I didn't leave my quarters the next morning.
Which, for a man like Lucian Drelmont, was cause for gossip.
A dozen students probably whispered that I'd drunk myself unconscious. Others might've guessed I'd finally snapped from the stress of pretending to care about their futures.
They were wrong.
I was simply being careful.
There's a saying in Sūyara: "If your reflection starts speaking first, stop listening second."
Smart advice.
Especially now that I was beginning to suspect mine was doing just that.
I sat on the cold stone floor, legs folded, fingers dancing across the Grimoire. The ink still pulsed—softly, faintly—with a second heartbeat.
Not mine.
Not anymore.
"MIRRORMAKER," the title whispered. "Crafted by accident. Wielded by choice."
The book kept changing. Evolving.
The new sigil tree branched from Echochain like a spider's web.
One node glowed faintly: "Phase Echo."
