Chapter 22: Through the Waking Mirror

The mansion stood as an elaborate paradox, at once infinite and confined, its shifting corridors laden with whispers that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Caelum paused, his breath catching as the hallway ahead stretched endlessly into darkness. Each step felt heavier, as though the air thickened with the weight of unspoken truths. Behind him, Dante’s measured footsteps echoed, a cadence that somehow synchronized with the pulse pounding in his ears.

"You hesitate," Dante observed, his voice sharp but laced with something almost tender—a surgeon dissecting a fragile truth. "Afraid of what you might find? Or perhaps... of what you won’t?"

Caelum turned to face him, his eyes narrowing. "You speak like someone who already knows. Why don’t you just tell me?"

Dante’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Answers are rarely gifts. They’re earned—or stolen."

The interplay between them crackled with tension, an unspoken dance of manipulation and defiance. Caelum hated how Dante seemed to wield control effortlessly, his presence as consuming as the mansion itself. Yet, there was something magnetic about him—a pull Caelum couldn’t fully resist.

As they walked, the mansion seemed to respond, the walls shimmering faintly as though alive. The ornate wallpaper dissolved into liquid patterns, fractals blooming and collapsing in on themselves. Caelum reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against the surface. It was cold and wet, yet when he pulled his hand away, it was dry.

"Don’t linger," Dante advised, his tone carrying an edge of warning. "The mansion feeds on curiosity."

Caelum dropped his hand, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "What even is this place? A reflection of me? Or some... parasite masquerading as my mind?"

Dante tilted his head, considering the question. "Why not both? The mansion doesn’t simply reflect—it amplifies. It takes the fragments of who you are and stretches them to their breaking point. What survives... well, that depends on you."

They turned a corner, the corridor splitting into three paths. Each was marked by an archway, their designs distinct. The first was carved with ivy, its tendrils seemingly frozen mid-growth. The second was smooth, polished marble, its surface unblemished. The third was raw and jagged, its edges like splintered bone.

"Choose," Dante said simply.

Caelum hesitated, his gaze flitting between the arches. "Is this another one of your games?"

Dante’s expression darkened. "Not mine. The mansion’s. But you’d best hurry. Indecision has its own consequences."

A low rumble resonated through the floor, the ground beneath Caelum trembling slightly. He stepped toward the third archway—the jagged one. Something about its roughness felt honest, even if it promised pain.

As he passed through, the air shifted. The corridor beyond was darker, the walls narrowing until they pressed uncomfortably close. He could feel their cold breath on his skin, the faint sensation of movement just out of sight. It was like walking into the maw of a living beast.

Dante followed, his presence unnervingly calm. "Interesting choice."

"Why?" Caelum asked, his voice tight. "What does it mean?"

Dante chuckled, the sound low and almost cruel. "Meaning is subjective, isn’t it? What matters is how you interpret it."

The path led to a cavernous chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness. In the center stood a single object: a mirror. It was cracked, the fractures spidering out from a central point. Each shard reflected a distorted version of Caelum, his features warped and fragmented.

"Look closely," Dante urged.

Caelum stepped forward, his reflection shifting with each movement. As he gazed into the glass, memories began to surface—flashes of a childhood steeped in confusion and isolation. A younger version of himself, sitting alone in a room, the walls adorned with drawings that seemed to move when no one was watching. His parents’ voices, muffled and sharp, arguing over what to do with their “troubled” son. The endless doctors, the pills that dulled the edges of his world but never silenced the whispers.

"You’ve always been searching," Dante said, his voice softer now. "For something real. Something that makes sense."

Caelum clenched his fists, his gaze locked on the mirror. "And what about you? What are you searching for?"

Dante’s expression shifted, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his composed facade. "Redemption. Or perhaps... revenge. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference."

The admission hung between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Caelum turned to face him fully. "You act like you know everything about me. But I don’t even know who you are."

Dante stepped closer, his presence looming. "I’m what you could be—if you let the mansion consume you. If you give in to the chaos."

The words sent a chill down Caelum’s spine. He looked back at the mirror, the fractured image of himself splintering further. The cracks spread beyond the glass, snaking across the floor and up the walls. The room began to tremble, the air thick with a growing pressure.

"It’s breaking," Caelum said, his voice edged with panic.

"No," Dante corrected. "You are."

The floor gave way beneath them, and they plunged into darkness.

---

When Caelum opened his eyes, he was back in the hallway, but something was different. The walls were lined with portraits—each one a version of himself, captured at different ages and in various states of emotion. Some looked serene, others tormented. One, in particular, caught his attention. It was a version of him with hollow eyes, his face twisted in a scream.

"Do you see it now?" Dante asked, his voice distant.

Caelum nodded slowly. "The mansion... it’s not just reflecting me. It’s dissecting me."

Dante smiled faintly. "And yet, you’re still standing. That’s something."

The weight of the realization pressed down on Caelum, but amidst the fear, there was a spark of determination. He wasn’t just a victim of the mansion—he was its architect, its prisoner, and perhaps, its master.

"If this place is me," he said, his voice steadying, "then I can change it."

Dante’s expression shifted, a hint of surprise breaking through his usual composure. "Bold words. Let’s see if you mean them."

The hallway began to twist, the portraits melting into shadows. Caelum stepped forward, his resolve hardening with each step. The mansion had taken so much from him—his sense of reality, his identity—but it hadn’t broken him. Not yet.

And as long as he kept moving, it never would.