Chapter 8 Hall of Mirrors
The next day started at dusk. Like every day that would follow during my time at Elarion, I found myself in the Hall of Mirrors for the first time. It shimmered, pulsed, and thrummed with magic so sharp it felt like it could slice through skin. It wasn’t just beautiful, it was deadly.
A polished mirror stretched beneath my boots like frozen glass. Around me, walls, floors, even the domed ceiling above. Every inch reflected us back a thousand times. Standing inside a blade, I realized, meant no shadows and no flaws. There were only endless duplications of every fear you held.
Dusk was chosen for combat in the Hall of Mirrors. It was the brief moment when Sunheart and Moonveil magic could recharge in unison beneath both sun and moon.
All the first-years wore fitted green uniforms. My own set left my defined lines of my stomach exposed. Magic wasn’t effortless; it was like running, a full-body exercise demanding everything from you. Though I was strong and toned, some of the other males and females around me looked even more so.
Still, I was here. And I was ready.
I caught myself studying the other Dragontails.
My gaze drifted from face to face as I searched their eyes for a hint of strength.
The brighter the glow, the greater their power.
A wielder’s strength was measured by the potency of their fire or shadow, and by the number of magical traces in their bloodline.
Most wielders possessed one to three magical traces, ranging from powerful affinities like Shakari’s command of ice, my mother’s foresight, or my father’s mind-bending to subtler ones, such as accelerating hair growth or sharpening the senses.
Everyone at Elarion was among the island’s most carefully chosen magic wielders. Around me, eyes of molten gold and glinting silver glowed with restrained strength.
Mine burned bright gold, even though my traces had yet to awaken. Perhaps coming from a strong, magical, and royal bloodline would give me the strength to succeed within these walls.
“First-years,” Professor Hog’s voice cracked across the hall.
“Welcome to The Hall of Mirrors for magical combat class. You will want to pay special attention to this practice if you want to pass the second and third tests of your Dragontail Trials. Here is where you improve your magical traces and faction of magic for combat and war. If you don’t master this hall, you will never pass the dragon illusion. ”
My body tensed at his words. I didn’t know all the details of the trials like Shakari, but everyone knew the last one involved defeating a dragon illusion like those in the Wastelands.
“These mirrors strip all protection heirlooms, even royal ones. Nothing survives inside this hall.”
A shiver ran down my spine. The heirloom, the Solenhart sigil etched into my wrist, lay cold and lifeless. Every layer of protection I’d grown up under had vanished the moment I stepped into the mirrors.
“You will feel pain,” he said. “Real, violent pain. But the mirrors won’t let you die. They’ll bring you back. Eventually.”
I stood still. Listening. I swallowed the dread rising in my throat.
“This class is for the entire legion, regardless of year,” he announced, his voice cutting through the hall.
Magical drills will take place three days a week; combat challenges against a randomly chosen opponent fill the other two.
Fight until one of you is pinned for five seconds, taps out, or loses consciousness.
A faint, ruthless smile touched his mouth.
“Five-minute limit.” If there’s no winner, both walk free.
But if you win, you earn a day pass outside Elarion this weekend. ” The tension in the room tripled.
“Lorik Draventh and Ugo Zeyu. Demonstrate to the first-year how it is done.” the professor demanded.
They stepped onto the floor as if they owned it.
Lorik was calm, unreadable, and wrapped in that Dragontail confidence that warned Don’t blink.
Ugo was taller, broader, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, as if the entire situation were some private joke meant only for him. No signal. No countdown.
Lorik struck first.
He slammed his fist into the mirrored floor. Instantly, darkness consumed everything. Light, sound and reflection swallowed whole. Shadow magic spilled like ink, devouring the arena until only black glass glimmered faintly beneath their feet.
Then Ugo countered.
Sunfire exploded from his palms, searing the void in a blinding flare. Thunder cracked as Lorik answered, summoning a lightning bolt that leapt from his hands. Ugo reacted instantly, raising a swirling cloud shield that split the strike into harmless sparks.
