26. Chapter Twenty Six #2
Julian’s quarters were modest, cramped, and cluttered with relics of another life: faded maps, a brass compass, a tangled net hung like a tapestry.
A ship’s wheel leaned in the corner, long since detached from any vessel.
The whole place smelled faintly of salt despite being buried under a mountain.
He didn’t sit behind his desk—just dropped into an armchair with a sigh, then motioned at me. “Talk.”
I hesitated for only a moment before the words spilled out: the cold chamber, the paintings, the mirror, how it pulled at me. How it saw me. And then Vyper—how he turned. How he spoke. How his eyes locked onto mine like he’d reached across the veil and touched my soul.
Julian listened, half-shadowed by the flickering lanterns.
For all his flair, he didn’t interrupt once, not even with a quip.
When I finished, he rubbed his face with both palms and let out a gusty exhale.
“Well,” he said at last, mustache twitching.
“Are you quite sure it wasn’t symbolic? Visions are tricksy things—sneaky little bastards. They rarely play fair.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” I said, more forcefully than I intended. “It was… contact. He knew I was there. He said, ‘The Seer is here.’ He felt me.”
Julian’s good humor dimmed. His mustache twitched downward as his eyes sharpened, weighing my words.
“I’ve seen what she looks like after a vision,” Drake said, arms folding. “This was different. Her Rift was… crackling. I could feel it before she woke up.”
Julian tilted his head, his gaze narrowing like a hawk sighting prey. “Why were you in her bed, Captain?”
The silence that followed was brutal. My face flushed hot. Drake’s jaw flexed once, twice, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t need to—the slip was already hanging between us.
Julian leaned back slowly in his chair, steepling his long fingers as though he’d just won a hand of cards. “Interesting. I don’t recall ‘bedside watchman’ being one of the duties I assigned you.” He shot a dark look at Drake.
“Commander—” Drake began, but his voice came low, tight.
Julian cut him off with a single raised hand, his tone cool and clipped. “Another time. We don’t have the luxury.” He leaned forward, gaze sweeping the table. “Whatever this mirror is, we need to find it. Now.”
Minutes later we were inside the archives, the sconces flaring to life with a soft thrum as Ness traced an intricate sigil in the air. Golden light spilled across the cavernous space, illuminating the vast cathedral of stone and memory.
Stone shelves rose like canyon walls, their edges carved with ancient lettering.
Mineral veins shimmered faintly in the dark rock, like stars trapped underground.
The scent of wax, parchment, and cold stone hit me all at once—rich and grounding.
Even so, something about this place felt…
unsteady tonight. Like the air was thinner. Or maybe I was just different now.
“I almost forgot how massive this place is,” I murmured, my voice hushed.
Ness gave a faint smile. “Most of our history lives underground now. Like us.”
We passed glass cases holding ancient weapons, glowing vials, and strange tools I couldn’t name. One mirror caught my eye—just a little too silvery, its surface rippling like disturbed water. I looked away quickly.
“Are all of these magical?” I asked, brushing my fingers along the edge of a nearby shelf.
“Some,” Ness said. “Others are cursed. Some are just… waiting. We keep what we don’t dare destroy,” the way they said it made the hair on my arms rise.
We reached a wide, circular table nestled deep within the archive’s heart.
Tomes and scrolls lay scattered across it; their edges curled from age and use.
Ness wordlessly climbed a stepladder—fast and practiced despite its sway—and pulled a black leather-bound book from the very top shelf.
Its cover was cracked and ridged like dried skin.
I didn’t know why, but I held my breath.
They flipped through the pages with the care of someone defusing a bomb. And then—stopped.
The page looked back at me. I froze.
A silver serpent coiled around the edge of an obsidian mirror; its fangs bared, its tongue forking through the frame. But it was the reflection that paralyzed me: that face—the same one I’d seen in my vision. Mangled. Hollow-eyed. Grinning with sharp, jagged teeth as if it knew I was there.
My stomach dropped. I stepped backward, nearly tripping over my own feet.
“That’s it,” I whispered. My voice cracked like splintering ice. “That’s the mirror.”
Drake moved instantly, placing a hand on my back. Julian leaned in. Ness’s voice turned grave.
“I believe this to be the Vessel of Azh’raim.”
Julian’s brows furrowed. “What is it?”
Ness laid the book flat on the table, smoothing the edges with reverent fingers.
“Azh’raim was said to be the God of decay, darkness, and dominion.
