Chapter 35: The Weight of Reflection

The air in the Hall of Echoes was heavy with anticipation. Each step Caelum took reverberated like a bell toll, the sound swallowed by the mansion’s oppressive silence. The archway before him pulsed faintly, not with light but something more alive—its rhythm akin to a heartbeat. It felt as though the mansion itself was watching, waiting for him to cross the threshold.

His reflection flickered erratically across the warped surfaces of the mirrors lining the walls. Each one captured him differently: older, younger, triumphant, defeated. A dozen versions of himself stared back, their expressions unreadable.

“This is a test,” the voice murmured, its tone serpentine, sliding under his skin. “But not the kind you’ve prepared for.”

Beyond the archway, Elias stood at the room’s center, his figure haloed by dim, fractured light. He wasn’t still—his body was a blur of restless motion. He paced in tight circles, his hand brushing the hilt of a blade sheathed at his side. The mirrors around him flickered, showing fragmented moments from his past: kneeling in a cathedral, standing on a precipice, blood-stained hands trembling.

“Elias,” Caelum called, his voice cutting through the silence.

Elias froze mid-step, his face unreadable as he turned. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched taut between them, pregnant with unspoken truths.

“Finally,” Elias said, his tone laced with bitter amusement. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

The room shifted as Caelum stepped fully into the Hall. The mirrors trembled, rippling like water disturbed by an unseen breeze. Images flickered—fractured, impossible scenes that bled into one another. Caelum saw himself again and again: screaming, laughing, running.

“Do you see it yet?” Elias asked, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “The mansion doesn’t just show you what you are. It shows you what you could become.”

Caelum stopped a few paces away, his gaze fixed on Elias. “Is that what you’re afraid of? What you’ll become?”

Elias’s bitter laugh echoed through the chamber. “I’m not afraid of becoming anything. I’ve already seen it all. Every possibility, every failure. That’s the curse of this place, Caelum—it shows you everything, and leaves you to decide which version of yourself will survive.”

Elias drew the blade from its sheath. Its surface shimmered, etched with intricate runes that seemed to move of their own accord. The air around it hummed, the vibrations resonating deep in Caelum’s chest.

“This is yours,” Elias said, holding the weapon out. His hand trembled ever so slightly, betraying an unease he couldn’t mask. “The mansion offered it to me once, too. A chance to break free. But I…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “I wasn’t strong enough to take it.”

Caelum stared at the blade, unease coiling in his gut. “And you think I am?”

Elias’s eyes locked onto his, sharp and piercing. “I think you’re either strong enough to take it—or foolish enough to try. Either way, the choice is yours.”

As Caelum reached for the blade, the room darkened. Shadows spilled from the mirrors like ink, pooling on the floor and coalescing into forms. Skeletal figures draped in flowing, mirror-like skin rose from the darkness, their movements unnaturally fluid.

They spoke in fragmented voices, each word a dagger of doubt:

Elias moved to Caelum’s side, his blade raised. “They won’t let you take it without a fight,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them.

“Are they real?” Caelum asked, his grip tightening on the offered blade.

Elias’s expression twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Does it matter?”

The fight was a surreal dance of chaos and clarity. Each strike Caelum landed caused the figures to shatter like glass, only for the shards to reform into new shapes. But every blow came at a cost. With each swing, a memory surfaced: his mother’s laughter, his father’s anger, his own voice screaming in the dark.

Elias fought beside him, his movements precise yet brutal, like a man wielding his blade against not just the shadows but his own inner demons.

“You think this is about strength?” Elias shouted over the cacophony. “It’s not! It’s about choice. About who you’re willing to become!”

Caelum didn’t respond. His focus narrowed, his vision blurring as the room seemed to warp around him. The mansion’s voice rose above the din, splintering into a cacophony of tones:

As the last shadow fell, Caelum stood amidst the chaos, his breath ragged. The blade in his hand felt heavier now, its surface dull and cracked. Elias stood a few feet away, his blade lowered, his expression unreadable.

“What now?” Caelum asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elias smiled faintly, but there was no joy in it. “Now you decide. The mansion isn’t done with you yet.”

Caelum’s gaze drifted to the mirrors. One showed him standing alone in the ruins of the mansion, his reflection warped and monstrous. Another showed him walking away, the blade discarded at his feet.

“What will it be, Caelum?” Elias asked, his voice soft but insistent.

 Caelum’s grip tightened on the blade, his gaze steady as he stepped toward the largest mirror. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the Hall, followed by silence.