They did not return to the inn that night.
Kaelan took Rowena to a small house in the southern district, the home of a former soldier who had once served under his father's command. The man, Dorian, was a quiet figure with a burly build and a face full of scars, but his eyes softened when he saw Kaelan—like an uncle welcoming his nephew home.
"You can stay here for the night," Dorian said, opening the door to a modest room on the upper floor. "No one will look for you here. This place isn't even on any map."
Rowena thanked him and immediately sat on the simple bed, her body exhausted after a day filled with tension. Kaelan sat in a chair by the window, his sword resting across his lap, eyes fixed on the dark street outside.
"You should sleep," he said.
"You too."
"I'll sleep later."
Rowena knew there was no point arguing. She kicked off her boots, stretched her aching legs, and lay down on the bed with the bone mirror and silver key beside her pillow. Outside, the night wind carried strange sounds from afar—not the sounds of shadows this time, but the restless murmur of the city.
She closed her eyes, but her mind refused to settle. The memories from her nine lifetimes were still fresh—every death, every choice, every regret. She saw faces she didn't recognize yet felt strangely familiar: children who had died on the altar, Kaelan who had fallen on the battlefield, and herself laughing madly as shadows flooded the world.
And through it all, Caspian smiled. Waiting.
"Kael," she whispered, eyes still closed.
"Yes?"
"Are you afraid of dying?"
A brief silence. "I'm afraid of dying before I finish what I have to finish."
"What is that?"
"Protecting you."
Rowena opened her eyes and stared at the cracked wooden ceiling. "That's not a reason to live, Kael. That's just a reason to die."
"To me, it's the same thing."
She didn't know what to say. In her previous lives, Kaelan had always died beside her—not because he was weak, but because he never backed down. And Rowena, in every life, had always felt that his death was her fault.
"This time," she said, "I won't let you die."
Kaelan didn't answer. But in the silence of the night, Rowena heard him smile.
The sun rose over Ashford the color of blood.
Not because of a beautiful dawn, but because the sky was filled with dust and smoke from something burning in the distance. When Rowena looked out the window, she saw thick black plumes rising from the east—toward the palace.
Kaelan had woken first and stood at the window, his face tense. "Something burned last night. Dorian says it was the warehouses near the eastern gate. No one knows if the fire was deliberate."
"Shadows," Rowena said. "They're getting bolder."
"Or someone's trying to cover their tracks."
They ate a simple breakfast of bread and cheese that Dorian had prepared. While they ate, Rowena opened the bone mirror and stared at its cracked surface. Now, without any special concentration, she could see the three faces inside it—Celine, Morana, and herself—standing side by side like three sisters who didn't get along but could never be separated.
"I need to send a message to Duke Armand," she said. "And to Lady Mirabelle. I want to meet both of them together, in a neutral place."
Kaelan frowned. "Lady Mirabelle will come with guards. Probably Lysander. Maybe even Lord Devereux."
"I know. But Duke Armand will bring guards too. And you'll be by my side. That's enough."
"You're too confident."
"I'm not confident. I just don't have any other choice."
Kaelan sighed but didn't argue. "Fine. I'll send the message through Dorian. He has trusted contacts inside the palace."
Dorian, who had overheard his name from the next room, stepped in with a cup of strong black coffee. "You want to send word to the Duke? I know a servant in the palace kitchens. But for Lady Mirabelle…" He shook his head. "Her entourage is already in the city. They're staying at the Devereux family residence in the northern district. I don't have access there."
"No need for access," Rowena said. "Send it officially, through a courier. Lady Mirabelle is my stepmother by law. She can't ignore a summons from her stepdaughter without losing face."
Kaelan looked at her with a strange expression. "You really picked up politics fast."
"Academics are politicians too, Kael. I told you."
The meeting was arranged at an old church in the western district—a gray stone building long abandoned, with a leaning bell tower and a garden overgrown with wild grass. The church was neutral ground, unaffiliated with any family, and far enough from the palace that it would be difficult to spy on.
