Chapter 1: The Abyss of Eternity

Chapter 1: The Mirror of Lost Things

The mist rolled thick and slow through the streets of Velarion, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Towers of black stone loomed overhead, their windows glowing faintly with blue flame—a poor imitation of starlight in a sky that never fully darkened. Somewhere in the distance, the mournful howl of a sea-wind drifted through the alleyways.

Emily Wren pulled her cloak tighter against the cold, her boots splashing through puddles left by the Ghost Sea’s endless tide. Velarion always felt like it was on the brink of something—something vast and ancient, waiting just beneath the surface. Tonight, that feeling was stronger than ever.

She hadn’t meant to wander this far. She should have been at the Hall of Echoes, sifting through ancient scrolls about memory-binding spells and soul fragments. But her father’s voice haunted her thoughts tonight—his warnings, his promises, and most of all, his disappearance. Three years ago, he had left Velarion on an expedition to the Ruins of Ashenfall, searching for relics from the lost kingdoms. He never came back. No body. No word. Just silence.

Tonight, that silence felt heavier than usual. And it was in that silence that she saw it: the shop.

It shouldn’t have been there.

Nestled between a weaponsmith’s forge and a crumbling wall of the old city temple stood a crooked building, its wood swollen with age, roof sagging under layers of moss. The doorframe was carved with strange symbols—loops and spirals that hurt the eye if stared at too long. Above the door hung a sign: “Curios of Time and Memory.”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She knew every shop in Velarion, and this one had never existed before—not yesterday, not ever. And yet, here it was, tucked away as if it had always been waiting for her.

The door creaked open with the lightest touch. A bell jingled, soft and low, but the sound seemed distant—like it was ringing underwater. The air inside was heavy with the scent of ancient parchment and burnt herbs, spiced with salt, as if the sea itself had seeped into the walls. Shelves crowded with strange objects lined the room: talismans wrapped in copper wire, old maps of unknown continents, weapons long rusted but still humming with latent enchantments.

And there, behind the counter, stood a man.

He was impossibly tall, his thin figure draped in black robes that shimmered faintly, as if stitched with strands of shadow. His skin was pale as bone, and his eyes—too dark and too deep—fixed on her the moment she stepped inside.

“Welcome, Emily Wren,” the man said softly, his voice smooth as silk.

She froze. “How do you know my name?”

The corners of his mouth curled upward, though his eyes remained cold. “Names have a way of finding their way to me. But it is not your name I’ve been waiting for.”

Emily’s gaze flicked uneasily around the room until it landed on something behind the counter. It was a mirror, large and oval, framed in tarnished silver. The serpentine patterns etched into the frame seemed to writhe under her gaze, as if alive. But it wasn’t the frame that held her attention.

It was the surface of the glass.

The mirror shimmered, not with her reflection, but with a strange, shifting image—as though it were not reflecting this world at all. For a moment, she saw swirling shadows, then mist, and then… a face. A face she knew too well.

Her father.

Emily’s breath hitched, and she staggered forward, drawn to the mirror like a moth to a flame. His face hovered just beneath the surface, eyes wide with warning—his mouth forming words she couldn’t hear, though she knew he was calling her name. And then, in an instant, he was gone, swallowed by the swirling mist.

“No,” she whispered, pressing her hand against the cold glass.

“It’s not just a reflection,” the merchant murmured from the shadows. “It is a window.”

Emily spun to face him. “What do you mean? What is this? How—how can he be in there?”

The merchant’s smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes. “The mirror sees what is hidden—what has been lost or forgotten. Sometimes, it reveals those trapped between worlds. Your father was a foolish man, but brave. It seems he has found something most dangerous… and now, it reaches for you.”

Emily’s heart pounded. “How do I get him back?”

The merchant’s gaze darkened, as if the shadows around him thickened. “The path to answers lies through the mirror. But beware—there are places in the old magic where even time cannot protect you. And once you enter, you may never return.”

She stared at the mirror again, her hand brushing the edge of the tarnished frame. It was cold, unnaturally so, and yet it thrummed with strange energy—like the pull of an undertow beneath still waters. She knew, in that moment, that the mirror was calling to her.

Her father was in there. Somewhere beyond the mist and the glass, trapped in a place where time and memory tangled. She could leave now, turn away and never look back. Or she could step forward—into the unknown.

“I need to know the truth,” she whispered, more to herself than to the merchant.

The man nodded slowly, as though he had been expecting that answer all along. “Then take this.”

He reached beneath the counter and produced a small coin, etched with a spiraling glyph. The symbol twisted in on itself endlessly, pulling her gaze deeper, almost hypnotically.

“Keep it with you,” the merchant said. “When the time is right, it will open the way. But know this, Emily Wren: some doors, once opened, can never be closed.”

Emily hesitated for only a moment before snatching the coin. It was warm in her palm, humming faintly, like a heartbeat beneath the metal. She turned to the door, her pulse racing.

Just as she stepped outside, she glanced back over her shoulder—and froze.

The shop was gone.

In its place was only the crumbling stone wall, blackened and cracked with age, as though no building had ever stood there. The street lay silent, the mist thick as ever, and the faint whisper of the sea echoed in her ears.

Emily stood alone, clutching the coin in her hand, her mind racing with what she had seen. Her father’s face. The mirror. The warning.

And then, from somewhere deep within the fog, she thought she heard a whisper—faint but unmistakable.

"Find me..."

Her grip tightened on the coin. Whatever lay beyond that mirror, she would find it. And she would bring her father back.

Or she would be lost to the abyss, just like him.