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The forest is quiet, the usual chirping of birds and rustling of small animals has stilled, like even nature is holding its breath.

Lumina walks slowly, her boot brushing against the moss-covered floor of the woods. The silence between her and Bianca is thick, Bianca still followed her after she said she wanted to go alone, their unspoken worries louder than words. Something is terribly wrong. They’ve tried everything — herbs, enchantments, even old Lycan rituals. Nothing has helped Theon. His condition isn’t normal. Not even magical.

Bianca walks a few steps behind her, the hem of her black cloak brushing fallen leaves as she keeps scanning the woods.

“You’re sure it’s here?” she finally asks, her voice low.

“No,” Lumina answers without turning. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Her fingers graze the bark of an old twisted tree as they pass. It’s the third time they’ve circled the area, and still, the shrine remains hidden. Time feels different here, it feels heavy and cold, like the air is pressing down on them, warning them to turn back.

But Lumina doesn’t stop.

Bianca exhales sharply. “You know this is madness, right? That mirror hasn’t been touched in five centuries.”

Lumina turns her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “That’s because no one ever had to.”

They continue in silence again. The trees grow denser, older, and the deeper they go, the more the light dims, as though the sun itself refuses to see what’s hidden ahead. A breeze picks up, carrying the smell of damp soil and something older — burnt herbs and forgotten secrets.

It’s Bianca who spots the stone first. Half-buried in the earth, covered in moss, carved with symbols that shift faintly when touched by sunlight.

“Here,” she says, brushing it clean.

Lumina crouches beside her, tracing the sigils with her fingers. Cold energy pulses from the stone, crawling up her arm. Her stomach knots. This is it.

The ground shifts slightly as she presses the middle of the stone. A low grinding noise follows. Trees seem to bend away from them as an ancient wooden door rises slowly from beneath a thicket of roots. Dust spirals into the air.

The entrance is small, almost like it wasn’t meant for anyone living to enter. Bianca hesitates. Lumina doesn’t. She steps in, ducking under the wooden arch and descending the narrow staircase that spirals into the earth. Her hands brush the stone walls, guiding her. Bianca follows, her breathing quiet but uneven.

The shrine is cold. Not from lack of heat — the cold here is deeper. It lives in the bones. The room is small and circular, carved from old stone, with ivy trailing through cracks in the ceiling. In the center stands the mirror.

It’s not what Bianca expected.

No grand pedestal. No silver frame. Just a tall, narrow slab of obsidian resting between two stone holders. Its surface ripples faintly, like oil over water. The air around it pulses.

Bianca takes a slow step back.

“You sure you want to do this?” she whispers.

“No,” Lumina says again. “But I have to.”

She walks forward. Each step feels heavier than the last. The mirror hums softly, as though recognizing her presence. Lumina closes her eyes, steadying herself.

She lays her hands on the cold surface.

The air shifts.

A sharp, high-pitched ringing fills the room, but only she seems to hear it. Her eyes stay shut. She mutters the old chant, the one no witch has dared to speak in five hundred years.

“Show me what lies hidden… what threatens what I protect… what even time dares not reveal.”

The air thickens. The room begins to spin, not physically, but in sensation. The pressure behind her eyes grows.

Bianca watches, lips parted but silent.

And then — the mirror answers.

A flicker of light, then images burst forth.

Lumina’s body jerks as her eyes snap open, no longer seeing the shrine.

She sees blood. A pool of it, spreading beneath someone’s hand. The fingers twitch once, then go still.

She sees a woman in black, standing by a window, her face hidden by a veil. She turns slowly, and though Lumina can’t see her eyes, something about her expression makes her chest tighten.

Then — a baby crying. The sound echoes, sharp, desperate. It's alone, lying on stone, wrapped in a blanket stained with something dark.

A fire blazes next. Screams cut through the night, shadows running in panic. The flames twist, reaching for the sky like they’re alive.

Then the mirror goes still for half a second.

Lumina gasps.

And just before more can be revealed — a loud, echoing crack.

The mirror splinters down the center.

Bianca jumps, reaching for Lumina, who stumbles backward. The stone room trembles for a moment, dust raining from the ceiling as the mirror shatters completely, shards flying outward.

But none touch Lumina.

They freeze midair and fall gently to the floor, like glass rain.

There was sudden silence.

Only the sound of their breaths now, and the soft ticking noise the shards make as they settle.

Bianca moves forward. “What did you see?” she asks quickly, eyes searching Lumina’s pale face.

Lumina doesn’t answer right away. Her chest rises and falls slowly as she crouches, picking up one of the shards.

It’s ice cold.

“Blood,” she murmurs. “A woman, she feels familiar… A baby… fire…”

Her voice trails off.

Bianca frowns. “That’s it?”

“The mirror shattered before I could see more.”

“Why?” Bianca snaps. “Why would it do that?”

Lumina doesn’t know. She’s never heard of the mirror breaking — not even in the oldest texts. She sits down slowly, palms pressed to her thighs as her eyes drift back to the cracked obsidian on the floor.

Something isn’t right. Not just with Theon — not just with the magic — but something deeper. Older.

“The woman in black,” she says, more to herself now. “She wasn’t a witch. And the baby… I couldn’t tell whose it was. But it felt—”

She presses her lips together. The heaviness in her chest returns. The crying had felt too close. Too real.

Bianca crosses her arms. “What now?”

“I need to find out what the mirror was trying to show me before it broke.”

Bianca gestures at the shattered pieces. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I don’t know,” Lumina whispers. “But I will.”

She stands again, brushing dust from her dress.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” Bianca mutters. “This place… something about it—”

No remedy worked. No spell held. And now, even the mirror — the last sacred relic untouched in five centuries — had shattered instead of revealing what she needed.

She has more questions than answers.

And for a white witch who has always known what to do, that’s the most terrifying part.