Rowena had chosen this place for one other reason: inside the old church stood a mirror.
Not a large mirror like the ones in the secret archives or the de Montfort dungeon. This one was small and round, hanging on the altar wall in a simple, weathered wooden frame. But the moment Rowena first stepped into the church that morning, she felt its pulse—faint, yet unmistakable. This mirror was also connected to the Second Layer. Perhaps it was one of the many mirrors scattered throughout the kingdom that no one had ever noticed.
"Why did you choose this place?" Kaelan asked as he checked every corner of the church to make sure there were no ambushes.
"Because here, I can feel them," Rowena answered. "The shadows. Caspian. Morana. They're all weaker near a mirror that hasn't been used in a long time. It's like this mirror is… a closed window. They can look out, but they can't come in."
"Doesn't sound very reassuring."
"Nothing feels reassuring anymore, Kael. But this is the best we've got."
They waited.
One hour. Two hours.
Kaelan stood by the church door, hand on the hilt of his sword. Rowena sat on a wooden pew in front of the altar, the bone mirror in her lap and the silver key in her pocket. She wasn't praying—she no longer knew which god to pray to—but she stared at the round mirror on the altar wall and thought about everything that had happened.
Then came the sound of footsteps outside.
Many footsteps.
The church door swung open, and Duke Armand entered with Princess Seraphina at his side, followed by four personal guards. The Duke looked serious, his eyes locking immediately on Rowena. Seraphina, on the other hand, wore a faint, unreadable smile.
"You chose an interesting place," Duke Armand said, his gaze shifting to the round mirror on the altar. "I didn't know this mirror still existed."
"I only learned about it yesterday," Rowena replied. "But that's not why I called you here. I need to speak with Lady Mirabelle. Will she come?"
"Yes," said a voice from behind.
Lady Mirabelle entered in a magnificent dark-green gown, followed by Lysander and Celestine, along with four guards in de Montfort colors. Her face was cold, her eyes scanning every detail of the room—Kaelan's position, the Duke's guards, Rowena on the front pew.
Walking beside Lady Mirabelle was a man Rowena didn't recognize. Tall, with long black hair and gray-blue eyes, wearing a smile that was far too friendly for the situation. He wore a black coat trimmed with silver at the collar, and at his hip hung a dagger with a mirror-shaped hilt.
"Lord Caspian Devereux," Kaelan whispered in Rowena's ear.
So this was him. The man working with Lady Mirabelle. The man whose name was the same as the Mirror God—probably no coincidence.
Rowena stood. "Thank you for coming, Lady Mirabelle. I know this isn't easy for you."
Lady Mirabelle smiled—the same sweet smile she had shown in Rowena's room at Verlaine, but her eyes were cold. "You summoned me, Celine. Or do you prefer to be called Rowena now? I heard you changed your name."
"I prefer Rowena. Because Celine is dead."
"But you're in her body."
"This body is borrowed. Temporary."
The air in the room grew thick with tension. Duke Armand sat on a pew to the right, Seraphina standing behind him with her arms crossed. Lord Devereux took a position near the window, his eyes never leaving the round mirror on the altar.
"Very well," Duke Armand said, cutting through the tension. "We're all here because Rowena requested this meeting. I've heard her story—not everything, but enough to know something bigger than family rivalries is at play. I suggest we listen to what she has to say before we decide who the enemy is and who the friend is."
Lady Mirabelle gave Duke Armand a look that was hard to read but did not object.
Rowena took a deep breath. This was the decisive moment. In her nine previous lives, she had never done this—sat at one table with her enemies and tried to find a middle path. She had always chosen to fight alone or sacrifice herself.
This time was different.
"What do you know about the gate?" she began.
Lady Mirabelle let out a small laugh. "You called us all here to ask about an old fairy tale?"