Ugo commanded storms, summoning and shaping them at will, vast, untamed power. But Lorik... Lorik wielded lightning itself. That made him far more dangerous.
Lorik conjured sleek shadow blades. He hurled them at Ugo in a deadly spiral.
Ugo answered with a surge of power, unleashing a storm so fierce it tore the air apart.
Clouds roared to life, wind and rain colliding in a furious blast that shattered the floor's reflection.
Ripples of heat and steam rose from the rain-slick mirrors.
Lorik moved effortlessly, slipping between strikes as darkness carried him forward. Each lightning flash carved his silhouette was relentless, and in control.
Ugo lifted his hands, gathering the storm. Lightning surged brilliantly, relentless, alive. His Sunheart power filled the chamber with raging light.
Lorik vanished again, moving through shadow. He reappeared beside Ugo in an instant. His hand shot out, fingers pressing against Ugo’s temples.
The storm died. The fire faded.
Everything went still.
Ugo froze, breath caught, body trembling. Lorik’s eyes glowed silver as his mind magic took hold. He whispered something only Ugo heard.
Ugo’s expression changed, first defiance, then terror. He dropped to his knees and eyes blank. The silence was absolute.
Lorik stepped back, letting him fall. After a moment, Ugo gasped awake, shaking like from a nightmare.
Rowan leaned close to me and murmured,
“He gets in your head, makes you see your worst fear. If you believe it, it breaks you.”
Lorik straightened, wiping the blood from his mouth calm as ever. The storm had vanished. No fire, no lightning remained, just the faint scent of ozone clinging to the air.
Lorik Draventh was raw power wrapped in reckless darkness.
He bore three dominant magical traces: lightning, mind-bending, and portaling.
It was an impossible mix for most, even nobles.
For a commoner, it was unheard of. I hadn’t known his name until earlier that week, but now his presence was impossible to ignore.
Magic flowed through bloodlines in ways only the Gods could grasp—mysterious, unpredictable, never entirely fair.
Ugo was remarkable. He controlled strength forged through discipline but couldn’t compare. Everyone watching knew who won.
I swallowed hard, truth burning in my throat.
The most powerful Dragontail in Elarion despised me and everything my family stood for.
He couldn’t kill me outright, but there were other ways to make me pay.
Fear coiled, sharp and familiar, in my chest. I forced it down.
I wouldn’t let him see it. I would not falter.
Professor Hog’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. He clapped once, sharp, and final.
“The first challenge of the week is today. first-years will start.”
There were no soft beginnings in Dragontail, only a plunge straight into combat. This wasn’t a lesson, but a warning. The pairings were anything but random.
All first-years were paired with second-years in combat. Every match reminded us of where we stood. We had no experience. No chance. This wasn’t training. It was calculated humiliation.
Student after student stepped forward and fell.
Rowan faced Rory Rey and was defeated in under thirty seconds. He combined his magical trace of wind with fire bursts, but it barely slowed her. Rory moved like the storm she commanded, calling rain and shadow from the air. Each motion was precise, deliberate, honed by years of training.
Her strength wasn’t just magical; it was carved into her.
The tank top she wore revealed abdominal muscles cut from discipline—hard, defined, unapologetically real.
She was a force built from sweat and shadow.
She embodied everything Moonveils were known for: mastery of both magic and body, balance between storm and control.
Sunhearts weren’t encouraged to fight as they were.
Tran lasted a full minute against a broad-shouldered second-year Sunheart before he was slammed to the ground with a burst of kinetic force.
His wind magic was strong, but not enough against a warrior who had been shaped within these mirrored walls for a year.
Shakari held out longer. She was fast, trained by her father, unshakably proud.
Her opponent, a Moonveil second-year, dodged, countered, struck with precision.
For a moment, she seemed to hold her own.
But then he caught her in a net of shadows.
One hand around her throat.
She held as long as she could but was forced to tap out.
A boy from the Golden City lasted fifteen seconds before being thrown into a wall and knocked out cold. A girl from the Silver City summoned flames only to be drenched by river of magic from the mirrored floor.
