

Lisa watched, utterly fascinated, a connoisseur appreciating fine wine. The blue light swirling. Lyra’s struggles weakened, her vibrant green eyes dimming, fading to a dull, lifeless grey. Her body slumped, utterly still, as the last wisp of sapphire essence vanished. The whine died. Silence, thick and suffocating. Lisa carefully picked up the dark blue crystal, palm-sized crystal, radiating a deep, mesmerizing blue light—the concentrated essence of Lyra’s life, her spirit, her laughter. Lisa held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, her face alight with covetous delight.

The shadows shied away, hissing like burning steam and then came the silence. Serena stood. Mirage shimmered in the centre of the stone circle. A mirror formed. But it didn’t show her. It depicted twelve wolves, standing high on a ridge of black rock, howling into the wind. One of them is standing in the middle — silver-eyed, fire beneath her pelt. Serakha. The mirror cracked. A line down the center. And up came Serena’s reflection. Changed. Eyes like moonlight and hair dusted with silver at the tips. The forest’s voice came back — low, ancient, gentle.

"And as soon as I break this mirror, you won't even have that." "Break it, then," Subject Zero challenged, her white eyes glowing with a manic, ancient glee. "Break every mirror in the city. Shatter every window. Drain every well. It won't matter. The resonance has reached the upper atmosphere. The ice in the clouds is already forming into a perfect, celestial lens. By sunset, the sky will be a single, flawless mirror, and the Mother will step through to claim her garden." "Not if I kill you first," Nomo roared, swinging the hammer with all his might.

For the first time, the shadows on the walls moved against the light instead of with it — slow, deliberate, like listening. Corren didn’t notice. He leaned closer to the basin, eyes narrowing. “She moves north.” Lysia’s smile sharpened. “Then our moment has come.” From beneath the table, she withdrew a small coffer — polished black wood inlaid with crescent silver. She opened it, revealing a fragment of crystal no larger than a fingertip. It pulsed faintly red. “The mirror shard,” she said. “The same used when Veylan was cast down. It still remembers him.”