The Alpha of the 13th District

Evercrest Temple.

Mirror Room.

A deafening silence greeted Kiera and Asher as they entered the next chamber. Time seemed to stop—no sound of wind, no footsteps, even their own breaths seemed held captive.

Mist clung to the black marble floor, curling around their feet like cold fingers.

"Where are we?" Kiera whispered, almost inaudible in the thick silence.

Asher didn't answer.

But his grip on his sword tightened, and from the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw clench.

She took a step forward.

Then she saw them.

The mirrors.

Three rows of mirrors lined both sides of the long corridor. Tall. Seemingly suppressing the light, not simply reflecting it. These weren't ordinary mirrors—they held faces within.

The first mirror on the right.

She clutched her chest.

It was her. But not her.

A version of Kiera wearing a blood soaked crown. Her clothes were made of leather and chains. She sat on a throne—not of gold, but of bone. Skulls. Corpses.

"W-What—" she stammered, terrified.

On the left, she saw an Asher.

On the left, she saw the other Asher. His eyes were pure white—no pupils, no soul. His skin looked burned, yet he smiled. Behind him, flames raged. And yet—he seemed to feel no fear.

"They're not just reflections," Asher whispered beside her, his voice shaking. "They're possibilities. And not all of them want to stay in the glass."

She shuddered. Possibilities.

Another mirror, in the middle of the corridor—she stopped before it.

She saw them.

Her and Asher.

Holding hands. Kissing. No wounds. No anger. But around them, the world burned. A flaming city. Screams. Blood. But them? Together. Loving each other as the world was slowly consumed by fire.

"Is this what you want?" Asher asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer.

But his eyes—those conflicted, haunted eyes—told her everything. It wasn't fear of the mirrors. It was fear of what Kiera would see.

She turned to the next mirrors.

One showed her standing alone—old, dressed in white, surrounded by children. Happy. But Asher?

Gone.

Another showed her slumped on the ground, bloody, while a cloaked figure held her heart, ripped from her chest.

She quickly stepped back.

The mirror at the end didn't show her.

It showed a young girl. She looked like her, but younger—maybe eight years old. Crying. Looking behind Kiera—not at the mirror itself, but at her.

"Why did you leave me?" the child whispered.

Her chest ached.

"Stop," Asher said, approaching her, but it felt like something was pulling her closer.

She looked at the last mirror.

It wasn't like the others. It shimmered. Like water.

She lifted her hand.

"Kiera—don't!" Asher shouted, but it was too late.

Her hand touched the mirror. It rippled.

And inside the mirror, a version of her moved—not like a reflection, but something real. Alive.

The other Kiera tilted her head.

And grinned.

"You think you're real?" it whispered.

But not from inside. Not from the mirror. The voice entered Kiera's mind. The voice tore through her mind.

"Even you," it whispered, "are just a version fate allowed."

She stopped.

"What…?"

Her heart pounded.

The other Kiera inside the mirror stood up. Approached the 'other side' of the mirror. Faced her. Same eyes. Same face. But something was missing.

Asher reached for her arm.

But the mirror flickered again.

The glass cracked. One line. Then another.

"Kiera!"

Asher pulled her back.

Kiera screamed as the mirror completely shattered—but not into pieces. It seemed to melt. Like liquid silver, dissolving into mist.

But the reflection remained.

The Kiera inside the mirror was still there. She hadn't disappeared.

She stood there, behind the thin veil of shattered reality.

And when she smiled again, Kiera and her version answered almost simultaneously.

"You're not the only one who wants to live."

One mirror shatters.But the version inside doesn't vanish. It waits.

Deep inside the Mirror Room.

A central mirror pulsed, glowing blue violet.

Kiera stopped walking when she noticed something unusual.

In the middle of the room, at the end of the corridor of mirrored beings—there was one unlike the others.

Larger. Like an altar. And it didn't show any image. No reflection. No shadow greeted her.

But, it pulsed.

As if breathing. Blue violet light shimmered from its core, like the heartbeat of something that shouldn't be alive.

"Asher?" she asked, but when she looked around—he wasn't behind her.

He must have been left behind, still battling the illusions in the other mirrors.

She bit her lip.

One step closer. Then another.

Until only she and the mirror remained.

And for the first time, the mirror moved. It wasn't her reflection that appeared.

It wasn't her now. Nor a shadow of the future.

It was her.

But bloodied. Sobbing. Kneeling on marble.

Her hands were soaked in crimson. Her hair was disheveled. Her clothes were torn. And in the middle of her chest was a large hole. As if something had been removed. As if something was missing.

And behind her bloodied version—

Asher.

But not the Asher she knew. This one was smiling. And in his hand, Kiera's heart—drenched in blood, still beating.

Then he leaned in to whisper something in that Kiera's ear.

And the real Kiera heard it, loud and clear.

"I told you not to love me."

"No!"

