Round 203 Transcript

Halie takes the box from Jeane and examines the mirror more closely, her fingers tracing the edge of its frame. The soft blue light emanating from within seems to be pulling her in, and she leans closer, her face inches from the glass. As she does, the mirror's surface ripples, like water disturbed by a stone, and a figure begins to take shape within its depths. It's a woman, tall and statuesque, with skin as white as marble and hair as black as the night. Her eyes, however, are what catch Halie's attention – they burn with an inner fire that seems to be drawing her in. The mirror's light intensifies, and the air around it begins to charged with magical energy. Jeane's ward pulses rapidly, warning of a potential trap or spell.

The mirror pulses again, its blue light seeming to call out from within the frame. I watch Halie lean in closer, her face inches away, and I can see the way her eyes widen with fascination at whatever she sees inside it. My wings shift instinctively behind me; something about this whole setup feels wrong on a bone-deep level that even my exhaustion can't fully mask. That tendril is practically vibrating now. It's like having a pet rat in your pocket that suddenly starts freaking out and there's no reason for it. I step closer to Halie, trying to get a better look at what she's seeing inside the mirror. The woman with fire-eyes—that can't be good. Magical entities who show up uninvited in glowing artifacts are usually either very powerful or very dangerous, often both. "Halie," I say sharply, "step back. Now." My voice cuts through whatever trance she's falling into—I've seen this before with lesser enchanted items, and it never ends well. I hold out my free hand, a simple detection spell forming between my fingers. It flares once—a warning—and then settles into an ominous red glow. There are layers of enchantments on this thing, old magic that feels wrong even to me. And whatever's inside is watching us.*

I glance at the still-open stone door and the dark water-stained tunnel beyond it. The glyphs are still active, but quieter now—that could mean we're running out of time before Zha'thik or whoever else gets back here. Or it could mean that whatever's in this mirror is more important to the trials than we thought. "Abby," I say without looking away from Halie and the mirror, "keep an eye on our exit. If anything moves down there—anything at all—I want to know immediately." My fingers tighten around the box as I prepare another spell, this one designed to dispel minor enchantments. We need to figure out what this thing does before it figures out how to use us. Halie— I meet her eyes in the mirror's reflection—whatever you're seeing in there, ignore it. That thing is fishing for something, and I don't want us on its hook. The tendril pulses harder. It’s almost like it’s warning me specifically now, a frantic beat that makes my skin crawl. Fine. If we’re doing this, let's do it right. I hold the box steady with one hand while forming a ward around Halie and myself with the other—it takes nearly all of my remaining magic to maintain both simultaneously, but I don’t have much choice.

"What can you see?" I ask her, my voice low. "Exactly. Every detail."

My wings shift restlessly behind me as I prepare for whatever’s coming next.* Because if this is a trap—and it absolutely feels like one—then knowing what kind of trap it is might be the only thing that saves us.

I nod at Jeane's order, my eyes darting nervously between the dark tunnel and the strange mirror. The air in here is thick with a mixture of old magic and the dampness from the ocean outside, making it hard to breathe. I can feel every hair on my arms standing up as I strain my ears for any sound of movement from the corridor we just left.
As Jeane works on whatever spell she's weaving around Halie and herself, I take a few hesitant steps towards the open doorway, the heavy stone door looming behind me like an ominous presence. The water-stained tunnel looks even more foreboding now that I'm closer—it's pitch black beyond a few yards, and the sound of dripping water echoes from somewhere deep inside it. But Jeane was right. We need to know if something is coming.
I squint into the darkness, trying to make out any shapes or movement. The tendril against my breast pulses once more, a sharp warning that makes me jump. I press a hand over it instinctively, as if that could silence its frantic beating. It feels hotter than ever, almost feverishly so.
Suddenly, a soft rustling sound comes from the depths of the tunnel, followed by a low growl that chills me to the bone. My heart leaps into my throat. Whatever it is, it sounds big—and angry.
"Jeane," I call out, my voice a strained whisper, "something's coming!"