"It's not a fairy tale," Rowena said firmly. "You know that, Lady Mirabelle. You sent three hunters to capture me because you thought I was the key to opening the gate. You're working with Lord Devereux because you believe there's power behind that gate that could make you ruler. So stop pretending this is just a story."
Lady Mirabelle's smile faded. "You're bold."
"I'm honest. There's a difference."
Duke Armand interrupted. "She's right, Mirabelle. I know about the gate too. The Ashworth family are keepers of history, remember? I know about the pact of the three siblings. I know about the twin sacrifice. I know that every few generations, the de Montfort family must sacrifice one of their children to keep the gate sealed. And I know that you, Mirabelle, married Duke Alistair not for love, but because you wanted to control the next sacrifice."
Lady Mirabelle's face went pale, then flushed red. Lysander, standing behind his mother, clenched his fists. Celestine, who had been silent, lowered her head.
"You know nothing," Lady Mirabelle said coldly.
"I know you tried to kill Celine," Rowena said. "Not because you hated her. But because you thought she was the sacrifice meant for this generation. When she survived—or when I took her place—your plan fell apart. You panicked. You sent hunters after me because you thought I could be used as a replacement."
"You don't understand—"
"Then explain."
Lady Mirabelle fell silent. Her eyes flicked to Lord Devereux, who had remained quiet by the window the entire time. The man gave a slight nod, as if granting permission.
Lady Mirabelle exhaled. "Fine. I'll explain. But not here. Not with everyone present." She shot a sharp look at Duke Armand and Seraphina. "I will only speak with Rowena. Alone."
"Out of the question," Kaelan said, stepping forward.
"I agree with Kaelan," Duke Armand added. "It's too risky."
"This is not a request," Lady Mirabelle said. "It's a condition. If you want to know the truth about what really happened at Verlaine—about why Celine died, about what my husband did, about who is truly behind those mirrors—then you will speak with me alone. Or you will never know."
Rowena stared at Lady Mirabelle. For the first time, she saw no hatred or cold calculation in her eyes. She saw fear. Deep, long-hidden fear.
"Fine," Rowena said.
"Rowena—" Kaelan began.
"I can handle it, Kael. I've faced Caspian himself. I can face this."
Kaelan didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He stepped back, hand still on his sword hilt, eyes never leaving Lady Mirabelle.
Rowena and Lady Mirabelle walked into the side room of the church—a small chamber that had once been a confessional, with two wooden chairs and damp stone walls. Lady Mirabelle closed the door behind them.
They sat facing each other. Between them was only a small wooden table with a dimly burning candle.
"You know," Lady Mirabelle said, "I never hated Celine."
Rowena said nothing. She waited.
"I didn't like her, yes. She was a constant reminder of what I had sacrificed. But I didn't hate her. I even… I felt sorry for her." Lady Mirabelle looked down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "She never knew what really happened to her mother."
"Duchess Elara?"
Lady Mirabelle lifted her head. Her eyes glistened with tears. "Elara didn't die of illness, Rowena. Elara died because she refused to sacrifice Celine. When the time came for that generation's sacrifice—Celine and Rowena, the twins—Elara hid them. She took them to a convent to protect them. But Duke Alistair… my husband… could not accept it. He feared the gate would open. So he… he made a deal with Caspian."
Rowena felt her blood run cold. "Caspian? The Mirror God?"
"Who else? Caspian has had influence over the de Montfort family for a long time. He was the one who told us when the gate was weakening. He was the one who showed us the sacrifice ritual. And he was the one who offered an alternative: if Elara refused to sacrifice her children, then she herself would have to take their place."
"So Duke Alistair… killed his own wife?"
Lady Mirabelle smiled bitterly. "He didn't kill her. Caspian did. But Duke Alistair brought Elara to the dungeon. I saw it myself. I hid behind a pillar and watched everything. Elara knelt before the altar, Caspian stepped out of the mirror, and he… he consumed her. Her entire body turned to dust, and Caspian returned to the mirror with a smile on his face."
