1013: Story 1013: Through the Mirror Grave 1013: Story 1013: Through the Mirror Grave The grave was not dug into soil but polished like glass, nestled in the ruins of an old chapel where ti had rusted even the shadows.
It stood upright, reflecting no one, only a warped and swirling version of the world behind it.
Locals called it The Mirror Grave, and they dared not speak the nas of those who went near.
But Talia Grimm, the mute child whose drawings predicted deaths, had sketched it one too many tis.
In her charcoal-streaked notebook, the grave appeared again and again—always with her own shadow reaching toward it.
Solomon Wraith, weary and whisper-haunted, led Talia and the others to the chapel.
The survivors were splintered, worn from their last encounter with the Crimson Spiral, and desperate for any answers.
Talia pointed at the mirror, eyes wide but steady.
“She’s been seeing it for weeks,” Nara Hexley muttered, gripping her bone-handled knife.
“But why now?
What’s it want?”
Solomon stepped forward, muttering eldritch phrases stitched together from dream fragnts and forgotten tongues.
The Mirror Grave trembled.
The ground quaked.
Then… it reflected him.
But not the Solomon they knew.
The reflection smirked.
His eyes were obsidian voids.
His coat writhed like it was stitched from tongues.
He placed his palm on the glass.
Solomon did the sa.
And reality fractured.
Talia scread—without sound—and the glass shattered inward, pulling them all through.
On the other side, the world bled wrong.
Skies were green.
Trees grew from bones.
The sun blinked like a dying eye.
This was not a mirror of their world.
This was a world where the mirror had won.
The group stood in an inverted Dredholt, crawling with mirrored dead—zombies who moved with intelligence, mimicking their motions seconds before they made them.
Solomon’s reflection was waiting, seated on a throne made of charred altars.
“I broke the pact,” it said.
“And now I rule the Graveborn.”
Real Solomon staggered, voices screaming in his ears.
“You’re ,” he hissed.
“But corrupted.”
“No,” his reflection said with a grin.
“I’m what you’ll beco… once you open the final gate.”
Talia stepped forward, holding up her newest drawing.
It showed the mirror, whole again—binding the two worlds apart.
She touched the paper to the ground.
The mirrored earth sizzled, twisting violently.
The reflection scread as shards of glass erupted around him, slicing through his illusion.
The group leapt back as the worlds snapped like rubber bands—
And they awoke.
Back in the ruined chapel.
The Mirror Grave stood whole again… but this ti, it reflected nothing.
Later, Solomon sat alone, his eyes hollow.
He could still feel the other version of himself.
Still hear its promises.
Still sense the door—one he was destined to open.
But for now, the mirror was sealed.
And sowhere, in the world behind reflections…
It waited.
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