No temples, no worshippers—just rumors. Fear.
This mirror… it was crafted to reach him.
Or something that claimed to be him. We don’t know.
All we have are scraps—burnt records, fragments of history. But if Vyper has it?—”
“He’s listening,” I said, my voice hollow. “He’s communing. That’s how he sensed me. That’s how he looked right at me.”
Julian’s face tightened. “It would explain a lot. The unnatural beasts. His uncanny timing. The King’s unnaturally long life.”
“But why would The King risk keeping something so powerful around?” I thought out loud.
“He needs him.” Julian answered simply.
Drake frowned, arms crossed tight. “Needs him for what? The bastard’s half demon already.”
“Exactly,” Julian said. “Vyper’s the only one who can see through our wards.
He’s the only one who can create beasts strong enough to match us in battle.
That kind of skill keeps the King’s throne safe when his soldiers can’t.
As long as Vyper keeps feeding him victories, the King doesn’t care where his magic comes from. ”
Ness adjusted their spectacles, voice clipped but thoughtful.
“We suspect the arrangement is transactional. Vyper offers the King intelligence, wards, and his beasts. In return, the King offers Vyper legitimacy, protection, and access to the court. To everyone else, he looks like a loyal servant—when in truth, he’s working a much darker bargain. ”
“Darker how?” I asked quietly.
Ness’s gaze flicked to me, then back to the parchment. “Azh’raim. Souls bartered for favors. Power traded like coin. He builds his army from the dead and the damned, and the King… allows it, because the King only sees results.”
Julian leaned back, a humorless smile tugging at his mustache.
“So here’s the truth: if we get to Vyper, we get to the King.
Cut off his warlock, and he loses the eyes that keep him in power.
But don’t mistake this for loyalty. Vyper doesn’t serve the King.
He uses him. One day, he’ll tire of playing the servant—and then we’ll see which master he truly serves. ”
Drake’s voice cut through the silence. “Can it be destroyed?”
Ness hesitated. Their gaze lingered on the face in the illustration.
“Most relics of this scale defy destruction. They twist the very laws of magic around them. But this one… this one was forged with malice. Its only purpose is to serve something that should never have been reached. If there’s any artifact that can be unmade—this is it. ”
Julian frowned. “Plainly, Ness.”
Ness looked up, voice flat. “If this mirror still exists—and if Vyper has it—it must be destroyed. Or it will destroy us.”
Silence followed, heavy as stone. I stared at the face on the page. Its inked eyes seemed deeper than before, as if it could see me again.
Drake’s hand slid into mine. “Then we do it.”
I nodded slowly, nausea still coiled in my gut. “Destroy the mirror… destroy Vyper… get closer to the King.”
Julian exhaled, quiet but resolute. “Then we plan. At first light. Dismissed.”
I slept deeply and, mercifully, didn’t dream. When I woke, Drake was gone, but a note waited for me on the desk:
Didn’t want to wake you. I’ll fill you in later—bringing lunch.
—D
I smiled faintly, but the quiet gnawed at me.
The silence felt too large without him. Trying to shake it, I sat at the vanity and opened my mother’s book.
Her signature—bold and looping—marked the first page, faded but unmistakable.
My fingers traced the ink. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
You started a rebellion? You, with the soft hands and lullabies and garden baskets?
But something wasn’t right.
The rebellion started over a century ago.
In my lesson with Ness only days ago, they said the rebellion had begun more than a hundred years ago. Riftreach itself was over a century old.
And you—you only lived into your forties.
The math hit me like a blow. My breath caught. Gods… that means you must have been—who knows how old when you died! The realization clawed through me, cold and impossible, and I stared at the page as if the ink might rearrange itself into an explanation.
I slammed the book shut and stood, pacing. My heart was hammering. Had my father lied to me, too? Had they both?
The door creaked open.
Drake stepped in, balancing a tray. “They had blueberry muffins?—”
“How old are you?” I blurted.
He froze mid-step. “What?”
I crossed my arms. “How old are you, Drake?”
“Uh—twenty-nine,” he said slowly, setting the tray down. “Eva, what’s going on?”
“Ness said my mother started the rebellion. With Julian. That was over a hundred years ago. She died in her forties. Explain that.”
Understanding dawned across his face, followed by a quiet wince. “Shit. Eva—I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?” My voice cracked.
“Riftborn age slower than humans,” he said gently. “A lot slower. It’s not something we talk about openly—there’s a reason. If people catch on, figure out what you are— you get hunted.”