Rowena felt nausea twist in her stomach.
"After that," Lady Mirabelle continued, "Duke Alistair was never the same. He became cold, untouchable. He married me not because he loved me, but because he needed someone he could control. Someone who wouldn't ask questions. And I… I accepted it. Because I had my own ambitions. I thought marrying the Duke would let me protect my children—Lysander and Celestine—from the same fate. But I was wrong. Because Duke Alistair never saw Lysander as his son. He only saw him as… a replacement. A spare. If Celine died before she could be sacrificed, then Lysander would be the next victim."
Tears began to slide down Lady Mirabelle's cheeks. For the first time, her cold mask had completely cracked.
"That's why I sent hunters after you, Rowena. Not because I wanted you dead. But because I wanted Lysander to be safe. If you could replace Celine, if you could become the sacrifice for this generation, then Lysander would be spared."
Rowena looked at the woman before her with a swirl of emotions—disgust, pity, anger, and, strangely, understanding.
"You know," Rowena said softly, "I can't hate you. Because I understand what you did. You're a mother trying to protect her child. But you aimed at the wrong target, Lady Mirabelle. Your enemy isn't Celine. It isn't me. It isn't Lysander. Your enemy is Caspian. He created this system. He needs the sacrifices to keep feeding. And as long as he is free, no child will ever be safe. Not Lysander, not future de Montfort children, not anyone."
Lady Mirabelle raised her head. "What are you proposing?"
"I know how to bind Caspian. To stop him forever. But I need your help."
"Me? What can I do?"
Rowena held out her hand. In her palm, the old silver key gleamed in the candlelight.
"This key isn't for opening the gate. It's for binding Caspian. But to use it, I need representatives from all three families—not their blood, but their souls. I represent de Montfort. Kaelan represents Veyne. And for Ashworth, I have Duke Armand. But there's one more element required: someone who has interacted directly with Caspian. Someone who has seen his true face. Someone like you."
Lady Mirabelle stared at the key with wide eyes. "You… you want me to take part in the ritual?"
"I want you to help us stop Caspian. Not as a sacrifice. But as an ally. When this is over, there will be no more twin sacrifices. No more families losing their children out of fear. But I can't do it alone."
Lady Mirabelle was silent for a long time. Tears still flowed down her cheeks, but in her eyes there was something new—something like hope.
"And Lysander?" she asked.
"He will be safe. I promise."
"You can't promise that."
"I can. Because I've already died nine times to protect this world. I won't let it be destroyed now."
Lady Mirabelle looked at her. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Fine. I will help you. But on one condition: when this is over, you will leave Verlaine. Do not come back. Never claim to be the de Montfort heir. Let Lysander inherit the duchy. He is a good boy. He knows nothing of this. He deserves a chance."
Rowena smiled faintly. "I never wanted to be the heir, Lady Mirabelle. I only wanted to go home. But I no longer know where home is."
They both stood. Lady Mirabelle took Rowena's hand and squeezed it.
"I'm sorry," she said. "For everything. For the hunters. For the hatred. For what I did to Celine."
"Celine is dead," Rowena said. "But maybe, in my own way, I can stand for her here. And she… she would forgive you. Because Celine was a better person than either of us."
They stepped out of the side room together. Duke Armand, Seraphina, and Kaelan watched them with tense expressions. Lord Devereux, still standing by the window, gave a thin smirk.
"Well, well," he said. "Looks like you two have become friends. I'm almost touched."
Lady Mirabelle looked at him coldly. "Lord Devereux, as of now, I am ending our partnership."
Lord Devereux's smile vanished. "What?"
"You heard me. I will not help you open the gate. I will not let you use Rowena for your purposes. And if you try to interfere, I will make sure the entire palace learns what you have been doing for years—about the children you sacrificed in your secret rituals, about the mirrors you hide in your brothels, about all of it."