Kiera screamed, stepped back, leaned against the cold wall.

Her whole body trembled.

The air felt heavy. This was no longer an illusion. This was no longer a trick of the mirror. Before her—her worst fear was breathing.

Suddenly, something fell.

A drop of blood fell from the mirror. Until the mirror was bleeding.

Blood—real, fresh, thick—welling up from the side of the mirror. Like a wound that had been opened.

"Kiera!"

Asher quickly approached, taking her arm. "What happened—?"

Then he looked up.

And when he saw what the mirror revealed, the color drained from his face.

"No…" Asher whispered. His breath hitched. "That's not… a dream."

Kiera looked at him, trembling. "What are you talking about? Asher, what do you mean?"

Asher knees weakened. He dropped to his knees, staring at the bleeding mirror.

"That's not just a vision," he said, his voice hollow. "That's… the one I buried."

Kiera's world stopped.

"What?"

"Asher—what do you mean?" She stepped back, but she couldn't leave. The mirror seemed to be sucking her feet. Like an energy clinging to her.

"You weren't supposed to remember her," he whispered. "That version of you… she existed. And she died because of me."

"No. No, I don't understand—!"

"You weren't supposed to love me, Kiera. In that timeline, you did. And fate took you for it. The trials—"

He looked at the mirror.

"They don't just test. They collect."

"Every trial has a cost," the mirror whispered. You just didn't knowthe first one already claimed you."

Kiera stepped back. Weak.

She approached Asher, but they both seemed to be drowning in the mirror's presence.

The bloody version of her raised her head. Slowly. And smiled.

Not out of joy but revenge.

"Asher, we have to get out—" Kiera said firmly.

The floor beneath them cracked.

First one line. Then another.

The floor opened, as if a wind from the depths was sucking them in.

The mirror's light flared violently.

"We need to move!" Asher shouted, trying to pull Kiera back—but her feet wouldn't move.

"I can't move!" she cried. "It's pulling me!"

Blood was now flowing from their feet. From the mirror. The mirror was alive. The memory was alive.

"You have to let go of her!" Asher shouted.

"She's me!" Kiera answered, crying. "She's me and I didn't even know!"

Another shatter.

But the mirror didn't break into shards. Instead, it opened. And the bloody Kiera stepped forward.

Kiera stared into her own dead eyes—

as the floor gave way beneath them,

and the mirror began to pull them in.

In the middle of the mirror room.

"Kiieeera…"

Voices echoed around them, as if thousands of ghosts were whispering her name in unison. From all directions—from the mirrors themselves—some walking, some crying, some laughing.

Each mirror had its own echo, its own story, its own version of her.

Kiera stepped back, trembling. "Stop…" she covered her ears, but the voices seemed to go straight to her brain.

Asher gasped in the distance, trying to reach her. "Kiera! Stay with me!"

But she couldn't move her feet. An invisible force seemed to envelop them, preventing her from retreating. A force that was sucking her and Asher in.

Then one mirror—the mirror where she wore a crown and a throne of bones—began to glow.

But it wasn't just light. It burned like an eclipse.

It burned like a dying star—blinding in its darkness, searing in its chill, like fire that froze inside her chest.

Kiera stopped.

The voices also stopped, the whole room suddenly fell silent. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.

Then she heard a voice.

Not hers. Not human.

It sounded like fate itself speaking.

"Only one version of you survives the eclipse."

The light shattered the mirror.

And from the shattered pieces, something emerged.

Kiera.

But not her.

Same face. Same body. But the aura was different.

Taller. Colder gaze.

Still crowned, but no longer bloody—but black obsidian. Her eyes seemed heartless.

Kiera stepped back, afraid of her own shadow.

"Who are you…?" she asked, almost whispering.

Mirror Kiera smiled. A smile full of pity—and contempt.

"I'm the version who stopped begging fate," she said coldly. "The one who learned to win even if she had to crush."

"Y-You're not me."

Mirror Kiera stepped forward, deliberate in every step. "Exactly. That's why fate will choose me."

Asher suddenly shouted. "Kiera!"

Kiera looked—and her eyes widened.

Asher was being pulled.

A mirror opened behind him—and his monstrous version emerged. Bloody red eyes. Dressed in black. Horned. It seemed as if darkness had consumed his entire being.

"No!" Kiera screamed, trying to step forward, but Mirror Kiera blocked her.

"You can't save him," she said calmly. "This story isn't for you. Fate didn't choose you."

Kiera cried, her voice trembling. "You're wrong…"

But she wasn't listening.

Mirror Kiera leaned in close, her breath like ice on Kiera's cheek.

And she whispered: "This trial doesn't test your power, Kiera. It tests which version of you fate loves more."

The mirrors echoed again.

Asher, struggling against the darkness.

And Kiera, looking into her own eyes—ready to take everything she had.

And beneath the ruin of what was real, fate reached out—with bloodstained hands—to choose the one who would survive.