Reflekta Miraculous Novels & Stories

A row of glass vials stands sentinel on a rickety shelf—each containing a unique essence: wolfsbane, moonflower, etc. But my purpose lies beyond these trinkets. I seek the “Mirror of Truth,” a fabled artifact said to reveal the soul’s darkest depths. It is wrapped in a red cloth, hidden beneath a stack of yellowed parchments. The cloth bears stains—perhaps blood, perhaps tears. I unwind it carefully, revealing the mirror’s polished surface. Its edges are jagged, as if it has been shattered and painstakingly pieced back together. As I gaze into the mirror, my reflection wavers. The room behind me blurs, replaced by a moonlit forest. The mirror does not merely reflect; it conjures memories. I

Mirabella said softly, determination creeping into her tone, “if the prophecy is true. If my granddaughter will be the one to fulfill it.” The figure raised a delicate hand, gesturing slowly as if weaving through unseen strands of fate. Mirabella stepped forward, her heart pounding, and together they pressed their palms to the surface of the mirror that bridged their realities—this very mirror, now pulsating with dormant runes, holding secrets that could shatter worlds. As their hands connected, a jolt of energy flared between them, electric and alive. The mirror ignited with brilliance. And from its depths emerged a vision: a girl—dark curls falling wildly around her face—stood in a grove e

Amer Len said to her. She looked at me and then back at him. "No. I wasn't expecting it." "We haven't told anyone yet." I squeezed her hand, hoping she would continue playing along. "Is there a reason your family wouldn't approve?" Amer Len asked. "My experience with Ms. Nichols has been very positive. She's intelligent and competent. And from what I can see, she's quite lovely. What more could a man want?" Great. Exactly what I needed—someone praising my assistant's physical appearance.

A single stone tablet—buried beneath the foundation of the flame circle—cracked open during the chaos. It didn’t break. It opened. Inside? But a mirror. Elara knelt, staring into it, and saw herself. Not as she was. But as she could have been— If she had accepted the first flame— If she had followed the Prophet’s voice in the Rift—If she had let go of everything she loved. The mirror shimmered, and her reflection smiled. The Mirror That Remembers. Elara stared into the ancient mirror beneath the flame chamber. It didn’t reflect the present. It showed possibilities. A her that had never hesitated. Never mourned. Never turned away from the flame.

MIRA'S POV:- "The powers she just used were exactly like the powers Fredrick possessed. And Mira was gifted her powers by the late Mr and Mrs MacCarthy. And everyone in this courtroom knows that Fredrick's powers were nothing like his parents. He was different. He was a hybrid. And the main reason why I am called in this courtroom. Mrs Mira MacCarthy, that is what I would call her after knowing the fact that she is pregnant with Mr Fredrick MacCarthy's child." I gasped loudly as I heard what that old man said in the end. My eyes moistened up as I covered my mouth with my palm.

Smirking at him, Amara raised her hand in front of the congregation, "Minho has something to share." Minho gave her another dirty look, quick enough so only Amara would notice. But it was too late. The spotlight was on him now, so he squared his shoulders to address his brethren. "The Filipino Mirror is here," he announced somewhat reluctantly. As expected, gasps arose from the legions of angels behind him, and those on stage sat astounded in their seats. Even Michael, who usually didn't get fazed, was taken aback. "Minho found her by accident," Amara reported.

Light exploded from the relic in a blinding flash, swallowing everything. The brilliant radiance of the relic dulled, soaking the chamber in a horrid, scintillating mist. Luna heaved with effort as the relic pulsed against her skin. Powered inside her now was a raging storm barely held in check, and her fists were clenched tightly. Mira's jaw worked, lips curling. "You think this is about justification? About morality? This is about survival. Without the moon's favor, we're nothing."

“I think I’m still finding it. But I’m getting there.” Miriam reached out and gently placed her hand on Elara’s arm. “You’ve come so far, my dear. You’ve shown such strength, such resilience. And through it all, you’ve managed to keep your heart open. That’s something to be proud of.” Elara’s eyes stung with unshed tears, and she smiled through the emotion that welled up inside her. Miriam’s words, though simple, carried a weight that felt like a balm to the unspoken wounds Elara still carried. It was in these small moments—these acts of kindness and affirmation—that Elara realized how deeply she had come to cherish Miriam’s presence in her life.

“Sounds awful.” “It was effective,” he said simply. Nyra nodded. “Classic soul-mirroring technique. Rooted in the same logic as the Confession Basin near Aemrys. Structural Arcana: Reflection and Reversal, Volume 1, page 93.” Thalia leaned toward me. “Does she ever not have a reference?” “I’m starting to suspect no,” I whispered. “I heard that,” Nyra said calmly, turning the page. Despite myself, I smiled. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

she whispered. Her reflection smiled. Lila recoiled, heart slamming in her chest. “No…” The reflection didn’t mirror her movement. It tilted its head, eyes glowing amber-gold instead of hazel. A cruel, knowing smile tugged at its lips. “Finally,” the reflection said softly, its voice identical to hers but layered with an echo that carried ancient malice. “You’ve woken.” Lila stumbled backward, scrambling in the dirt. “You’re not real—” “Oh, I’m as real as you,” the reflection interrupted, stepping out of the water like it was air. Droplets hung around her like frozen tears. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, Lila. Too long.”