The door behind him vanished.
Not closed.
Not locked.
Erased.
Rein spun around—but the corridor he'd just entered from was gone, as if the stone itself had forgotten it had ever been open.
The walls hummed, faintly golden, whispering in dead languages.
He stumbled backward—
And found himself in a hall of mirrors.
No glass.
No frames.
Just reflections—cut into polished obsidian slabs lining both sides of a long, narrow aisle.
They stretched from floor to ceiling, each one rippling like still water.
But none of them showed him.
Not as he was now.
Instead—
They showed versions.
To his left.
A man in white armor, robes flowing behind him, kneeling with his forehead to the floor.
Seraphael stood above him, hand raised in benediction, a soft smile on her face.
His eyes were closed. His lips moved in prayer.
To the right.
Rein again—but in silver chains.
Mouth sewn shut.
Seraphael kissing his brow as a halo burned behind her.
He didn't resist. He didn't move at all.
Further down:
Rein in bed with her, whispering something against her throat.
She wept golden tears, clutching him like he'd returned from death. Their bodies glowed like living scripture.
He staggered back.
Another mirror flickered.
This one was… cracked.
The image barely held.
It showed Rein with golden wings.
Taller. Radiant.
Holding Seraphael's hand as they walked through a field of stars.
His expression was unreadable.
His hand trembled.
He reached for the mirror.
It didn't ripple.
It pulled.
The moment his fingers brushed it, heat surged into his palm like a live brand.
The mirror flared white—
"Blessed be the return."
"Sanctified is the name reclaimed."
"The Flame of the Husband burns again."
The air tightened.
Rein yanked his hand back.
Blood dripped from his palm—fresh, sharp, real. He hissed and stumbled away.
The mirrors reacted.
They turned toward him.
Every one of them.
The reflections began to speak—not aloud, but in his mind, overlapping voices layered like a hymn written in madness.
You belong to her.You always did.Why else did you come?Why else did you bleed?
"Shut up," Rein growled, backing toward the center of the hall.
The blood from his hand fell onto the black stone floor.
And the floor opened.
A slow, circular iris of divine glyphs spiraled outward beneath his boots.
The air screamed with sudden pressure.
Light rose from the ground in a violent flare of gold.
From the far end of the chamber, a door opened.
And Seraphael stepped through it.
Her eyes were wide.
Joyful.
And deeply unstable.
"You saw it," she whispered. "Didn't you?"
Rein didn't answer.
"The mirrors speak truth to the soul. You saw what you were before the fall. What we were."
"I saw reflections," he snapped. "Not reality."
"They're one and the same in holy space."
Her voice shook with reverence. Or longing. Or both.
"You bled in my memory. You opened the path."
She raised a hand.
The mirrors all flared blinding white—
And in unison, they spoke:
"Sanctify him."
Rein turned and ran.