Lord Devereux stared at Lady Mirabelle with eyes that had turned icy. "You're making a grave mistake, Mirabelle."
"Perhaps. But it will be my own mistake. Not one forced on me by someone else."
Lord Devereux stepped back toward the window. His hand closed around the mirror-shaped hilt of his dagger.
"You think you can stop me? You think allying with them makes you safe? Caspian already knows about this meeting. He has already sent his servants. In one hour, this entire district will be swarming with shadows. And all of you will die here, in this forgotten old church."
He drew the dagger. Its blade was not metal but black glass that reflected light in unnatural ways. Shadows moved across its surface.
"Unless," he continued, "you hand over the key to me right now, Rowena. And I will let you all leave."
Rowena gripped the key in her right hand and the bone mirror in her left. She stared at Lord Devereux without blinking.
"No."
Lord Devereux smiled. A smile that looked disturbingly like Caspian's—too wide, too many teeth, too satisfied.
"You choose death, then death it is."
He stabbed the dagger into the surface of the round mirror on the altar.
The mirror cracked.
And from the cracks, shadows poured out. Not the small ones that roamed the streets of Ashford. These were large shadows, almost solid, with glowing red eyes and wide-open mouths full of sharp teeth that were not made of flesh.
One. Two. Four. Eight.
They flooded the church like a black tide, surging toward them.
Kaelan drew his sword, his first slash cutting the lead shadow in two. Duke Armand and Seraphina drew their weapons too—the Duke with a long sword, Seraphina with twin daggers. The guards formed a defensive circle.
But the shadows kept coming. And there were more.
"Rowena!" Kaelan shouted over the chaos. "Do something!"
Rowena held the bone mirror in her hands. Inside it, the three faces stared back at her—Celine terrified, Morana furious, and herself… calm.
"You know what to do," Morana whispered in her mind. "Use this mirror. Not to summon me. But to summon them."
"Who?"
"Those who are older than Caspian. Those who sleep beyond the Second Layer. Those who can only hear the call of a whole soul."
Rowena had no time to think. She raised the bone mirror above her head and cried out—not with her voice, but with her soul. With all three pieces of her soul at once.
Blue light blazed from the mirror, flooding the entire church.
The shadows froze. They screamed—ear-piercing screams of terror. Then, one by one, they began to dissolve, like mist blown away by a strong wind.
Lord Devereux, still standing by the window, stared with wide eyes. "That… that's impossible. Only Caspian can—"
"Apparently not," Rowena said. She lowered the mirror as the blue light slowly faded. "There are things older than Caspian, Lord Devereux. And they don't like what he's been doing."
Lord Devereux took a step back. His face was pale, his hand shaking as it gripped the glass dagger.
"You have no idea what you've done," he whispered. "You've awakened them. Now they will come. And nothing can stop them."
He turned and leaped out the window, vanishing into the darkness among the garden trees.
Kaelan wanted to chase him, but Rowena stopped him. "Let him go. He's not our greatest threat."
The church fell silent. The round mirror on the altar lay shattered, glass shards glittering across the floor in the candlelight.
Duke Armand lowered his sword, his face pale. "What just happened?"
"I summoned something," Rowena said. "Something older than Caspian. I don't know if it was the right decision. But it stopped the shadows."
Seraphina stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the bone mirror in Rowena's hand. "What is that?"
"The mirror Edric Veyne gave me. The mirror connected to 'what lies behind them.'" Rowena looked at its cracked surface. Now, instead of three faces, she saw only one: her own. But her eyes… they were different. One pale blue like Celine's, one deep black like Morana's, and one in the center—golden-brown, her own—uniting them both.
"I think," she said quietly, "I just started something I can't stop."
In the distance, from the east, came a deep rumble—not thunder, but something heavier, deeper, like the footsteps of a giant walking beneath the earth.
The gate had opened wider.
And something was beginning to emerge.