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Theon's mother adjusts again in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shawl, eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other as if trying to pick up something invisible in the air. Her gaze finally settles on Lumina, who stands by the hearth grinding a pale root into paste with far more force than needed.

“You should let a maid do that.” Nana says quietly, voice low but firm. “But then, it seems none of this is working.”

Lumina doesn’t respond right away. Her jaw is clenched, and she keeps grinding. The bitter scent of the herb rises with the heat from the small fire, but even she knows it’s useless. She’s tried everything—fever reducers, psychic barriers, cleansing spells, even ancient Lycan remedies that aren’t supposed to mix with witch magic but were worth a shot. Nothing has changed.

The girl twin still cries into the night, her little body trembling under blankets no matter how tightly she’s held. And the boy twin, the one who first fell ill, barely moves at all now. His breath is shallow, his pulse thinner than it was yesterday. Whatever this is, it’s not just a fever. Something deeper is eating at them—something older.

Bianca sits on the far side of the room with her knees pulled up, arms looped around them, her face unreadable. She hasn’t spoken since the last remedy failed. She only watched, wide-eyed, as Lumina whispered spells over the boy’s chest, her hands glowing faintly, then dimming again with no effect.

“It’s as if something is blocking everything,” Bianca finally says. Her voice is low and strained. “Like there’s a wall… and we keep hitting it.”

“There is a wall,” Lumina mutters. She drops the pestle into the bowl and wipes her hands on her skirt. Her eyes are bloodshot, not from crying—she hasn’t had the time—but from pure mental exhaustion. “Whatever’s attacking them... it doesn’t want us to see it. Every time I try to look deeper, it pushes back.”

Nana stands slowly and walks toward the boy’s side. Her fingers tremble as she brushes back his damp hair, her brows drawing together in worry that she no longer bothers hiding. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not in all my years. And I’ve lived through centuries.”

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Lumina whispers. She sinks into the chair closest to her, palms flat against her thighs. “They’re linked, those two. They were born in sync, they breathe in rhythm. I should be able to feel what’s happening inside them, but it’s like someone’s cutting that link strand by strand.”

Bianca leans forward now, finally looking directly at Lumina. “Could it be spiritual? A curse?”

“No,” Lumina snaps, but then shakes her head and softens. “No, not a curse. If it were, I’d have sensed the origin. This is something different. Something that’s cloaked, hidden.”

Nana’s lips press together in a thin line. Her next words come slowly, cautiously. “Then maybe it’s time to stop searching with sight… and start searching with faith.”

Bianca frowns. “What does that mean?”

But Lumina already knows. She looks up, meeting the older woman’s gaze. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Nana replies. “The Sacred Mirror.”

Silence falls instantly.

Even the flames in the hearth seem to retreat, their glow suddenly quieter, more unsure.

Lumina blinks at her, the idea both impossible and terrifying. “That mirror hasn’t been touched in five hundred years. Not by a witch. Not by anyone.”

“I know.”

“No one even knows where it is anymore, Nana. The forest’s changed. The old paths are gone.”

“The Mirror still exists,” the older woman insists. “And it still calls. Only a Queen Mother can summon it, Lumina. And you are that.”

Bianca shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the sleeping children. “But what if the mirror doesn’t answer?”

“Then we’ve lost nothing more than time,” Nana says, calm but clear. “But if it does…”

“If it does,” Lumina finishes, “it might show us what we can’t see.”

A pause. The weight of the room settles deep.

Lumina rises, moving slowly to the window, eyes scanning the dark stretch of woods beyond. The trees blur together in shadow, but she knows those woods well. Or at least, she thought she did.

There are parts of the forest that reject memory, places the sun doesn’t touch, spots that even Lycans refuse to go near. Old places. Dangerous places.

The Sacred Mirror isn’t just old. It’s ancient. Forged by the first witches, bound by elemental blood, and sealed in a shrine so sacred even speaking its name had become forbidden in some circles. Legends said the mirror could reflect truth no magic could reveal. But legends also said it fed on the mind of the seeker—twisting their thoughts, testing their intentions.

“I’ll go with you,” Bianca says, breaking into Lumina’s thoughts.

“No,” Lumina answers quietly. “It won’t let you follow. Not unless it calls you.”

“And what if it doesn’t call you either?”

“Then it’s already decided I’m not worthy.”

Nana walks closer and places a gentle hand on Lumina’s arm. “Don’t speak like that. You were born for this.”

“Being born for something doesn’t mean I’m ready.”

“But you are,” Nana says. “If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be here now, asking things we swore we’d never ask again.”

Lumina doesn’t speak. Her mind races—over every tale she’s heard, every warning, every piece of old lore that spoke of the mirror and what it demanded from those who stood before it. It didn’t answer to magic. It didn’t bend to power. It listened only to truth… and only offered truth in return. No matter how brutal.

She glances at the twins again. The girl has stopped crying for now but clings to a warm blanket like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this world. Her breathing is soft, uneven. Her brother still doesn’t move.

If there’s a chance, even the smallest thread of hope that the mirror might offer a glimpse into what’s wrong with them—what’s draining their bond, what’s darkening their spirit—she has to take it.

Even if it means walking into a forest she’s never dared enter alone.

Even if it means facing something ancient and merciless.

She turns from the window and nods once.

“I’ll go.”

Bianca starts to rise but Lumina stops her with a look.

“No,” she repeats, firmer now. “I go alone. Prepare the herbs I asked for. Keep their temperature steady. I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“If you’re not?”

“I will be.”

Nana nods, quiet approval in her gaze. She says nothing else, only steps aside and lets Lumina pass.

Lumina pulls on her coat, ties her hair back. As she opens the back door, a rush of cold air meets her, sharp and damp with forest scent. She steps out, the door creaking behind her, and the night swallows her whole.

The grass is wet beneath her boots. The wind carries a hum—low, uncertain. The trees ahead are more shadow than shape, and every step forward feels like stepping into memory that isn’t hers.

The Mirror hasn’t been touched in 500 years.

She has no idea where to begin.

But it’s calling her.

She just has to listen hard enough to hear it.