Each fall came quicker than the last.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
Ten.
No one from our year was ever going to win.
Not even close.
Then…
“Thea Solenhart and…”
My blood ran cold. I was so terrified that I couldn't even register my opponent's name. I had no idea how to begin a real magical duel. The games and mock battles in the Glass Castle were nothing compared to the training most of them had endured.
I stepped forward, heart slamming against my ribs. Don’t show fear.
Across the hall, my opponent stepped into the ring.
A second-year Sunheart.
She was... breathtaking.
She had her black hair bound into twin braids, each wrapped in golden wire.
Her high cheekbones and flawless porcelain skin shimmered in the mirror light.
Her eyes were elongated and bright gold, but not as bright as mine.
She walked like a dancer, deadly and lithe, hips swaying with a cruel sort of grace.
“Marla Yung,” she said, smiling. “I bet you know who I am.”
I didn’t answer. I wielded a fireball in my palm.
I didn’t need to know who she was.
But I hated that I wanted to.
“You’re the Solenhart brat,” she continued, circling. “The one Thalen dumped for better magic. And better... other things.”
I hurled the fireball. She ducked low. The spell scorched across the floor and detonated in a burst of light. Marla barely flinched.
I wielded again. Faster.
But I could feel the drain already. The fire was taking control of me. My emotions were taking my focus.
I steadied my breath and said: “I still blame Thalen more.”
She smiled. “Oh, honey. He was so good to me. The way he pinned me against the stairwell wall. Touched me like I was his.”
Liar. She had to be lying.
“I’m sure if you’d actually given him what he needed,” she cooed, “he wouldn’t have come crawling to me.”
I screamed and summoned everything I had.
Light exploded from my hands; wild and vicious and bright enough to blind. The mirrors flared, catching the fire as if it arced toward her.
Marla barely flinched, though I heard gasps from the crowd.
She lifted her arms and summoned a massive wind, biting wind and twisted my flames backward, the heat reversing midair and charging straight toward me.
I raised fire as quickly as I could react, not that fire shields were especially powerful, but at least they did work against fire magic. But she was faster, and I left a gap on my right side, and her fire hit me, not all of it, but enough.
Pain licked across my arm. I stumbled, breathing hard.
“You’re unstable and sloppy. You have no control.” Marla chastised.
I launched another strike of blades made out of fire, sharp and screaming as they tore through the air and toward her.
She dodged them.
Wind erupted from her hands again like a shockwave. It slammed into my chest and flung me backward.
My back cracked against the mirror wall.
The impact sent stars bursting across my vision. My lungs locked. No air.
Somewhere through the ringing in my ears, I heard Professor Hog shout that the combat was over.
Then my knees gave out, and I hit the floor.
She stepped toward me, still smiling. “Dragontail isn’t for people like you. You’re a court girl in a soldier’s costume.”
I gasped. Choking.
Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
“Go back to Emberkeep.”
I pushed myself to my knees and stood slowly, legs trembling. My arm burned where the fire had lashed me.
And I looked every single person in the eye.
Because I might’ve lost, but I was still standing.
Second- and third-years watched me. Silent. Measured.
Lorik Draventh and Rory Rey stood just past the threshold, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like they had been waiting for me.
“You call that combat, Princess?” Lorik said, with a dry, cutting tone. “This is not Emberkeep. You need to control your emotions and use your magical traces in combination with your fire.”
“She doesn’t have any magical traces, Lorik. Haven’t you seen?” Rory added with a mocking tone.
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And I hated that he was.
The pain wasn’t that severe, not compared to the shame.
I was strong. I knew I was, but that Sunheart got in my head. Not because she slept with Thalen. I wasn’t jealous.
Not anymore.
But it still reminded me of a scar I thought was healed. Marla reminded me in a cruel and despicable way of how Thalen broke my heart.
I sat down next to Shakari. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She just reached over and grabbed my hand, grounding me like she always did. That one press of her palm into mine was all I needed to remember, I wasn’t alone. I had never been. She was my friend. My sister.
And with her beside me, I would always be okay.