Not consciously.

But her feet had carried her there all the same—through winding stone paths and moss-covered stairways, up past flickering torches and ancient carvings, until she stood again before the arching doorway where she had once found the mirror.

The mirror hadn’t changed.

Still cracked.

Still leaning crookedly against the wall.

But this time, something had changed in her.

She no longer flinched at her reflection.

Instead, she stepped toward it, hands brushing away the dust that had returned since her last visit. For a moment, the mirror shimmered—not with magic, but with memory.

And then she saw it.

Not her face.

But a flash of someone else.

A girl.

Standing where Eira stood now. Pale hair. Hollow eyes. And then—gone.

Eira stumbled back, breath caught in her throat.

Had the mirror always been this heavy with presence?

She crouched beside it, running her fingers along its frame. That’s when she noticed the carvings on the wood—thin etchings, barely visible.

Letters.

Initials?

She leaned closer, tracing them aloud.

“A… L…?”

Another below it. Faded by time.

“S. T.”

And more, further down—names, scratched by trembling hands.

“Were they... keeping count?” Eira whispered.

A cold wind answered from the corridor.

She straightened and looked around. The hall, long abandoned, now hummed with memory.

She wandered further, following the corridor’s curve until it opened into a small chamber, lit only by the pale glow of sunlight slipping through a crack in the stone.

There, placed carefully on a low shelf, sat a ribbon—faded blue. The kind a girl might have worn in her hair. It was brittle to the touch.

Next to it, a child's wooden figurine, carved into the shape of a fox. One eye missing.

These weren’t just lost objects.

They were tokens.

Memories.

Left behind by others who had been sent here.

Her chest tightened. She sat, cross-legged, surrounded by them, unsure if she was trespassing in someone’s grief—or if they had left these for her to find.

The mirror. The names. The tokens.

They were warnings.

---

Later that night, she didn't go to dinner.

She stayed in her chamber, the ribbon clutched in her hand. Her thoughts were loud, louder than the song now. She didn’t notice when the Dragon King entered.

Only when his shadow stretched across the room did she lift her gaze.

"You knew about them, didn’t you?"

His silence was all the answer she needed.

“I found their things,” she said. “They were girls, like me. Chosen. Left here. Forgotten.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “Not forgotten.”

“Then what, exactly?”

Her voice cracked. “What happened to them?”

He crossed the room in two strides. Stopped only a breath away.

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

She looked up at him—angry, aching.

“Then show me,” she whispered.

His hand lifted, almost touched her cheek. Then, as always, he pulled back.

“I’m trying to protect you, Eira.”

Her laugh was bitter.

“From what? The truth? Or the same fate they met?”

He didn’t answer.

But that night, he stood outside her chamber long after she slept.

Watching.

Haunted.